Chapter Text
Receive. Code. File. Organise.
Receive. Code. File. Organise.
Receive. Code. File. Organise.
It may seem monotonous to some, the endless cycle of data entry and categorising, but I find comfort in it. There’s something inherently peaceful about the rhythm, the structure. Each file I process feels like a small piece of the vast puzzle of Cybertron’s history falling into place. I can’t explain it, but there’s a sense of fulfilment in knowing I’m contributing to something much larger than myself. The access to knowledge—the vast ocean of it—fills me with a quiet joy. It’s like an unspoken gift to those who are dedicated to the pursuit of understanding.
I find myself spending hours in the Iacon Hall of Records, not because of the demands of my shifts or any official expectations. No, it's more than that. It’s the freedom of exploration, the thrill of uncharted data, the beauty in the chaos of so many stories, facts, and memories waiting to be organised. Alpha Trion often finds me at odd hours, my focus so sharp that I lose track of time. It’s not unusual for him to step out of his office, find me still sifting through files, and give me that knowing look.
“Orion, I believe you should head home; it’s quite late,” he’ll say, his voice gentle yet firm.
I smile in return, a quiet but grateful expression. “I’ll leave soon. I wish to remain for just a little longer.”
He knows me too well. He knows I won’t argue, and he doesn’t push the issue. With a nod, he’ll return to his office, likely with an amused chuckle at my stubbornness. No matter how late it gets, no matter how many times he reminds me, I always keep my promise and leave—eventually. A few breems, at most.
Being born into the middle caste, I’m fortunate to live a life of comfort, straddling the line between the high caste’s privileges and the struggles of the lower ones. It’s not without its complications, of course, but I can’t deny the advantages of my position—especially when it comes to my connection with Alpha Trion. I’m thankful for it, deeply so. But that privilege doesn’t blind me. I remain humble, knowing full well that many do not share the same opportunities.
…
I stepped into my apartment, number 6C, a modest space just on the edge of the middle and high caste sectors of Iacon. It's a small refuge, a place to unwind after the day’s work. But tonight, the usual routine of winding down was disrupted by a com from Ratchet.
RATCHET[MED-SCIEN-01880]
:: Orion? Are you awake? ::
ORION.PAX[ARCH-DATA-14489]
:: I’m awake, Ratchet. ::
:: I’ve just returned from work. Is something the matter? ::
RATCHET[MED-SCIEN-01880]
:: Turn on the broadcast system. ::
I paused. Not much usually happens at this hour in Iacon’s broadcast systems. But if Ratchet was asking me to tune in, it was important. Or… possibly urgent.
I left my berthroom and activated the broadcast, expecting some minor news, but what I saw immediately pulled me in. One of Cybertron’s other cities. I’d seen this footage before in history lessons, from reports of the gladiatorial arena. Kaon. The home of Cybertron’s largest mines and the notorious arena where the fiercest warriors fought for glory. And, of course, the home of the activist-gladiator Megatronus.
The sight of Kaon made my thoughts race, my optic sensors narrowing instinctively. I had never been to Kaon—only visited bordering areas of Iacon like Kalis. But my research had made its image crystal clear in my mind. The jagged cityscape, the rough, industrial aura.
The broadcast’s focus on Kaon could only mean one thing—Megatronus was speaking again. His voice, no doubt, would soon echo across Cybertron, delivering yet another passionate and daring call for change. Inspirational or divisive, depending on who you asked, his speeches against the caste system and the inequalities among Cybertronians were impossible to ignore.
Ratchet must have heard about it from his colleagues before messaging me. He always had a knack for catching wind of important events, especially ones like this.
Normally, I’m not one to pay much attention to broadcasts. More often than not, they’re filled with empty words—self-congratulatory proclamations from the higher castes about the successes of their favoured few. A monotony of platitudes and rehearsed announcements. But when he spoke, it was different.
The moment Megatronus appeared on-screen, the usual hum of political rhetoric gave way to something far more compelling. The silver-armoured gladiator, standing tall and unyielding, faced the masses with a fearlessness that was almost palpable. His words weren’t filtered through polished council rhetoric or carefully scripted speeches. No, they were raw. Honest. A reflection of his belief in the corruption of the council and his unrelenting desire for a better Cybertron.
There was something deeply admirable in that. To speak your truth so openly, so boldly, without any fear of judgement or retribution. It was a kind of courage I had rarely seen. Watching him, I couldn’t help but feel a quiet awe. I had so many questions I would ask him if I ever had the chance. How did he come to see things so clearly? What drove him to risk so much for others? What gave him that strength?
The thought lingered as I sat down, my optics fixed on the screen. His voice was magnetic, drawing me in as he began to speak. His presence filled the room, even from the other side of the planet.
I leaned forward, letting his words wash over me.
And I listened.
…
The moment the broadcast shifted focus, I reached out to turn it off. The screen faded to black, leaving me alone with the weight of Megatronus’ words. I leaned back in my seat, processing the passion behind his speech and the unshakable conviction in his voice.
The silence didn’t last long.
RATCHET[MED-SCIEN-01880]
:: Well, Orion? ::
ORION.PAX[ARCH-DATA-14489]
:: Well, what? ::
RATCHET[MED-SCIEN-01880]
:: Your smart-aft attitude will be the death of me, Orion. ::
ORION.PAX[ARCH-DATA-14489]
:: You’re a terrible influence, Ratchet. ::
I couldn’t help but smirk to myself as I sent the response, imagining the tired, exaggerated sigh Ratchet was probably letting out in his home across the high-caste sector.
Ratchet, with his rugged orange-and-white plating and gruff demeanour, wasn’t someone you’d peg as particularly invested in politics. His sharp optics, perpetually tired but never missing a detail, were usually fixed on far more practical matters. Still, his compassion always found ways to extend beyond the immediate needs of his patients. He might not have shared my interest in systemic change, but his actions spoke volumes.
Despite his relentless work schedule, Ratchet often volunteered his time to help bots from every caste, offering repairs to those who couldn’t afford the exorbitant fees demanded by the upper-tier med facilities. I admired him for it, even if he downplayed the significance of his actions. He would grumble about overwork and late shifts, but his spark told a different story—a story of empathy and unyielding dedication.
As I leaned back, the weight of Megatronus’ speech still pressing on my thoughts, I replied with a light tone, masking the deeper contemplation beneath it.
ORION.PAX[ARCH-DATA-14489]
:: Are you asking because you’re actually curious? ::
:: Or is this just another one of your ‘dutiful’ check-ins? ::
RATCHET[MED-SCIEN-01880]
:: Honestly? ::
:: I don’t care. ::
I sighed, shaking my helm with a wry smile. Typical Ratchet—direct and unapologetic. His bluntness was a refreshing contrast to the overly polite formality I often encountered. With a quiet chuckle, I walked back into my berthroom and settled down, staring up at the small constellation of adhesive stars I’d arranged on the ceiling. The stars formed one of Cybertron’s oldest constellations, a pattern I’d memorised from countless archival texts.
ORION.PAX[ARCH-DATA-14489]
:: His words… they only made me admire him even more. ::
RATCHET[MED-SCIEN-01880]
:: So, why don’t you go find him? ::
The message made me sit upright so quickly I nearly knocked over my datapad.
Find him? Had Ratchet completely lost his processor? Sure, he was prone to outlandish ideas, but this… this was surprising, even for him.
ORION.PAX[ARCH-DATA-14489]
:: Ratchet, have you glitched your processor? ::
RATCHET[MED-SCIEN-01880]
:: I’m serious. ::
:: It might actually be good for you. ::
Good for me? I scoffed at the thought, yet the idea lingered, sparking an odd mix of intrigue and hesitation.
ORION.PAX[ARCH-DATA-14489]
:: Ratchet, how in Primus’ name would that even be possible? ::
:: He’s on the other side of the planet. AND I’m just a mere archivist. ::
RATCHET[MED-SCIEN-01880]
:: You’re too modest, Orion. ::
:: Do you forget you’re the fragging student of THE Alpha Trion? ::
:: AND the smartest mech I know? ::
I huffed, feeling my dermas tug into a reluctant smile.
ORION.PAX[ARCH-DATA-14489]
:: Your flattery is unbecoming of you, Ratchet. ::
RATCHET[MED-SCIEN-01880]
:: I’m trying to encourage you. Just take the compliment. ::
:: Sleep on it. I don’t love the idea, but let’s be honest—you probably do. ::
He wasn’t entirely wrong. The thought of meeting Megatronus stirred something deep within me—curiosity, admiration, perhaps even a hint of fear. But it also felt… impossible.
I let out a quiet sigh and rested my servo on my helm as I leaned back onto my berth. My optics traced the constellation overhead, its pattern a quiet reminder of the infinite possibilities that lay beyond the walls of my apartment, my caste, my current life.
:: Sleep on it. ::
As if that would be easy tonight.