Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

~You’re ready to go, Blast.~

~Thanks, ‘Ject.~

“Good morning, Cybertron!” Blaster cheerfully announced into the microphone before him, “You’re listening to The Polyhex Groove, bringing you all the hottest tunes from this side of the planet. I’m your host, Blaster, it is currently 0500 joor here in ‘Hex, and let’s add some fun to your morning commute, aight? Here’s one of my new faves, ‘Left My Spark on Luna 2’ by Breakbeat.”

Blaster turned the mic off and started the track. With a content exvent, he smiled and leaned back in his chair. He glanced up at the window at the end of the broadcast studio, where his cassettebot, Eject, gave him a thumbs up.

“Sounded good, Blast,” Eject said as he pressed the mic button on his end, Blaster hearing his voice over the studio speakers. “When’d ya want to plug the ads?”

Blaster let slip the equivalent of a groan out over their cassette-carrier bond before he could suppress it.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Eject gently chastised, “The advertisers fund your late night clubbing.”

“Yeah yeah, you’re right, ‘Ject,” Blaster acquiesced. As much as Blaster loved being a radio host, it didn’t pay the bills if he wasn’t liberal enough with ad plugs throughout the broadcast. He cut as many costs as he could, running his show. Blaster kept it a two-mech gig between himself and Eject: Eject doing a helluva lot behind the scenes to keep the broadcast running smoothly and on schedule, as well as communicating with third parties for ad deals—all without complaint, Primus bless him—and Blaster taking care of financing and show content. Occasionally, Blaster would reach out to his other cassettebot, Rewind, for specific financing or business advice that he and Eject couldn’t figure out between the two of them.

Rewind and Eject were spark brothers, and were practically joined at the hip in their early years. Not wanting to be separated, Blaster had taken in the pair of them to be their carrierbot. As cassette-build minibots, the two needed a carrierbot to bond with to support their mental and emotional development. And as a carrierbot, Blaster was preprogrammed with that desire to nurture and support. He hadn’t realized exactly how strong that desire was until he bonded with them, and began to believe that they were truly made for each other. Things were pleasantly domestic amongst the three of them for a long time. Blaster had what Rewind would call a “real job,” being a sound technician for clubs and theaters. Rewind was a sponge for knowledge and enrolled as a history student at a Polyhexian academy, and Eject was content staying at home to take care of housework, though he did enjoy sports and was part of a minibot division cube team.

As the vorns went on, Blaster’s dream of running his own radio show had gotten stronger and stronger, and Rewind and Eject became more and more independent. Eventually, Rewind had moved out of their home altogether, having accepted an archivist position for a prestigious research team over in Iacon, a rare and incredible opportunity for a cassettebot. Rewind was far too intelligent to stay in arm’s reach of Blaster for the rest of his life, so he and Eject fully supported his decision to leave, even if it was difficult for them. While Eject grew capable of spending time away from Rewind, he was still dependent on Blaster, and needed dedicated dock time in Blaster’s chest on a semi-regular basis, and Blaster was always happy to accommodate him. Eject and Blaster still live together, and the cassettebot was eager to help his carrierbot with his new radio job.

The program continued for several more joors, Blaster running through tracks and Eject making sure he ran all the ads for that broadcast. Once Eject gave the signal to wrap it up, Blaster turned the mic on for the last time that day.

“Alright, mechs and femmes, that was our last track for the day! Before we sign off, I want to let y’all know about our upcoming new segment here on The Polyhex Groove: Live Jam! We’ll be having musicians here with us in the studio, gettin’ to know them, and then gettin’ to know their music through a live performance! If you’re a musician or you know someone who is, hit me up on the Groove’s public comm line, and be sure to send a sample my way. That’s all for today. Blaster signing off and wishing y’all a good cycle!”

Eject gave him the OK, and Blaster turned off all the equipment in the studio. With a stretch, he sauntered out of the broadcasting studio and into the tech room where Eject waited.

“Good work in there today, Blast,” Eject greeted as he bounced off of the seat that was a little too tall for him.

“You too, ‘Ject. Couldn’t’ve done it without ya, as always,” Blaster grinned, “Say, wanna go out to fuel for dinner? We ain’t broadcasting tomorrow, and I wanna treat ya.”

“Sure!” Eject said happily, “Can I dock on the walk over?”

“‘Course,” Blaster replied easily. He opened up his chest compartment, and Eject bounded inside, transforming to his alt-mode along the way. He felt Eject relax over the bond and smiled to himself, feeling his cassettebot’s warm spark close to his. He packed up what needed to be taken back to their suite, and locked the door to the studio as he walked out.

It was early into the evening at the time they left, and many bots were out and about, returning back to their habsuites after a full work-cycle. Blaster hummed to himself and Eject as he walked down the street, some of the songs he played on the radio today having been stuck in his head. A pulse of curiosity emanated from Eject over the bond.

~You got a real nice singing voice, Blast. Why did you only ever sing to me and Rewind at home?~

~I just like to save it for people who’re special to me. Singin’ always felt like a vulnerable thing to me, y’know?~

~Uh, yeah, I think so.~ Eject responded over the bond. ~Feels real nice to hear your voice while I’m docked. I remember when you would sing those old lullabies while Rewind and I recharged in here.~

Blaster chuckled to himself and started humming a bit louder. A wave of relaxation/safe/calm washed over their bond. A moment later, a distant sensation of care/happiness/brotherhood pulsed back. Rewind must’ve felt Eject all the way from Iacon.

~Still, though.~ Eject sighed happily, and Blaster felt him settle deeper into his chest. ~Maybe you should join a band or something. I’m sure anyone would want you once they heard you sing. And it’d be nice extra income.~

~No way! I’m perfectly happy to talk over the radio, but I ain’t singing to just anybody. And if I ever performed with anyone else, whew, you best believe I’d want them to be my conjunx.~

~It’s really that deep, huh?~

~Like I said,~ Blaster huffed lightheartedly, ~It’s vulnerable stuff.~

Blaster and Eject settled down at a small restaurant not far from their habsuite. A small vidscreen was playing the news at a low volume from above the bar counter.

—coming to you live from Iacon. Tensions are still rising here at the Senate as the divide between Functionists and Non-Functionists grows more and more extreme, a news reporter announced over the screen, standing right outside the Senate building at Cybertron’s capitol, This comes not long after the violent miner revolt on Luna 2 when their work ethic was questioned. Yet our lord Sentinel Prime purports peace and efficiency in city-states with more functionist-leaning laws, citing the district of Petrex in Praxus as a major example. With things now changing on the Senate floor and the planet as a whole, the only question we have is: What does this mean for the future of Cybertron?

“I hope Rewind is okay,” Eject wondered aloud as he looked up at the vidscreen from their booth.

Blaster didn’t look up from the menu, “Why wouldn’t he be?”

“With all the functionist stuff,” Eject gestured loosely with one arm, “He’s over in Iacon now where the senators are fighting.”

“Senators always fight. That’s, like, part of the job description or whatever,” Blaster shrugged, “The politicians in Polyhex fight, too.”

Blaster sensed Eject pouting from behind his facemask, “Yeah, but in Polyhex they fight about things like what colors the streamers should be at the annual parade festival. This just feels like something different to me… I mean, why else would those miners be revolting about it all the way on Luna 2?”

Eject’s voice trembled slightly as he said in a near-whisper, “Rewind is living alone and he’s just a cassettebot… If mechs start revolting in Iacon, too, he’s…”

“I know you’re worried about Windey,” Blaster said in a softer tone as he put a comforting hand over Eject’s, “But it’s just usual boring politics stuff, OK? They argue about deeper things there just because that’s the capitol and those are the big, important senators. They’ve fought over similar issues for vorns, and Cybertron made it out alright through all of that. This time’s no different, trust me.”

Eject was still for a moment, and then hesitantly nodded, “I trust you.”

A waitress came and took their orders, and then a few moments after that, the duo was served their afternoon fuel. The news continued to play in a low drone while they indulged themselves in their dinner.

“So I have an idea, and you can tell me if it’s dumb,” Blaster swallowed down his bite and grinned, “For Live Jam, what if we promoted physical albums for the artists we invite to the broadcast? We set up a way for people to comm in and order an album, and then get it sent out to ‘em at the end of the show.”

“O-kay?” Eject replied quizzically.

“And then, we take a percentage of the sales! Boom, profit! Whaddya think?”

“I think we would still need ads to not go broke.”

“OK, but—“

“And how realistic would that be to accomplish between the two of us? Are we going to be packing and shipping the orders ourselves?” Eject narrowed his optics from behind his visor, “Do you expect me to answer the comms for orders?”

Blaster’s wide grin immediately flipped to a frown, “Alright, alright, I get it. It’s a bust.”

There was a brief moment of silence, Blaster playing with his food dejectedly, before he mumbled, “Maybe…maybe I’ll go back to sound tech.”

“You’re going to quit radio?” Eject asked in disbelief.

“No! ‘Course not,” Blaster said, with a smile that didn’t quite read as convincing, “The Polyhex Groove is important to me, and we ain’t unpopular. We get a lotta listeners. But I want it to be my thing. Our thing. And I want our thing to be a free broadcast that anyone can listen to, without us needing to accept every single ad deal that comes our way to stay afloat. If it means I’m gonna need a second job to do that, well, I don’t mind.”

Eject shifted antsily in his seat, “I can… I can get a job, too. I don’t think I’d be able to do anything as good as you and Rewind, but…”

“Aw, ‘Ject,” Blaster’s grin became a bit more genuine, “Just hearin’ ya consider it makes this carrierbot so happy. But I don’t want ya pushin’ yourself too hard, and you already do a lot for the Groove. Do you think you’re ready to go out and work?”

Eject thought for a moment before mumbling sadly, “Not sure… Being out of our habsuite, far away from you for too long… is hard…”

“That’s okay, buddy. Just ‘cause Rewind is working now doesn’t mean that you gotta. Besides—taking care of the habsuite, making dinner when I’m too tired, doing everything that you do for the radio, and being one of the top players for the Polyhex Petrorabbits? Sounds like you’re doing a lot on your own already,” Blaster then added with a smirk, “More than Rewind, even.”

Eject’s frame visibly untensed as he looked back up at his carrierbot, “Thanks, Blast.”

Eject then immediately perked up, “I do have an idea that might help, though. Handling comms for orders might be too much between the two of us, but what if we set up an interweb shop? We can sell albums there, and on one of our days off we can ship things out. That and you working sound maintenance again means we won’t need nearly as many ads.”

“‘Ject, you little genius!” Blaster beamed, “That’s my mech! I knew you’d come through!”

Eject beamed from the praise for the remainder of their dinner. On the walk back, with Eject happily docked in his chest, Blaster silently thanked Primus for letting him be Rewind and Eject’s carrierbot. As soon as they returned home, the cassettebot undocked and retired to his own quarters, and Blaster sent a comm message to a few of his old connections in sound maintenance for work.

A decacycle later, Blaster found himself walking into a club a few groons before opening to help with the sound systems. He had to be there almost immediately after ending his radio broadcast, so Eject offered to head back to their suite and get dinner ready for him once he was done with this next shift.

The club was a small, inconspicuous building sandwiched between a variety of larger restaurants, bars, and other nightclubs. If he wasn’t told where it was beforehand, Blaster wouldn’t have even been able to tell there was a club there. The clubroom itself wasn’t bad, though. There was a bar along the wall where a mech was currently getting ready to serve drinks for the night, a few tables by the entrance near the back taking up a little less than half of the room, with the other half serving as the dancefloor, and then a stage at the front big enough to fit a four-mech band.

The owner of the club, a small flyer named Cloudchaser, greeted Blaster as he finished scanning the room. “Hey mech, so glad you came to help out,” she said as she shook his servo.

“Don’t mention it,” Blaster replied, “Where d’ya keep the sound equipment?”

“Right backstage, follow me.”

“I’m just hopeless with this stuff,” Cloudchaser chuckled sadly as she started towards backstage, “I don’t have a big staff. We only have one sound technician, and with her bein’ hospitalized, we’re all spread pretty thin. What I get for thinking it’s as easy as turning a microphone on!”

“It’d be nice if it was,” Blaster joked with a short laugh. He put his servos on his hips and took stock of the various sound equipment, then asked, “So, what kinds’a bots are gonna be performing tonight? Any minibots or tankers?”

“Mostly mid-sized grounders—sorry, vehicle bots. But two of the bands have one minibot doing background vocals each.”

“Gotcha,” Blaster smiled, “I’ll set up some small mics for them and get everything ready over here.”

“Thanks mech, appreciate ya! If you need anything, let me know.”

Blaster got to work getting all the necessary sound equipment up and running. All of the processes were still practically burnt into his memory chip, even after all of these vorns, so it was pretty mindless work for him. He sent an inquiring ping to Eject over their bond just to check in on him, and Eject quickly responded with a good/affirmative. Smiling to himself, he hefted a pair of speakers and went to carry them to the stage. The speakers were large and blocked his view from right ahead of him, so he was looking down at his feet to watch his step. Yet, as he turned the corner to get onto the stage, he abruptly crashed into something in front of him. He let out an “oof!” as he scrambled to catch himself and then the equipment that started to slip from his arms.

“Yikes! Sorry Ripple—” the object—which turned out to be a mech, Blaster noticed belatedly as he looked up—reached out to help him catch the speakers. “Oh, you ain’t Ripple.”

“That the usual sound tech?” Blaster asked, straightening himself he shifted the speakers more securely into his arms, “I’m fillin’ in for her while she’s not working, least for tonight. Sorry for walkin’ in to ya. Designation’s Blaster.”

The mech blinked, “Hold up, Blaster? Like from The Polyhex Groove? That Blaster?”

Blaster smiled professionally, “The one and only.”

“No way!” the mech grinned widely, and his blue optic visor brightened slightly, “I love your show, mech! Can’t believe it didn’t click the moment I heard your voice!”

Blaster laughed, “Don’t sweat it, people can sound a lil different over the radio.”

“What’s got ya doing sound tech here?”

“Needed the extra shanix,” Blaster said, deciding to be honest, “I’m hopin’ to put less ads in the show. I was a sound tech before I started bein’ a radio host, so I still got some connections in the field.”

“Rock on, mech. Here, let me help.” The black-and-white mech relieved Blaster of one of the speakers before he had a chance to object. Oh well, it’s not like he didn’t appreciate it. He rarely got much help back when he regularly worked as a sound technician, so it was a pleasant change of pace. Besides, this mech seemed like a genuinely nice guy, smiling even though Blaster walked right into him and offering to help him out in the first place. Blaster directed the mech as to where to place the speaker and Blaster put his on the opposite end of the stage.

“Thanks a bunch, mech. You performing tonight?” Blaster remembered that the musicians were starting to file in a little bit before the club opened to prepare.

“Sure am. I play here regularly, Cloudchaser’s nice to me like that.”

“I’ll make sure the audience can hear you loud and clear, then! Say, mech, I didn’t get your designation.”

The visored mech grinned, “Jazz.”

Blaster couldn’t help but smile back, “Nice to meet ya, Jazz.”

Other than the encounter with Jazz, Blaster got the sound systems set up with no incident. Cloudchaser thanked him with a cube of mid-grade energon while he kept himself hooked up to the sound equipment backstage, monitoring the audio and making sure there were no glitches or system failures. One of the perks of working sound tech for a club is getting to listen to the performers without many distractions.

That was, until the familiar car mech approached him from behind at the end of an act. Blaster was deeply integrated into the system, and let out a yelp when Jazz suddenly rested his servo on Blaster’s shoulder.

“Whoa! Sorry, Blaster, didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“Just surprised me is all,” Blaster gave a shaky grin as he slowed his quickened pulse rate.

Jazz grinned apologetically, “I just wanted to see how you were holdin’ up. You barely moved an inch since the night started.”

“Yeah, having to hook up to the sound system doesn’t allow much movement,” Blaster gestured to the several wires plugged in to ports on his helm and frame. “I don’t mind, I’m used to it.”

“I ain’t distractin’ ya, am I?”

“Nah, not at all,” Blaster replied honestly, “Like I said, used to it. I could do this in my recharge.”

“You’re one talented mech,” Jazz complimented sweetly, and Blaster felt his cheeks warm up slightly. The boombox cleared his throat, and then gestured to the chair next to him. “You can sit down, if you wanna. I know you’re going on soon, so it’s up to you.”

“I’d love to,” Jazz accepted without a moment’s hesitation, taking the seat next to Blaster.

“So, how long have ya been performing here?” Blaster asked.

“About two vorns. It can be hard to get consistent work as an entertainer, so I’m lucky I have a place that lets me be a regular.”

“Ah, yep. I’ve met a lotta musicians over the vorns of me doing sound tech, but didn’t often see the same face more than twice.”

Jazz smiled again and—leaned in a bit closer to Blaster? “Hopin’ you’ll be seein’ me more than twice.”

Is he—Is Jazz flirting with him? Blaster’s no stranger to flirty mechs—he’s gotten his fair share of flirts from his excursions to nightclubs. He’s just never been flirted with at work before, where he can’t just brush a mech off or immediately start kissing them. In fact, he didn’t remember the last time he’s genuinely wanted to start flirting back. Jazz is a nice mech, and easy on the optics, too. Blaster didn’t mind being flirty back. He’s almost eager to.

He gave Jazz his smoothest smile, and shifted his frame, careful of the wires, so it was facing more towards the other mech. “I sure wouldn’t complain about that.”

“How long are ya gonna be a sound tech here?”

“As many times as Cloudchaser needs me, so long as it works with my schedule.”

“Lookin’ forward to workin’ with ya, then,” Jazz extended his servo.

“Likewise,” Blaster replied, shaking the other’s servo, and relishing a little at having the other mech’s palm in his. The following brief silence was comfortable as Blaster studied the way Jazz’s visor glowed warmly.

“Alright, next up, we got a regular of ours. Everyone, please give a warm welcome to Jazz!” Cloudchaser announced a little over halfway into the night. Blaster heard patrons whooping and hollering from the front of the club. Jazz broke optic contact first, reaching to pick up his electro-guitar as he stood.

“Catch ya later, Blaster.”

“Go get ‘em, cybercat.”

Directly into his audials through the microphone on stage, Blaster heard Jazz introduce himself to the crowd, mentioning that he was going to be performing some of his original songs. He noticed the crowd quieted down considerably more than they did with the previous performers, and a moment later he heard the gentle strumming of Jazz’s fingers on the electro-guitar.

Jazz began to perform a slow song. Although Blaster could faintly hear the mech’s voice resonate through the club, being integrated into the sound system, it felt as if Jazz was performing directly in front of him. As Jazz continued through his set, he couldn’t describe the musician’s performance as anything other than beautiful. The skill with the electro-guitar, coupled with the emotion in his voice, made for incredible, catchy, and moving songs. He understood why the crowd got so quiet when it was Jazz’s turn to play. He also wondered why Jazz was limited to being only a regular performer at a small club (no offense to Cloudchaser), and how he wasn’t already a celebrity. As Jazz wrapped up his setlist, Blaster had to praise the musician the only way he possibly knew how.

“You ever thought about bein’ on the radio?”

“You sure are happy,” Eject commented as he and Blaster made their way over to the broadcast studio early in the morning, several cycles after working at the club. Blaster’s excitement must’ve been leaking into their bond for Eject to have noticed.

“I am. We’re finally starting Live Jam today!”

“And that mech you met at the club is going to be our first guest,” Eject added.

“His designation is Jazz, ‘Ject,” Blaster reminded. His little cassettebot was pretty bad with designations.

“Right. Jazz,” Eject nodded thoughtfully, “You’re happy to see Jazz again.”

Blaster laughed awkwardly. Good ol’ blunt and honest Eject. Blaster unlocked the door to the studio and the two of them stepped inside. Eject tossed today’s itinerary onto his desk and started organizing everything, as he tended to do right when he entered the tech room, and Blaster walked into the broadcast studio and began setting up a second microphone. A few breems later, there was a knock on the door. With the tech room being connected to the entrance, Eject was the one to answer the door before Blaster could rush over.

“Hello,” Eject said simply, peering up at the vehiclebot towering above him.

“Hey, mech,” the voice of Jazz happily greeted Blaster’s audials from the broadcast room.

“Eject,” his cassettebot corrected flatly. Blaster cringed internally, hoping Jazz isn’t offended by the way Eject talks to strangers.

“Oh, sorry! Hey, Eject. I’m Jazz.”

“I know.” He didn’t know a mere twenty breems ago.

“Cool!” Jazz said happily. Thankfully he didn’t seem upset by Eject’s phrasing. Eject opened the door more, and Jazz walked in, scanning the studio.

“Hey, Jazz! Glad you could make it,” Blaster said with a grin, meeting the other mech in the tech room. The vehiclebot had his electro-guitar in its case hanging off one arm.

“You kiddin’? I’d never pass up a chance to be on The Polyhex Groove!”

“Still, I know it’s early in the cycle, so thanks.”

“Yeah, it’s good Jazz was okay with that. Because you were really excited for him to come, Blast,” Eject added, unhelpfully.

Blaster was sure his face tinged to a whole new shade the way the circuits behind it sparked with embarrassment. “Thank you, ‘Ject,” he dismissed quickly.

“I mean, really really excited,” Eject continued obliviously, “You normally only send those kinds of pings over the bond without thinking when you’re really into a mech, like that one other time when—”

“Thank you!” Blaster loudly interrupted, then started again at a slightly softer tone, “Thank you, Eject. Why don’t you get the track order ready, and I’ll show Jazz the broadcasting room?”

“‘Kay.”

Blaster escorted Jazz into the broadcasting room, and was sure to shut the soundproof door behind him. Jazz let out a whistle as he approached the table housing the microphones, “So this is where the magic happens.”

“Sure is,” Blaster replied, watching as Jazz took a look at the radio gadgets. “Sorry about ‘Ject, by the way. He can be a little forward sometimes, especially with strangers, but he’s a sweet mech.”

“Aw, don’t worry about that. He’s pretty funny,” Jazz said with a smirk as he turned to look at Blaster, “And honest?”

“Yeah,” Blaster avoided optic contact sheepishly, “Too honest.”

The boombox then reset his vocalizer with a forced cough. “Anyway. That’s your mic there,” he said as he pointed to the mic next to his usual spot. “It’ll be muted ‘til Live Jam, but you can sit there while I get through the first part of the broadcast if ya wanna, or you can stay in the tech room with ‘Ject.”

“If ya don’t mind, I’d love to stay here,” Jazz decided, “I promise I’ll be nice ‘n quiet.”

“Thanks. We’ll use a separate mic for your performance itself, over here.” Blaster excitedly directed Jazz to the standing microphone near the window to the tech room. “We’ll hook your audials up to the remote sound system, if that’s alright with you, along with your electro-guitar. It’ll make it easier for you to perform, and the electro-guitar will be able to broadcast directly into the radio frequency.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“We should do a test before we start the show today. Take your electro-guitar out for me?” Blaster walked up to the window, knocking twice, and then moved to produce the appropriate cables for the task. Jazz presented the electro-guitar, and Blaster plugged one of the cables into its port, and then two more cables into Jazz’s audial ports.

“Ready for sound test,” Eject announced over the speakers.

“Go ahead and strum on the electro-guitar,” Blaster prompted.

Jazz experimentally swept his thumb down the strings, and his visor brightened considerably. “Woah. I can hear my electro-guitar right in my audials!”

“Sounds good?” The radio host asked.

“Yeah! Primus, how cool is that?”

“Right?” Blaster agreed with a laugh, “Now try singing a note into your mic.”

Jazz stepped a bit closer to the microphone and sang one long note. Primus, even without words or a full melody the sound of Jazz’s singing has Blaster’s spark skipping a pulse. He felt like a newspark, the way he was crushing on another mech like this only after a couple of interactions. It wasn’t like it was one-sided, though. Jazz flirted first, after all, and he was pretty darn cute about it.

“That sounded good,” Eject reported, snapping Blaster out of his musings, “All systems are OK.”

“Perfect,” Blaster smiled and clapped his servos together. With the sound tests completed right on time, the trio got into their places and soon, the broadcast began.

“Aaaand, we’re back!” Blaster announced into the microphone as Eject signaled the end of an ad, “Next up, we have the debut of our new segment: Live Jam! And I wouldn’t have any other guest kickin’ off the new segment; I’m happy to welcome Jazz to the studio!” Blaster clapped as Jazz shot him a warm smile.

“I’m happy to be here,” Jazz replied into his own microphone while keeping his optics on Blaster, “And very honored to have been the first guest invited to Live Jam.”

“As y’all can hear, listeners, he’s quite the smooth talker.”

“Why, thank you,” Jazz chuckled, “But I’ve heard radio hosts make for even smoother talkers.”

“Hah! Easy now, cybertiger,” Blaster smirked wryly, “Alright, so to start, what kind of music do you perform?”

“Mm, well I try to dip my pedes in whatever intrigues me, so I’ve performed a few different genres. But I mostly do R&B, I’d say.”

“So would you say that R&B as a genre represents you best?”

Jazz nodded, “Yeah, I think that’s accurate.”

“What about R&B appeals to you most?”

“Well, while I like lotsa different genres, R&B is really that style I always fall back on… Especially when I’m writing my own songs—about livin’ my life, things I’m worried about in the world, lookin’ for love, whatever—expressing it through R&B always came the most naturally to me, y’know?”

Blaster nodded in understanding, “Yeah, I get that. The song you plan to perform to us soon is like that, right?”

“Yeah,” Jazz smiled, “It’s a tune about wantin’ to conjunx, even though every other important aspect of life seems to be goin’ to slag.”

Blaster laughed, “Hey, I’d say that’s important to some bots, too.”

“Ooh! And is Blaster one of those bots?” Jazz teased, lightly bumping the other mech on the arm.

Blaster put his servo to his chest, in a jokingly offended manner, “Hey, now! This segment is focused on you, mech!”

“Okay, okay,” Jazz relented, “Yeah, maybe I am one of those bots.”

“We got a maybe, folks!”

The two laughed for a moment. Though it was technically an interview, it felt so easy for Blaster to talk to Jazz. Their mannerisms, their humor, their dynamic—it felt like they synched perfectly. Maybe the carrierbot wore a rose-tinted visor because of his programming, but he wondered if it was realistic for the two of them to become something more than just flirty acquaintances. He wanted to woo this mech. He wanted to be closer to him, and see if something could flourish between them.

Blaster wrapped up the interview, and Eject put on an ad so they could get Jazz ready for his performance. Jazz slung his electro-guitar across his frame, and shifted on his pedes while Blaster once again hooked him up to the remote sound system.

“Is it weird to be a bit nervous about this?” Jazz said, still fidgeting, “I mean, I’m used to crowds ‘n all, but the radio…”

“It’s different,” Blaster finished the thought for him as he plugged in the last cable. He straightened himself, and put a comforting servo on Jazz’s shoulder as he gave the performer a warm smile. “You’ll do great, Jazz. Just get all the radio nonsense outta your helm. Act like you’re at the club and I’m the audience, or whatever makes you most comfortable.”

Jazz gave a grateful smile in return, “Thanks, Blaster. I’ll try that.”

As the ad ended, Blaster settled into a seat right in front of Jazz, and Eject gave the signal to begin. Jazz took one steadying invent, and then began to strum on his electro-guitar, keeping his optics on Blaster.

All night long I spent thinkin’
Is my life OK goin’ down this road it’s goin’?
Hardly got any shanix to my name
‘N ev’ry cycle Cybertron ain’t feel the same

The big mechs in Iacon line their subspace
The lil guys out here gettin’ forced outta place
Yeah, it’s hard out here for a mech like me
But I’m gettin’ by for ya—that’s my blessin’, baby

It’s damn hard out here for a mech like me
But still I wanna ‘junx ya—’cause you’re my blessin’, baby

Blaster couldn’t suppress the grin that widened on his face as Jazz continued to sing. Jazz, too, relaxed and a smile broke onto his face by the end of the first chorus. Sitting like this, it really did feel like Jazz was performing just for him. He wondered if Jazz felt the same way. With the way Jazz was looking at him, it felt like a very real possibility. That thought now in his mind, a faint blush started to creep onto Blaster’s face. It felt like a cheesy romance movie, having a love song sung to him like this. Having a conjunx, let alone a partner, wasn’t usually on the forefront of his mind, though he did hope to find somebody someday. It was hard for a carrierbot to find love with anyone other than another carrierbot—non-carriers had a tendency to simply see the minibots they took care of as added baggage, or as people they could totally separate from the carrierbot. Blaster didn’t want somebody who ever saw his Rewind and Eject as burdens, nor did he want someone who had no desire to become close with his cassettebots either. He wondered if Jazz would be the kind of mech to love Blaster and his cassettebots all the same—to romance and respect Blaster, to worry about Rewind even though he rarely comes to visit, to want to understand Eject and care for him irregardless.

Jazz finished the song, and it felt like it ended too soon. Blaster wouldn’t have minded hearing him sing for a little longer. He wouldn’t mind hearing him sing every cycle.

There was only a little bit of the broadcast left after Live Jam, and Blaster invited Jazz to head out if he wanted to, but the musician opted to stay and watch. For the remainder of the show, Jazz decided to stay in the tech room with Eject so he didn’t have to worry about accidentally making any noise while Blaster worked. A few glances over to the window while talking showed that Jazz was sitting in a chair a little ways away from the window, but leaned forward in keen interest. Blaster laughed a bit in his head; it was surely Eject’s doing, not wanting the stranger near his desk or the equipment, forcing him to a very specific spot in the tech room.

As Blaster stepped out of the studio after ending the broadcast for that cycle, Jazz approached him, extending his servo. “Thanks again for the opportunity, Blaster. You got no idea how much this means to me.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Blaster smiled, shaking Jazz’s outstretched servo, “And to answer the question asked earlier: Yeah, I am.”

Jazz tilted his helm in clear confusion, “You’re gonna have to clarify for me, mech.”

Blaster tittered, “During Live Jam, you asked if I was the kind of mech who thought finding a conjunx was important. Couldn’t answer durin’ the segment, ‘course, but—Yeah. I am.”

“Ooh, so we got a yes,” Jazz smirked, keeping Blaster’s servo in his, “So how’s that goin’ for ya? Got any solid contenders?”

“Mmh, maybe. I hope so. But I’d like to get to know him a lil better first, find out if he’s a real gentlemech or not, y’know?”

“I totally get ya. And a real gentlemech would ask ya out on a date first, yeah? To a nice restaurant, but nothin’ too fancy. Do I still get ya?”

“You get me.”

“So if that gentlemech said he was goin’ to be meetin’ ya at your place in a half a decacycle to pick you up for that date, what would you say?”

Blaster grinned, “Perfect.”

“‘Ject, are you all set here while I’m gonna be out?” Blaster asked while carefully examining himself in a mirror. He got a fresh polish in anticipation for his date tonight, but he still had to do a last-groon check to ease his anxieties. He worriedly felt around his face in particular for any lingering scratches or dings.

“Yeah,” Eject replied from the couch at the far end of the room, kicking his feet rhythmically, “There’s a game on tonight. Midframe division.”

“Sounds fun, ‘Ject. Don’t forget to have dinner.”

“I won’t. You want me to make enough for leftovers?”

“I mean, if you’re offering…” Blaster trailed off, shooting Eject a wry grin.

“I wasn’t, but I suppose one of us has to make sure there’s something in the fridge unit for when you go to look for fuel still in half-recharge,” Eject deadpanned.

“What would I do without you?”

“I dunno,” the minibot shrugged, “Go broke, go hungry, go crazy?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Blaster laughed. Finally satisfied with his appearance, he stepped away from the mirror and came a bit closer to the cassettebot, placing his servos on his hips, “Hey, how do I look? I need your patent honesty.”

Eject looked him up and down, “You look like you usually do, but without all the wear and tear. A little shinier, too.”

“Perfect! Thank you.”

“Jazz doesn’t seem like the type of mech who would care if you’re polished or not,” the smaller mech commented as he looked back at the vidscreen.

“I don’t think he is, either. I just want to look nice for him, y’know?”

Eject looked up in thought for a moment before nodding, “Yeah, I think so. Like how we all got polished for Rewind’s graduation ceremony?”

“Yeah, somethin’ like that,” Blaster agreed, “Speakin’ of your brother, didn’t you mention the other cycle that he commed you about his next visit?”

“Oh! Yeah,” Eject’s voice notably got more excited, “He said in three orbital cycles, he’s coming up here for a visit. He can only stay for one cycle, though.”

“Typical,” Blaster rolled his optics, but then smiled again, “Oh well, can’t complain. At least he’s visitin’. We should do somethin’ nice for him since he’s workin’ so hard.”

“I’ll try to think of something!”

“Awesome, let me know what you come up with.” Just as Blaster got the sentence out, his comm pinged. Jazz had just pulled up outside and was waiting for him. “Time for me to go, ‘Ject. Don’t go into recharge on the couch, ‘kay?”

“I will have dinner and I will not go into recharge on the couch.”

Blaster snickered, “That’s it, you’re the best. Enjoy your game!”

“Enjoy your date.” The two waved each other goodbye, and the boombox stepped out of their apartment.

As Jazz watched Blaster approach him, a wider and wider smile crept onto his face. Blaster couldn’t help but grin a bit demurely in return. Working with Jazz was one thing, but a date… The red mech was suddenly and uncomfortably hyper-aware of himself.

“Hello, Jazz,” Blaster said softly. Once he was close enough, Jazz took both of the other’s servos in his.

“Hey, Blaster. You look amazing.” Jazz couldn’t have sounded more genuine in his compliment, and it eased Blaster’s nerves. He let out an easy laugh.

“So do you.”

“Ready to go?”

“You know it.”

Jazz released one of Blaster’s servos, keeping the other in his hand as he led them away from the apartment. The vehiclemech wanted to take Blaster to a restaurant over in the district of Polyhex where he lived, Staniz. Unfortunately it was no short walk, and Blaster didn’t have a mobile alt-mode. They would have to use public transport to get to the area, which Blaster felt pretty bad about, but Jazz was insistent. It was strange to see someone with a mobile alt-mode on the transport cars, and it wasn’t uncommon for the passengers to send looks to someone entering the car with visible wings or treads. With functionist rhetoric and the bigotry it brings becoming more prevalent, the atmosphere in a car when a vehiclemech or flyer steps inside can feel downright oppressive, even in the usually peaceful city-state of Polyhex.

Thankfully, the ride to Jazz’s district passed without incident. Although Jazz led the way for the most part up to the transport stop, Blaster made sure he stepped into the car first, and held tightly onto Jazz’s servo as he followed behind him. There were some sidelong glances at Jazz as he sat uncomfortably next to Blaster, but once they got to talking he eased up. Blaster kept their digits interlocked the entire ride, too, as an extra layer of comfort, even if it was a bit self-indulgent as well. Only once they reached their stop and exited the car, however, was when Jazz was fully back to his lax self.

The restaurant that Jazz had picked out for them was a perfect place for a first date. A live band performed near the front of the establishment, but the music was lowkey and unobtrusive. There was a large bar where a good number of mechs were sitting and socializing, and booths near the other end for people who preferred a more intimate dining experience. Jazz led them over to one of the booths, where they would be able to focus on each other and dine comfortably. After settling in, a waiter brought them two cubes of energon.

“Sorry if the transport made you uncomfortable,” Blaster blurted out the moment the waiter walked away.

A relaxed huff of laughter escaped Jazz, “Don’t worry about that, mech. It was just my first time in a transport car, ‘s all.”

“Still, I know how those things can be for mechs who got wheels on ‘em. It ain’t nice to be judged.”

“You’re right, but I don’t blame ‘em. Everywhere else outside of the transports, lots of those mechs are bein’ judged every day just ‘cause of their alt-modes.”

“Ah, yeah,” Blaster agreed awkwardly, unaccustomed to discussing these kinds of issues with anyone other than his cassettebots. “Oh! Uh, I didn’t tell you this, but I actually got two bots bonded with me. Eject has a spark brother, his name is Rewind. One of the smartest mechs you’d ever meet—if you could. Even though he’s a cassette, he got a job at a research facility in Iacon. Rarely visits.”

“That’s awesome! Even though he doesn’t stop by ‘Hex often. Job like that for a cassettebot is just about unheard of.”

“Yeah, we were all so surprised when he was offered the position. He’s killin’ it out there. Maybe next time he visits, I can introduce you to him.”

“I’d like that,” Jazz smiled, “How’d ya meet them anyway? I’m gonna be honest and say I don’t know much about carrierbots and minis.”

“That’s okay. There’re agencies all over Cybertron that connect carrierbots with minibots who need one,” Blaster rubbed the back of his neck cables sheepishly, “To be honest, as a newspark after being constructed and for a long while after that, I had zero interest in being some minibot’s carrier. I thought Primus cursed me with my function when I could’ve been something cool like a speedster or a truck. Though I ain’t complainin’ about havin’ speakers.” Blaster gestured to the large ones on his legs.

“Eventually I did some proper reading. Learned that carrierbots without any minis can get behavioral problems and stuff—just like some minibots without a carrier. Might’ve been why I was so bad at keepin’ friends,” Blaster chuckled, “Also learned that bein’ a carrierbot doesn’t mean I’m joined at the hip with someone else without a say in it. That I don’t gotta be some mech’s caregiver or anythin’ if I don’t wanna be. So then I said, ‘Ah, what the hell,’ and visited a connection agency. Just to look.”

Blaster looked down at his servos on the table as he smiled warmly, recalling the memory, “There were two cassettebots there bein’ a couple of real menaces to the other minis in the room. Apparently they had some major problems, not bein’ bonded with a carrierbot, and were livin’ on the streets. After gettin’ picked up by the enforcers, they were sent to the connection agency. They were bein’ forced into a box without a say in it. Just like me.”

The boombox looked back up at the visored mech, who was listening intently. “I think it was pretty in character for me to pick out the two loudest minis in that room. But I met the most important people in my life that day.”

“That’s amazin’, Blaster,” Jazz said softly, “Honestly. It’s awesome that y’all found each other. You ‘n Eject seem pretty close, and I’m sure it’s the same for Rewind. You’re great for each other.”

“Thanks,” Blaster replied, a smile still on his face as he relaxed a bit more into the seat. He took a sip of his energon, and then asked, “What about you, Jazz? I can’t be the only one here sharin’ life stories.”

Jazz laughed, “Well, what about me do you wanna know? That you haven’t asked durin’ the interview.”

“Are there any crazy exes I need to know about?”

“No, ‘course not!” Jazz exclaimed, before pausing. “Well, actually, let me count…” The mech appeared to be in deep thought as he counted on his digits.

Blaster’s optics widened, mouth gaping slightly, “Are you for real?”

Jazz cackled, “Nah, just kiddin’! Shoulda seen your face though.”

“Oh, very funny!” Blaster remarked sarcastically, hiding his laughter behind his cube of energon.

Soon, the waiter came back and took their orders, and they got a bottle of some nice engex to share. Jazz poured Blaster and him cubes of the engex respectively, and Blaster took a moment to enjoy the pleasant charge of high-grade down his intake.

“Did you always know you wanted to be a musician?” Blaster asked after placing his cube back on the table.

Jazz nodded, “Just about always. Though, since I was forged a speedster, I was pressured to do other things for a long time. I actually used to work in security.”

“Really? How was that?”

“A lot more borin’ than it sounds,” Jazz chuckled with a shrug, “I got some combat trainin’, but nothin’ serious, not like what enforcers get. It paid well, but it didn’t make me very happy. Eventually I got fed up with it and started followin’ my passion. Polyhex is the forgeplace of music-lovers, after all. I love it here, and I love makin’ music here.”

“Ya got that right,” Blaster agreed.

“Do you make any music, Blaster?” Jazz grin widened, and he leaned in a bit closer.

“I can play the electro-guitar and cyber-keyboard. And I sing sometimes.”

“Ooh! When am I gonna get to hear that?”

“Maybe someday. If you’re lucky.”

The rest of the dinner went exceedingly well. Whether engaged in a deep conversation or just making light jokes, Blaster enjoyed every second of it. The two did nearly lose themselves in the fun of it all and had just a tad too much engex between them, but neither got past the point of a very pleasant buzz. Jazz, the gentlemech that he swore he was, graciously paid for everything. It may have been the effect of the engex that had Blaster instead opting to wrap his arms around Jazz’s as they left, rather than holding servos. Jazz’s frame gave off a comforting warmth as Blaster pressed himself into it.

It wasn’t too late into the night when they left the restaurant, so Jazz showed Blaster around the district. Blaster didn’t come out to this section of Polyhex too often, as it was mainly a residential area far from his own. The red mech kept himself snugly attached to Jazz as they promenaded. When the other mech laughed, he could faintly feel the shake of it transfer to his own frame, too.

“You good, Blast?” Jazz asked. It was the first time he used that nickname. Blaster didn’t mind.

“Mmmhm,” Blaster hummed affirmatively, “Just comfy.”

“Do you wanna head back to my place? You can stay the night.”

Blaster turned his helm to look at Jazz, who was looking back at him with a small grin. Blaster smiled back apologetically, “I’d’ve loved to. But I can’t. Remember what I told you about minibot behavioral problems? ‘Ject will need me in the morning.” Or possibly the middle of the night, though Blaster didn’t mention that. Eject didn’t dock earlier in the cycle because he had practice, nor did he the cycle before, which usually caused him to wake Blaster late into the night with a fuss asking to recharge in there.

“No worries, I understand. Can I drop you off at your apartment?”

“I’d like that,” Blaster replied gratefully without a second thought.

The two walked to the closest transport stop. There were a couple of other mechs waiting there, who did double takes once noticing Jazz’s wheels, but then very obviously and very purposefully avoided looking over again. Realizing that Jazz would have to get on the transport again, Blaster hugged his arm a bit tighter. Jazz leaned some of his frame weight towards Blaster in response, and the boombox tried to settle his growing unease. When the transport arrived, Blaster took a cautious step inside.

The moment the passengers in the car noticed Jazz, conversations lowered to a hush, so Blaster already knew it was going to be one of those rides. The duo settled in an available space in the middle of the car, and pairs of optics tracked their movement the whole way. Some of the mechs inside weren’t even trying to be subtle about their judging gazes.

“You good?” Jazz whispered to Blaster. He looked over at the speedster, whose optics were focused only on him.

Blaster couldn’t help but snort quietly, “I should be asking you that.”

“I’m alright,” Jazz smiled. It eased Blaster a bit, and he let out a grounding exvent as he reclined further into the seat, trying to appear more relaxed.

It was calm for all of a few breems. Then, the mech right next to them—one of the bots who leered at them their entire walk to their seat—mumbled to his partner loud enough for everyone in the immediate vicinity to hear, “Fragging mobiles.”

“What was that?” Blaster immediately snapped, optics immediately pinning the mech with a furious glare.

“Blaster—” Jazz started, trying to get the carrierbot to focus on him instead, but Blaster was having none of it.

“No, no. I want him to repeat himself,” Blaster interrupted pointedly, before turning back to the other mech, “What’d ya fragging say, mech?”

The stranger put his servos up in a mockingly placating manner, his optics still holding the same intensity of judgment as before, “Chill out, mech. I ain’t talking to you.”

“No, but you’re talkin’ about my partner right next to me, you skidmark.”

The mech narrowed his optics, “Who are you callin’ skidmark, tread-kisser?”

Jazz nearly toppled over with the speed and aggression at which Blaster shot out of his seat. The other mech raised himself too, bumping his frame into Blaster in the process.

“Call me that again, fragger!” Blaster challenged, and the stranger somehow got even closer into his space. Jazz stood on his pedes, too, right behind the enraged boombox, still trying to convince him to look over at him instead.

“I’m just callin’ it like I see it, mech! What’s he gonna give you for goin’ on a date with him, huh? A new job, a bit of shanix? Another willing victim of functionist deception,” the mech spat, shoving Blaster forcefully.

Right as Blaster began winding up to get into a full on brawl with the mech in the car, he was moved aside. In a split moment, Blaster’s optics caught the sight of Jazz suckerpunching the other mech with a surprising force and speed. The mech’s frame, shaken by the surprise punch, went down onto the car floor. His partner immediately scrambled to help him back up, but he shoved the other mech off of him as he stood again, wiping leaking energon from his busted lip.

“I don’t care if you talk slag about me, but don’t you fraggin’ dare insinuate things about my partner. I ain’t afraid to do that again if you don’t understand,” Jazz threatened, his voice an icy cold. The car was deathly silent as everyone watched, mouths agape and huddled in on themselves, as the two mechs stared each other down, challenging the other to try or say anything else. After what felt like an eternity of no one moving, speaking, or venting, the car rolled to a stop, and a pleasant chime was heard over the speakers as the doors opened.

“This is stupid,” the stranger grumbled, shoulder checking Jazz as he started to walk out of the car. His partner followed close behind him, much more worried about the state of the other mech’s face than to bother acknowledging the two they walked past. Only after the doors closed and the car began to move again did Jazz sag back into his seat.

“Slag, Blast, ‘m sorry,” Jazz said quietly in a pained tone.

Blaster settled next to Jazz and placed his servos over the other mech’s, “No, Jazz, I’m sorry. I lost my cool and didn’t listen to ya. I shouldn’t’ve done that, I just—hearin’ him say that stuff about ya…”

“Aw, Blast, you have no idea how much it means to me that you’d defend me like that. I just didn’t want ya gettin’ hurt.” Jazz leaned towards Blaster and nuzzled his helm into his gently.

Blaster reciprocated the gesture, “Same to you.”

After a brief moment of cuddling, a smooth smile formed on Jazz’s face. “You called me your partner,” he said softly.

“Yeah,” Blaster smiled, “And you called me yours.” Blaster reached over to cup Jazz’s face in his servos, feeling the smooth metal on his thumb as he rubbed it, before pulling the vehiclemech in for a kiss. The other mech brought his servos to Blaster’s waist, twisting his helm slightly to deepen the kiss. After a moment, the speakers chimed again, and they broke the embrace. With a wide grin, Blaster held Jazz’s servo as they walked out of the transport.

As promised, Jazz accompanied Blaster all the way back to the apartment. The two paused at the door, looking at one another one last time for the night.

“Well, despite what happened at the end, I had a great time with ya tonight,” Jazz said.

Blaster nodded, “Me too. Oh, here.” Jazz’s comm pinged with a message, and when he opened it it contained a short code. “The passcode to the radio station,” Blaster clarified, “You’re welcome to swing by whenever ya can. Don’t even gotta give a head’s up.”

Jazz laughed, “Would Eject be fine with that?”

“If ya come often enough, he’ll get used to it.”

“If ya say so. See you again soon?” Jazz asked.

Blaster nodded, “I sure hope so. Goodnight, Jazz.”

Jazz leaned in for one last, soft kiss on the lips. “Goodnight, Blaster.”

“Blast…” Blaster heard his name being called, from a faraway, foggy voice. He groaned a bit and shifted himself, but quickly began to fall back into deep recharge.

“Blaster…c’mon…” the voice whined, starting to sound upset. Then, servos started prodding at his chest seams, and the surprising sensation jolted him out of recharge with a sharp invent.

“‘Ject…?” Blaster slurred, cycling his optics quickly in the dark of his berthroom. A blobby figure was lying on top of him, digits dug into the seam where his dock opened.

“Sorry. I can’t…It’s…” Eject mumbled desperately, voice a warble as he failed to finish the thought, “Wanna dock…please?”

“Yeah. Yeah, buddy,” Blaster opened up his compartment. Eject practically scrambled inside, the sound of his transformation loud in the stark silence of the room. Blaster’s dock clicked closed, and Eject sighed in relief over the bond as he started to calm down.

~You shouldn’t let it get that bad, ‘Ject.~ Blaster gently chastised, ~You’ll upset Rewind.~

~I’m sorry.~ Eject sent a small wave of remorse over the bond, ~I didn’t want to bother you… You felt so happy when you came home. And you were so peaceful in your recharge.~

~You wouldn’t’ve bothered me. I always let ya recharge in the dock.~

~Yeah, but…~

~But?~

The words came over the bond so quietly that Blaster could barely detect it, ~Rewind doesn’t even need to dock anymore, so I thought maybe I could last just a little longer this time…~

~Hey, hey. We’ve been over this, ‘Ject.~ Blaster responded softly. ~You ain’t Rewind, and that’s okay. Rewind may not need to dock anymore, but he still does things to keep himself calm, like readin’ and watchin’ documentaries. What’s wrong with you needin’ to dock to do that?~

~...I dunno.~

~You don’t know ‘cause there ain’t nothing wrong with that. ‘Sides, I love spending time with you like this. You don’t want me gettin’ empty dock syndrome, do ya? How embarrassin’ would that be?~ Blaster laughed.

Eject laughed over the bond, too. ~It’d be pretty funny.~

~Well, I’m glad ya think so.~

There was a momentary silence, before Eject sighed again. ~...I’ll be more mindful. Hey, I don’t think I say it often enough, but thanks for being such a good carrier.~

~Thanks for bein’ such an awesome cassette.~ Blaster rubbed his servo over his chest as he offlined his optics once more, and within a moment, had fallen back into a peaceful recharge.

Chapter Text

“Let’s go, Petrorabbits! Push, ‘Ject!! PUSH!!!” Blaster yelled from the stands, raising himself to his pedes as he cupped his servos to the sides of his mouth.

Jazz laughed and gently tugged Blaster back down by the arm, “Sit back down, Blast! You’re gonna get us kicked out!”

Blaster twisted his frame a bit to look over at Jazz with a wide smile, and allowed himself to be coaxed back into his seat, “They won’t! It only happened once, after I tried to get to the front!” A staff member nearby gave them a very knowing, very tired gaze.

It’s been two orbital cycles since their first date, and for all intents and purposes they were “official.” Well, as official as two non-conjunxed mechs who regularly spend the night in one another’s berths could be. Blaster wondered if someday they would be able to get to that point. Being Jazz’s conjunx endura. The thought made Blaster’s spark flutter. The red mech wasn’t in a rush, though. He treasured what he had now with the speedster, and they had all the time on Cybertron to figure it out.

This was Jazz’s first time at a cube game with Blaster, and his first time seeing Eject play. It was a home game against the Vaporex Viperbots, and the Petrorabbits were well in the lead. At this rate, they may finally end up at the championships in Iacon this season. He wondered briefly if Rewind could accommodate both him and Eject in his apartment, and maybe show them around the capitol. Blaster didn’t remember the last time he left northern Cybertron.

Blaster glanced over at Jazz, whose visor was intently watching the field. He tracked the direction of his optics, and saw that they were trained on Eject. His cassettebot was sprinting close behind another minibot on the opposing team, trying to find an opening to snag the cube she was holding from her arms. His partner jumped a bit in excitement when Eject leapt in for the steal, and a wide grin stretched onto Blaster’s face.

“I love you,” Blaster blurted out.

Jazz looked over at him, optics bright with surprise. Blaster tightened his jaw, suddenly worried he shouldn’t have said that. He tried not to let his anxiety slip through the bond while Eject was playing, his mind racing with questions of if it was too soon to say something like that, or if Jazz didn’t see their relationship as seriously as he thought.

But then Jazz smiled back brightly, and the momentary anxiety washed away. “I love you too,” he said. Blaster linked his digits with Jazz’s, staring at his partner with adoration, before turning his attention back to the game.

“‘Ject! You killed it out there, my mech!” Blaster excitedly congratulated the minibot as he approached him, lifting him into the air. Most of the staff at the stadium were aware that Blaster was Eject’s carrierbot, so they allowed him and Jazz to wait by the player and staff only exit for his cassette.

“Thanks, Blast,” Eject replied, allowing himself to be lifted. He then noticed Jazz standing behind his carrier. “Hi, Jazz.”

“Hey, Eject! Glad I could finally catch one of your games!” Jazz waved.

Blaster set his cassette back on the ground and he nodded, “Glad you could make it, too. We had a good game today.”

“You’re tellin’ me! You’re a really good player, y’know that?”

Eject rubbed the back of his neck cables bashfully, “My coach and teammates may have said similar things.”

“Hah! I bet.”

Blaster looked down at Eject, “You and the team gonna have a party tonight to celebrate?”

“Oh! Yeah,” Eject nodded, “I have some time before that, though.”

“Why don’t we head back to my place?” Jazz proffered, “It’s not far from the stadium. We can walk it.”

“I’d be down for that. ‘Ject?”

“Okay.”

The trio began heading back towards Jazz’s apartment at a leisurely pace. They made smalltalk along the way—Blaster discussing a band he’s going to host at the next Live Jam, Eject mentioning some things that had happened during the game today, and Jazz talking about his upcoming shows.

As they began to approach a nearby park, they heard a faint ruckus. Not the sound of fighting, or any kind of riot, but rather protesting—mechs chanting, and yelling in frustrated agreement. As they got closer, they began to see a small crowd just outside the perimeter of the park, some mechs holding signs and others throwing their fists in the air.

“More than my function! No more deception!”

The three slowed down as they got closer to the protestors, who were standing across the street. They paused for a moment to watch.

“Primus, what’s going on over there?” Blaster grimaced, trying to make sense of it all.

“A protest against the functionist Senate.” The trio jumped at the sudden voice behind them. They snapped their helms around, to be greeted by a mid-sized vehiclemech smiling at them politely.

“Hello, friends,” the mech said, still grinning, “You’ve been hearing about what’s going on in Iacon, correct?” His accent sounded Iaconian, but Blaster could detect something a little off about it. Like it was done with conscious effort.

Blaster and Jazz exchanged wary glances. Jazz spoke up first, “I mean, yeah. With the functionists gettin’ popular?”

The mech nodded, “Yes, it’s all very unfortunate. Even our lord the Prime is beginning to listen to their beliefs.”

The mech looked around, and then leaned in closer to them, covering the side of his mouth as he said in a whisper, “They’ve done something to Senator Shockwave. Performed empurata on him, but have done something else, too.”

Jazz cycles his optics in surprise, “What? Ain’t that the senator that was real vocal about bein’ against functionism?”

“What did they do to him?” Eject asked quietly.

“No one knows for sure,” the mech shrugged, face hardened, “But he’s allowing the functionists to take over the Senate now. He hasn’t opposed a single bill they’ve presented since. Isn’t that strange?”

“What’s that got to do with us, though?” Blaster asked cynically, “The functionists are still a minority in the Polyhex Local House, and their decisions affect us a whole lot more than what they decide in Iacon.”

The vehiclemech, rather than get defensive at Blaster’s blatant scrutiny, nodded his head, “And thank Primus for that, right? But what happens in Iacon very much affects Polyhex as well. I mean, look at what happened to Praxus: over the course of just less than a vorn after the functionists became prominent in Iacon, the functionists at their Local House became the majority, and now they’re all living under bigoted rule. On top of that, in the Senate functionists are slowly introducing new laws to expand their power over the entirety of Cybertron. And it appears they are using very underhanded tactics to do so.”

“Why’re you tellin’ us all this, mech?” Jazz spoke up, taking a step away from the stranger. The stranger didn’t look offended, instead simply straightened himself and regarded the three of them.

“Just looking out for my fellow neighbors, and you all seemed interested in the demonstration. Us little people need to stick together to protect everyone from Senate deception,” the mech then held out his servo, “I’m Wildrider.”

Blaster cautiously shook it, “Blaster. This is my partner and my cassettebot.” Blaster gestured to Jazz and Eject respectively, but purposefully omitted their designations. “You moved here from Iacon?”

“Nice to meet you. And yes, not too long ago. I was looking for better opportunities.”

“So you became a demonstration organizer,” Blaster replied flatly.

Wildrider simply laughed, “Just on the side, this isn’t my ‘real’ job. If any of you are ever interested in helping out, come find me at a demonstration. We’re always looking for new volunteers. Take care of yourselves.”

With a wave, Wildrider walked across the street back to the protestors. The three stared for another moment, and then resumed their walk back towards Jazz’s apartment, still processing the strange interaction.

“That mech lied,” Blaster finally hissed after they put some distance between themselves and the protest.

“Yeah, the demonstration was pretty shady all around,” Jazz shrugged in agreement.

“No, I mean about him being from Iacon. His accent was fake,” Blaster furrowed his brow in contemplation, “Why d’ya lie about somethin’ like that?”

“If he’s not from Iacon, where is he from then?” Eject asked, trying to steal one last glance at the protest far away.

“Not sure…Kaon, maybe?” The lilt in his vocal processor sounded very vaguely of a native Kaonite, but it was difficult to tell with him trying to mask it.

“Kaon…” Eject echoed, “Is there something specific happening in Kaon that would make a mech want to hide being from there?”

“What isn’t happening in Kaon? Fighting rings, smugglers, arms dealers…” Jazz frowned and looked at the path ahead of them, “If we don’t know the specific reason a mech doesn’t want anyone knowing they’re from Kaon now, I bet we will soon.”

As soon as the frown appeared on Jazz’s face it disappeared, as he turned his helm to face Blaster with his usual relaxed smile, “And here I thought I had good audials. How could ya tell his accent was fake?”

Blaster smiled back, “Did a lotta studyin’ on public speakin’ before I started bein’ a radio host. Some of those vid tutorials I watched were by Kaonites. And I learned how to spot the signs of someone speakin’ purposefully versus casually.”

“Damn, that’s impressive!” Jazz whistled.

“You find anything I do impressive,” Blaster replied bashfully, averting his optics.

“‘Cause you’re impressive. My impressive partner,” Jazz said in a singsong tone, wrapping an arm around Blaster’s waist to bring him closer.

“Eugh,” Eject groaned quietly with a moue.

The couple was relaxing on Jazz’s couch later that night. Jazz made dinner for them, and then shortly afterward Eject departed for his party. They were cuddled up next to one another, Blaster with one arm slung over Jazz as the other mech leaned in to him. The vidscreen was playing a mindless sitcom.

“Hey,” Blaster started softly, and Jazz hummed in acknowledgment as he glanced at the red mech, “Thanks for, y’know. Comin’ to ‘Ject’s game, hangin’ out with him durin’ broadcasts, makin’ dinner tonight, bein’ amazing. Everything. Thanks.”

Jazz leaned in for a quick kiss, “You’re welcome. I love Eject. I love you.”

Blaster returned the kiss, chuckling gently, “I’m glad you ain’t a traditional mech. I was worried you wouldn’t want me sayin’ ‘I love you’ or anything when we haven’t completed the conjunx ritus.”

“I am anything but a traditional mech. Though…” Jazz drifted off for a second, his gaze moving away, before he settled his optics back on Blaster, “Ritus? Then, is it safe for me to assume, back on our first date, that story you shared about you ‘n the cassettes… I didn’t want to jump the gun, but…”

Blaster’s smile widened, “I wanna do somethin’ for you. Can I borrow your electro-guitar?”

Before Jazz could agree, Blaster was off the couch and walking towards his berthroom (he already knew Jazz would say yes). He knew exactly where Jazz kept it, and carried the case back out to the main room. Jazz had turned the vidscreen off as Blaster was getting it, so the boombox stood before the couch, taking the instrument out of its case. He slung the strap over his shoulder and plugged the cable into his speaker port before looking toward the mech in front of him.

“If I’m bein’ honest, I didn’t mean for that to be an Act of Disclosure when I first said it,” Blaster admitted with a grin, trying to shrug away his nerves, “But I’d like it to be, now. If you’re alright with that.” The smile on Jazz’s face only broadened as he gave a small nod.

“So! Consider this an Act of Proferrence. Or Intimacy. On top of the truckloads of intimacy we’ve already had, I guess. Whatever! I ain’t a traditional mech either.”

The two laughed together at their mutual silliness, and then Blaster reset his vocal synthesizer. With a steady hand, he strummed on the electro-guitar and closed his optics.

All night long I spent thinkin’
Is my life OK goin’ down this road it’s goin’?
Hardly got any shanix to my name
‘N ev’ry cycle Cybertron ain’t feel the same

The words flowed out of his mouth with ease. He had put his own rock-ish spin on the piece, as opposed to the original R&B that Jazz had created. He wanted the other mech to know that it was from him, expressing the feelings he held for his partner deep within his spark, and that he wasn’t simply mirroring back anything that Jazz felt. After he first heard Jazz sing this song, back on his radio broadcast all those cycles ago, he had hoped that one day the musician would truly perform this song just for him. But now, with their roles reversed, Blaster could not feel any happier. He wanted Jazz to know how he felt. His song felt like the best way to show him.

It’s damn hard out here for a mech like me
But still I wanna ‘junx ya—’cause you’re my blessin’, baby

Jazz remained perfectly still the entire performance, his smile constant and comforting, as he intently listened to each word Blaster had sung as if he were hearing it for the very first time. As Blaster strummed the last note on the electro-guitar, he released a grounding exvent and gave the other mech an anxious smile. It was only then that Blaster had noticed the minute tremble in Jazz’s frame, and upon spotting that, a tiny drop of coolant spilled out from behind his visor.

“Oh, Jazz,” Blaster sighed, spark heavy with all of his emotion—all of his love for Jazz. He scrambled up to him, letting the electro-guitar hang loose across his frame. He brought the other mech into his arms, crushing him in a tight embrace. Jazz reciprocated eagerly, wrapping his arms around Blaster in desperation, as if anything in this universe could break them apart.

“I ain’t usually so emotional,” Jazz said with a wet laugh, “But I’m just… I’m helm over pedes for ya, Blast. You know that? Thank you so much. I could spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Me, too,” Blaster said in a near whisper, nuzzling his helm into Jazz’s, “I could. I want to.”

Jazz twisted his helm, stealing one last glance into Blaster’s optics, before he went in for a deep kiss. One turned to two, then three, and it wasn’t long until they lost count entirely. If the two didn’t go into recharge until far later into the night, tangled in one another, after their servos explored every seam, joint, and plate that they’ve long since memorized, that was their little secret.

Half an orbital cycle later, Blaster and Eject were having breakfast together at their apartment before heading back to the broadcasting studio, bright and early in the morning as usual. Blaster was nodding on and off while having his fuel, and Eject kept kicking him awake from across the table. He began absentmindedly thinking about how Jazz wouldn’t be able to stop in today, as he worked late at the club the night before and he was going to play his electro-guitar near tourist spots today for some extra shanix. Blaster was planning to send him a message later to check on his availability.

“Maybe the vidscreen will wake you up,” Eject finally announced, after he began nodding off again to the Jazz-related thoughts. The minibot reached for the remote and pressed the button.

—the senator had no comment to share at this time. Meanwhile, our lord Sentinel Prime will be visiting Kaon today to assess the rise in criminal activity in the city-state and speak with the Local House regarding resolutions to the ongoing crisis, though much to the criticism of some Kaonite politicians. Later, he plans to hold a public address there—which we will be tuning into live—before traveling to Nyon. For now, we have Kaonite Local House Member Burn Out joining us here to discuss—

“Yeah, this ain’t wakin’ me up,” Blaster yawned as he stared blankly at the screen.

“Alright I’m switching it, jeez,” Eject grumbled unseriously as he fiddled with the remote. A recording of a recent rock concert came up on the vidscreen, and Blaster immediately perked up.

“Say, how many mechs do ya think we can fit in the broadcasting studio?” Blaster asked, keeping his eyes on the six-mech group performing on the screen.

Eject glanced at the screen as he sipped his fuel, and then back at Blaster, “Not six.”

“Four?”

“Possibly,” Eject replied, and then added, “If none of them are trucks or tankers.”

“Ughhhh,” Blaster groaned in an exaggerated manner as he slumped back in his seat, “How long will it take to save up for a bigger studio?”

“I like our current studio. I have a lot of work space.”

After the morning fuel, the two made their way over to the broadcasting studio. The cycle was only just starting, so there were barely any mechs out and about. Still, the streets sounded eerily quiet as they walked. Blaster wondered if it was always like this, and he was only just now noticing. Eject had made no comment on it—and he makes comments on everything—so eventually the red mech convinced himself that it was just his imagination and fatigue messing with him. Regardless, they reached their studio without incident, and Eject performed his usual ritual of organizing all of the datapads and tracks he needed for today’s show. There was no Live Jam this time, so they had the entire space to themselves for the day.

“Good morning, Cybertron!” Blaster announced into his mic, as cheery as ever, “You’re listening to The Polyhex Groove, bringing you all the hottest tunes from this side of the planet. I’m your host, Blaster, and it is currently 0500 joor in Polyhex. Here’s the first track I have to brighten your morning, ‘Fly Away’ by Stormbreaker.”

Blaster turned off his mic and let the track play. Eject gave him a thumbs up, and he returned it. The radio host then opened up his comm pad on his arm, looking at his chat history with Jazz. There’s been no messages since the cycle before, which he expected. He typed out “good morning, sleepymech” and sent it, for his partner to read when he gets out of recharge. By 1100 joor, nearly the end of the morning, Blaster checked his comm pad again in between tracks to see a “hiiii i’m listening to you right now” from Jazz. He let out a quiet huff of amusement, and then returned to the broadcast, wondering if there was a way to meet up with his partner at some point later in the cycle.

It was in the afternoon, in the middle of Blaster talking on the radio that Eject began waving his arms wildly from the window. Blaster glanced up at him worriedly, but made no indication of concern in his voice. Instead, he rushed into introducing the next track, and pressed his mic off as the song began a bit earlier than he would have liked. Blaster did not even have a chance to ask what the commotion was all about before Eject spoke.

“Get in here,” is all he said.

Blaster stepped into the tech room, brows furrowed in concern, “What is it? You never make me leave the studio in the middle of the show.”

“Sentinel Prime was killed,” Eject said, voice grave and shaky, “Live! During his speech in Kaon! They shot him dead!”

“What?” Blaster asked in disbelief, “How did you hear that?”

“Rewind. Iacon is in lockdown now, there’s enforcers on every street. No one can leave or enter. They haven’t caught the mechs who did it.”

Blaster rushed to turn on the small vidscreen they keep in the tech room. Every channel was reporting on the assassination. Flashes of flyers, civilians armed with guns, and the grayed out frame of the Prime crumpled on the ground flicked by as he clicked through channels. He finally settled on a channel that showed shaky footage of Iacon and Kaon, both city-states in complete disarray. While one showed enforcers lined down the streets, pushing civilians back into their apartments in a forced curfew, the other showed what could only be described as a warzone as mechs wearing a strange, purple emblem sieged the city-state, destroying the Prime’s vanguard with ease and stamping out any resistance to their conquest.

Blaster’s spark sank. Rewind, his Rewind. He’s just a minibot, and he’s alone out there. The capitol is in a state of complete panic right now, the enforcers don’t seem afraid to be overly forceful with anyone they don’t believe to be complying. The carrierbot shook the worries out of his head. Rewind was smart and he knew how to keep himself safe. He couldn’t let his own panic leak into the bond. That would just freak Eject out more, and he was freaking out enough all on his own.

“It’ll be okay,” Blaster said, though not even he sounded convinced by his own words. “They’ll catch the guys who did it, and Primus will select a new Prime eventually. Cybertron will be fine in the meantime. And Rewind knows how to take care of himself. It’ll work itself out.”

“What should we do?” Eject asked, fidgeting as he watched the vidscreen. Blaster turned it off.

“Put me back on. The track’s ending.”

Blaster entered the studio and sat before his microphone once again. He clenched his trembling servos together, trying to will them to still. It’ll be okay, he thought to himself desperately, as the images he saw on the vidscreen burned into his memory chip, Everything is going to be okay. Eject signaled that the track was about to end, and Blaster turned his mic back on.

“Good afternoon, Cybertron…” he paused for a moment, closing his optics, before opening them again with a hardened expression, “I have just been informed that Sentinel Prime was murdered in Kaon. If this is the first you are hearing of it, I’m sorry. But I need you all to remember: Cybertron is strong. Cybertron is stubborn. And Cybertron will overcome this, just as it has overcome everything in the past. If you’re afraid right now, I understand, and I am here for you. If you live in Iacon or Kaon, please do whatever you can to keep yourself safe, and know that I am thinking of you. And if you know someone who does live in either of these city-states, please reach out to them to make sure they’re alright. Above all it is important that we stick together during a crisis like this. I’m gonna say it one last time: Cybertron will overcome this. This is Blaster of The Polyhex Groove, signing out early for today. Keep yourself safe, everyone.”

As soon as Blaster turned off his microphone, he received a comm call from Jazz. It barely pinged before Blaster accepted the call.

“I’m in Staniz right now, but I’m headin’ to your place,” Jazz said immediately, the serious tone unusual in his vocal synthesizer.

“Okay,” Blaster replied, opening his chest compartment to allow Eject to dock as he hurriedly collected some datapads and exited the broadcasting studio. “How are things over there?”

“People are anxious around here, but nothing goin’ on beside that. Polyhex is about as calm as it could be right now, I think.”

“Alright. Okay, good,” Blaster exvented a shaky sigh, “I’m on my way back now. I’ll meet you there. Do you want me to stay on comms with you while you head over?”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll be good,” Jazz replied with tired gratitude, “I’ll be there soon, OK?”

“Alright. I love you,” Blaster murmured.

“I love you, too.”

True to his word, Jazz arrived at the apartment only half a joor after Blaster and Eject. As soon as he entered, he scooped up Eject in a quick hug, before setting the minibot down and embracing Blaster.

“How is it out there?” Blaster asked, holding Jazz’s face in his servos after they loosened the hug.

“Still anxious, but otherwise alright,” Jazz said, looking into Blaster’s optics for a moment before studying his face. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, ‘m fine,” Blaster mumbled.

“You sure?” Jazz asked again, face scrunching a bit in worry, “Rewind is—”

“He’s alright,” Blaster said quickly, “I can feel him over our carrier-cassette bond. He’s safe.” He had made sure to monitor their bond connection constantly since hearing the news.

Jazz nodded, “Okay. Okay, good…”

“Jazz,” Blaster called softly, rubbing his thumb over a worried crease in his partner’s face until it smoothed out, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he answered, giving a tired smile, “Just…thinkin’.”

The radio host released his lover’s face from his grasp, instead sliding his servos down the other’s frame until their digits brushed. He started guiding him towards the couch, and called out to his cassettebot along the way. “‘Ject, go comm Rewind, okay? Check on him for us.” With a rushed nod, Eject darted off into his berthroom.

“Sit,” Blaster said to Jazz as he lowered himself onto the couch. The musician followed closely behind.

“What’s on your mind? Talk to me.”

Jazz’s gaze drifted to the floor. He was silent for a few moments, opening and closing his mouth several times as he tried to find the words. Then, he muttered, “Kaon ain’t that far from here. Polyhex is one of the city-states between it and Iacon.”

“Yes?” Blaster perplexedly agreed with the objective fact, “What about it?”

“It’s not safe here. Not for long,” Jazz said resolutely.

“What are you talking about?”

“You think those mechs are going to stop at Kaon?” the visored mech asked, gesturing at the turned off vidscreen as he finally lifted his helm to look towards Blaster again, “I’ve seen the footage from there. Those are people that want to take it all the way to the Senate. They’re going to try to get to Iacon. And they’re gonna have to go through here to do that.”

“Jazz, you’re freakin’ out, mech,” Blaster squeezed his servos in reassurance, “You don’t know for sure that they’re goin’ to do that. And I’m sure more of the vanguard is headin’ there now to stop ‘em. Polyhex ain’t in any danger.”

“Ain’t you worried?”

“‘Course I’m worried!” Blaster exclaimed, but then looked to Eject’s room when he realized how loudly he said that. After there was no sign of him having heard his carrier, Blaster turned his helm back to his partner, and started again more quietly, “‘Course I’m worried. But I’m worried about my cassette, Rewind. He’s in the thick of it right now and I can’t be there to make sure he stays safe. And I’m worried about all the innocents in Kaon. But I ain’t worried about Polyhex. There’s no way the vanguard is going to let them get that far.”

“I’m not…” Jazz said, voice wavering as he looked down at their intertwined servos, “I’m not too sure about that. This just looks bad.”

Blaster leaned in and gently bumped his helm against Jazz’s, “It’ll be okay. We’re together, we’re fine, and Polyhex is fine. Just like I said on the radio, Cybertron will overcome this. But only if we stick together.”

“Yeah,” Jazz smiled softly, “If we stick together.”

By the end of the decacycle, it had been announced that Kaon was completely under the rule of the rioters. Every Kaon Local House Member, who were all within the city-state at the time of the siege due to the Prime’s visit, were either killed or taken captive by the attackers. The group called themselves Decepticons. They purported themselves to be liberators, enemies only to functionism. The footage from Kaon made that difficult to believe.

Rewind was supposed to visit in a couple of decacycles, but it was beginning to look like that was going to be an impossibility. The strict curfew was still in place, and there were no signs that Iacon was going to reopen its borders anytime soon. They had even begun blocking comms in Iacon, making it difficult to contact anyone within the capitol. Thankfully, Blaster and Eject could check in on Rewind through the cassette-carrier bond, though the distance made it difficult to sense anything beyond general emotion.

Things were weird in Polyhex. The anxiety never really died down, and people talked about Kaon and the Decepticons in hushed whispers. There were a few times, walking to work in the morning, that Blaster would catch glimpses of the Decepticon emblem vandalized on the walls of buildings. They were usually cleaned up by the end of the cycle.

Blaster had expected that the vanguard would arrive in Polyhex as a layer of extra protection against the looming threat that the Decepticons poised, but despite the faction having conquered Kaon, there were no signs of Senate support anywhere outside of Iacon itself. The Polyhexian enforcers had increased activity a bit, and the few functionist politicians have coincidentally made plans outside of the city-state, leaving on “business trips” to regions further away from Kaon. It felt like Polyhex was being left to the hellhounds. Blaster tried not to think about it too much.

With things as tense as they were, Jazz spent more time at Blaster’s apartment, keeping them company whenever he was off of work. There were no formal curfews announced by the Polyhex Local House, but the enforcers were getting much more critical of what they deemed “suspicious activity,” and it was getting harder to go out at night. It didn’t help that they held far more scrutiny for bots with certain alt-modes, believing that they were the most likely to be Decepticon sympathizers.

The enforcers had considered him one of those bots after he was trying to walk home from a sound tech gig late one night. He already knew he would be out late since it was for a nightclub, and as he exited the clubbing area the streets were sparse with activity, as they usually were at this joor nowadays. When a pair of enforcers stopped him on the walk, he was just thankful that Eject was already recharging at home.

“Can you tell us what you’re up to, mech?” one of the enforcers asked, servos on his hips as he looked Blaster up and down.

“I’m on my way home from work,” Blaster said, wariness in his tone, “What is this? Do y’all think I did something?”

“That’s what we’re tryna figure out. If ya didn’t, we’ll let ya go on home,” the other enforcer replied, “Just a strange joor to be comin’ home from work, is all. Can we see your ID?”

Blaster frowned, but brought his ID out from his subspace and presented it to the officers. One enforcer took it in his servos and studied it closely.

“Designation and function?” The other mech asked.

“Blaster. Boombox.”

“Forged or cold construct?”

“Construct. What’s that got to do with anything?” Blaster asked, irritated that that seemed at all relevant.

“Just followin’ the updated procedure,” the other mech said.

“ID checks out,” the enforcer holding Blaster’s card looked back up and handed it back to him. Blaster didn’t take his optics off of the officers as he subspaced it.

“Whaddya do that’s got you out late, Blaster?” they then asked.

“Sound tech. I got done with a shift at a nightclub, Blue Street. It’s straight back the way I came.”

“That’s the kinda stuff cold constructs with his alt-mode type were made to do,” one of the officers muttered to the other. Blaster’s frown deepened.

“Is that all you do?”

“No. I’m also a radio host, but that’s from the morning to mid afternoon.”

“‘N what radio is that?”

“The Polyhex Groove.”

“Oh scrap, you’re that Blaster!” One of the officers exclaimed, optics glowing bright, “I listen to ya in the mornin’! Can’t believe I didn’t recognize your voice.”

“Voices can sound different over the radio,” Blaster replied with a flat affect.

The enforcer laughed, “I know that now.” Loosened up significantly, the mech nudged his partner, “Hey, this mech’s all clear. We should let him go.”

The other enforcer gave Blaster one last look up and down, before stepping aside to clear his path back home, “Alright then. Stay safe, mech.”

“Thanks,” Blaster said with a hint of a grumble, walking by the enforcers as he continued home, a bit more hunched in on himself than he was before.

“And that’s what happened,” Blaster finished angrily, sitting in his living room with Jazz that same night. His partner stayed up until he got home, which would have felt particularly sweet if Blaster wasn’t so worked up about the encounter with the enforcers.

“That ain’t right,” Jazz said, shaking his head.

“Exactly! It’s—it’s shapism!” Blaster uttered, throwing his servos in the air, “The only mechs who get stopped by enforcers nowadays are flyers, tankers, and anyone without wheels! The law enforcement here has turned into a gang of shapists since Kaon was captured!”

“Heard about the same thing for Nyon and Rodion,” Jazz replied with a frown, “These Decepticons are causing a whole lot of trouble for the sake of ‘peace.’”

“Or the enforcers could just stop bein’ bigots,” Blaster grumbled, flopping down to lie across his lover’s lap in an exaggerated motion, “I miss the old Polyhex!”

“I do, too,” Jazz said while patting Blaster’s head, “I really don’t like the direction things are goin’...”

“I know,” Blaster mumbled, expression turning more serious, “Wish I could make you feel better. At least it don’t seem like the Decepticons are movin’ out of Kaon.”

“Yeah,” Jazz agreed, smiling a bit, “Hopefully it’ll stay that way.”

“Not much we can do about it, in any case,” Blaster sighed, and Jazz’s smile wavered for half a klik. “At least I got you here. You’re a great pillow.” The musician let out a bubbly laugh, and the two stayed like that for a half a joor longer, before they retired into recharge.

Two cycles later, Blaster and Eject were on their way back to work. Jazz seemed peaceful in his recharge, so the duo left the apartment quietly so as not to wake him, and Blaster was sure to leave some morning fuel readily available for him for when he was up. Eject was trailing a bit ahead of Blaster as they walked towards the studio, looking down at his datapads. Blaster’s optics wandered off to the nearby buildings, trying to see if any new graffiti had appeared overnight. Thankfully, there didn’t seem to be anything today.

“Hey, who’s that?” Eject asked, snapping Blaster’s attention forward again. A navy blue mech he’s never seen before was standing right outside the broadcasting studio, focused on the building. However, he seemed to have heard Eject when he spoke, because he then turned his helm towards the carrierbot and cassette. The mech’s face was completely covered with a visor and faceplate. Blaster slowed for a moment, and then took a cautious step forward.

“Can I help you?” Blaster asked, eyeing the mech skeptically.

“Affirmative,” the mech replied, vocal synthesizer strangely monotone, “Unknown Polyhexian: Owner of this radio studio?”

“Uh–yeah,” Blaster answered, voice stilted at the mech’s bizarre way of talking, “And the designation’s Blaster.”

“Apologies and noted. Designation: Soundwave,” the mech said, putting a servo over his chest dock. He was also a carrierbot.

“Why are you askin’ about the studio, Soundwave?” Blaster then asked.

“Soundwave: Was passing by and noticed the studio. Was curious about radio operations, and so approached for a closer look.”

Blaster cycled his optics at the surprisingly innocent answer. “Oh,” he said, sounding dumb in his audials. “You ain’t from around here?”

“Negative. Soundwave: Originates from Rodion.”

“You sure you wanna be down in Polyhex right now?” Blaster half-joked, “Polyhex is a lot closer to Kaon than Rodion is.”

“Soundwave: Not concerned about Kaon,” the blue mech answered frankly.

“Huh,” was all Blaster could say in response.

“Soundwave: Was hoping to learn how to operate a radio. Has never had formal experience, despite sound-based function.”

“Really?” Blaster was genuinely surprised. Pretty much every mech with their function enters a sound-related profession, and end up interacting with a radio at some point or another during their careers.

Soundwave nodded, “Vocal processor defect: Makes it difficult to find employment. Many mechs: Find me unfavorable.”

“That ain’t right,” Blaster said with a frown. Not wanting to hire a mech just because of the way he talks? Who does that? As soon as that question popped in his head, the answer basically slapped him in the face. Functionists. Functionists do that.

Blaster released an exvent, “Ah, what the hell.” He nudged his cassettebot, who looked up at him. “Wanna show our buddy Soundwave the tech room?”

“What? Now?” Eject asked incredulously.

“Yeah, why not. We got time,” Blaster looked back at the other carrierbot, “That work for you, Soundwave? Oh! This is my cassettebot, Eject, by the way.”

Soundwave's visor flashed with surprise, “Affirmative—yes. Soundwave: Thanks you.”

Blaster unlocked the door and allowed Soundwave inside. The blue mech walked to the center of the tech room, and examined all of the machinery it housed. Eject went over to his desk and set his datapads down, and then turned to Soundwave.

“Don’t touch anything,” he said. Of course, he had to lay out the ground rules straight away.

“Acknowledged.”

“Do you have any cassettebots?” Blaster asked with a smile, looking over to the other carrierbot as he leaned on the wall.

Soundwave nodded, “Two. Designations: Ravage and Laserbeak. Cassettes: Currently exploring.”

“What a coincidence! I got two as well. Eject has a brother that looks just like him but black-and-white, named Rewind.”

Blaster looked back at Eject, “Alright, ‘Ject, why don’tcha show him how the sound systems work while I get set up in the broadcast room.”

“‘Kay,” Eject replied simply, waving Soundwave a bit closer to the systems. Smiling to himself, Blaster stepped into the studio and prepped for the day.

Half a joor later, as Blaster was wrapping up his own morning prep, he heard Eject turn on the overhead speaker. “Hey, Blast, Soundwave wants to know if it’s OK if he stays for a bit during the broadcast.”

“Sure,” Blaster called back. It might’ve partly been because the radio host was feeling kind today, but Soundwave did also seem like a reasonable mech, first impressions-wise. He was a carrierbot, too, which was a plus. Besides, Eject wouldn’t let anyone mess with his stuff without a fight. Glancing up at the window, Blaster could see his cassettebot excitedly talking with the mech, pointing at all the switches and dials. Beyond sports, Eject didn’t often get to show off, so he was probably excited to explain his job to a new mech. Soundwave seemed highly receptive to everything the minibot was saying to him, nodding every so often and faceplate moving as he spoke. As it approached 0500 joor, Eject signaled that the broadcast was about to start. Blaster reset his vocal processor, and turned on his microphone.

“Good morning, Cybertron! You’re listening to The Polyhex Groove, bringing you all the hottest tunes from this side of the planet. I’m your host, Blaster, and it is currently 0500 joor here in Polyhex. I got a lil’ bit to say again before we get into the music today, just like the last few shows. The signals are still being blocked in Iacon, so the folks over there can’t even tune in to this broadcast. So let’s keep thinkin’ about them, and keep the rest of Cybertron going until we can reunite with our fellow bots in the capitol! And for the mechs in Kaon, we haven’t forgotten about y’all either! Kaonites are some of the strongest mechs among us, and your spirits are also the spirit of Cybertron. Stay strong, and stay safe. Now, to start, we got ‘Rust Spark’ by Sidestep and the Bolts. Enjoy!”

Once Blaster turned off the mic, he glanced up at the window. Soundwave was staring at him intently, but it seemed a bit different than the way he’s been looking at Blaster before. His visor seemed to glow just a bit brighter, and he was studying the mech as if he was someone important. The radio host felt a little bit flattered at the silent praise. He did work hard to be able to get into this occupation, so he didn’t mind the admiration.

Soundwave ended up departing about a joor into the broadcast. He had quietly excused himself while Blaster was on air, so the radio host didn’t have the opportunity to say goodbye. He was a bit disappointed about that, since the other sound-based bot seemed so interested in the radio, but he supposed he already used up enough of the mech’s time. When the broadcast ended later in the afternoon, Blaster was greeted by Eject as he walked back into the tech room.

“Wish I could’a said goodbye to Soundwave,” Blaster said as he closed the door to the broadcasting room.

“Yeah, he said he had an appointment or something that he had to go to, so he couldn’t stay,” Eject explained, “He was really cool, and a lotta fun to talk to, though.”

“Nice that you got to enjoy his company then, at least,” Blaster laughed.

“Oh! He left this. I think it’s his comm frequency.” Eject handed Blaster a datapad. When the red mech turned the pad on, he saw a string of numbers, sure enough indicative of a frequency, as well as a note.

If you find that you have the time, please send me a comm message. I was impressed by your talents and wish to speak with you further. Thank you again for showing a stranger like me your studio. - Soundwave

Blaster smiled as he subspaced the datapad. “Ready to head back?” he asked the minibot, eager to get comfortable on the couch.

When the two returned home, Jazz had left the apartment. Blaster figured he was out or back at his place for a little bit, so he and Eject settled on the couch. There was a cube game about to start, and the minibot was excited to watch it. They had been settled in for a little bit when Blaster decided to send Soundwave a message.

Hi, Soundwave! This is Blaster. Eject passed your frequency along to me. Glad you enjoyed the broadcast. I’d love to meet up again to talk, but it can be kinda hard for mechs with our alt-mode type to go out later in the day. The enforcers have been getting in over their helms around here.

Blaster put away his comms for a little bit and watched the beginning of the cube game, when it pinged once again.

Hello, Blaster. I understand—I’ve stayed in Petrex for a bit in the past, and the enforcers are like that there, too. After a while you learn how to avoid dealing with them. It frustrates me that the Senate is allowing other city-states to follow in its footsteps. In any case, should meeting in the late afternoon make you uncomfortable, I don’t mind meeting in the day, if your schedule allows. I’m new to Polyhex and am still learning the area. Do you have a place you suggest we meet?

Huh, Blaster supposed it made sense that Soundwave was adjusted to ill-meaning enforcers if he’s spent time in Petrex. Blaster’s never been to Praxus himself, but he’s heard that the law enforcement there is very hard-hitting. Functionism could not exist without a strong police force to enforce their strict laws, after all. It was nice of Soundwave to be conscientious of Blaster’s comfort, and Blaster began to think of cafes in the area that would be a nice place for them to meet up at.

“Hey, Eject, you wanna go to a cafe tomorrow?” Blaster turned to his cassettebot, who was enthralled by the game, “We’ll be meeting up with Soundwave.”

Eject nodded, “Sure! I’d like to talk more with him.”

Blaster smiled as he wrote out a response to the navy blue mech.

Thanks mech, I appreciate that! Are you free tomorrow at 1100 joor? There’s a nice cafe not far from the broadcasting studio. I’ll send you the coordinates.

Yes, that works. Thank you. I’ll see you then.

The next morning, Blaster, Eject, and Jazz were all having their morning fuel together. They relaxed at the dining table while the vidscreen played the news at a low volume.

“Still no sign of a new Prime and more Decepticon sympathizers popping up,” Eject commented, nodding to the vidscreen. In the time since Kaon had been sieged, minor Decepticon activity has been seen in the regions surrounding the city-state. More mechs have begun to call themselves Decepticons, and more still claimed to have supported their ideals if anything else. Even some civilians in Kaon were starting to support their cause, despite the violence the faction had brought to their homes.

“Hopefully the Prime will appear soon, and hopefully they won’t be one of the Decepticons,” Jazz said, frowning at the vidscreen.

“I wonder what’s going on in Iacon,” Blaster wondered absently.

“Can’t you ask Rewind? Like, through your cassette bond or something?” Jazz asked, sipping his energon.

Blaster shook his head, “If we were closer, maybe. But the only reads I can get on him right now are his general feelings. Nothing super concrete… What about you, ‘Ject?”

Eject looked down at the table, saying sadly, “Not really. I’m getting just about the same as you.” Blaster knew how much it pained Eject to not be able to talk to his brother. Before the communications blackout in Iacon, the two comm’d each other nearly every cycle.

Blaster concentrated and felt along the bond for his other cassette. After a few moments, he felt vague emotions of safe/together/hope. While the carrierbot was grateful Rewind seemed okay, he furrowed his brow in confusion at the meaning of those feelings.

“What’s wrong, Blast?” Jazz asked when he noticed Blaster’s expression.

“It’s Rewind. I reached out to him over the bond, and he seems alright, but I’m havin’ trouble making sense of his emotions. He’s safe… He may be with somebody, possibly more? And I’m not sure what to make of the last sensation… Just, a real deep feelin’ of hope.”

“Yeah, I’m feeling that too,” Eject added, “Like, something big is on the horizon, but a good big. I… vaguely feel something else, too…”

“What is it?” Jazz asked, leaning closer to Eject in interest. Blaster was curious too—he didn’t feel anything else beyond what he described.

“It’s like the ‘togetherness’ feeling but stronger… a desire to be together, or a feeling that we already are. I’m not really sure which one.”

“Huh,” Blaster said, cycling his optics, “I wonder what it means exactly.”

“Maybe he wants y’all to go to Iacon?” Jazz suggested.

“Uh, how? Iacon is closed off to the rest of Cybertron,” Eject stated, resting his helm on his servo.

The table was silent for a moment, and Blaster went back to drinking his energon. Eject stared at the vidscreen while kicking his feet—which didn’t touch the ground on the chair he was sitting in—and Jazz fiddled with his cube as he seemingly turned some thoughts over in his head.

“‘Kay, so I have a minor confession,” Jazz finally spoke. Blaster and Eject both brought their optics back to the visored mech, who stared at his cube for another moment before looking back up at them.

“Remember how I mentioned that I used to work security? Well I’m still in touch with one of my old coworkers, designation’s Ironhide. He still works in security, but over in Iacon now. Anyway, I found out a couple cycles ago that he’s been workin’ with some other mechs to get people in and out of Iacon. I’m thinkin’ that since he was able to get out far enough to comm me about it, it must be legit…”

“We can go see Rewind?” Eject uttered quietly, optics wide.

“That’s what I was tryna get figured out with ‘Hide,” Jazz nodded, “Problem is, it’s a lot more simple to slip a group of mechs into Iacon than it is to slip a group out. He’s confident he can get us in, but there ain’t a guarantee we’d be able to come back to Polyhex.”

“Wait a klik,” Blaster spoke up, trying to process everything that Jazz just said, “I ain’t leavin’ Polyhex. If you’re not sure we’d be able to leave, I’m not goin’.”

“But—Blast!” Eject exclaimed in shock, standing on his chair, “It’s Rewind!”

“I know! But… he’s fine, ‘Ject. It seems like he has people over there takin’ care of him. Polyhex is my home… our home,” he glanced at Jazz, who had an unreadable expression on his face. “I’d be givin’ up my life if I can’t come back here.”

“Aren’t I your life?” Eject growled, putting a servo over his chest roughly, “Isn’t Rewind?”

“‘Ject—” Blaster reached out to the cassette, but he pulled away roughly, leaping off the chair and onto the floor.

“No! I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you away like that, but I’m really mad at you, Blast! Really, really mad! Wish I could dock, but—I need to go outside. I’ll meet you at the cafe later.”

With those words said quickly, Eject scrambled out the door. Blaster rose to his pedes in an attempt to go after him, but only had time to turn around before the door slammed shut. Grumbling, he let out a frustrated exvent as he dug the heels of his servos against his closed optics.

“Blast…” Jazz said softly, placing a servo on the other’s shoulder. The frustration only bubbled and grew deep within Blaster’s frame despite the comfort his lover tried to give him.

“How could you make a decision like that behind my back?” Blaster asked angrily, turning his frame to face Jazz, shoulders hunched.

Jazz cycled his optics twice in hurt confusion, “I didn’t make a decision behind your back.”

“You talkin’ with this ‘Ironhide’ about smugglin’ all of us into Iacon without tellin’ me don’t sound like making a decision behind my back to you?!” Blaster hissed, face twisted in frustration and sadness. “We ain’t welded together at the hip! Don’t go makin’ arrangements to move me and my cassette anywhere without my consent!”

Jazz grinded his denta a bit, obviously in an attempt to not also blow up in anger, “Blast. You’re frustrated. I don’t think ya mean to take it out on me. I didn’t make no decision behind your back. I just wanted to help you see your other cassette again. That’s all.”

“I’m—I’m gonna go take a walk,” Blaster grit out, stepping past Jazz as he headed to the door. Jazz didn’t stop him from leaving, and that almost made him want to cry.

Blaster wandered around until it was time for him to meet Soundwave. The explosive anger had simmered down to a low irritation as time passed, but it hadn’t gone away entirely. He felt along the bond for Eject, and at first he was vehemently denied a response. However, after some time passed, he received hesitant feelings of okayness/regret.

It had only made sense once Blaster entered the cafe. Soundwave and Eject had seated themselves near the back, and the minibot looked like he was enjoying their conversation. An avian cassettebot rested on Soundwave’s shoulder, and was sheepishly allowing Eject to pet him.

With a deep vent in and out, Blaster approached the group. He plastered a smile onto his face as he walked up to them. “Hey, Soundwave. Good to see ya again,” he said with a wave.

“Greetings, Blaster,” Soundwave carefully tracked the boombox’s movement as he settled into the last available seat.

“That one of your cassettes?” Blaster asked, nodding to the red and black bird.

Soundwave nodded, “Designation: Laserbeak. Soundwave: Wished to introduce you.”

“‘Ey, how’s it going?” Laserbeak spoke, lowering his helm in greeting.

“Nice to meet ya,” Blaster replied, and then turned his attention to Eject, who was gripping the sides of the chair he was seated in as he looked at his carrierbot, “I see ya already met ‘Ject.”

“Eject: Had arrived early. Talked with Soundwave and Laserbeak for a while.”

“Ah, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eject said softly, sadness plain in his voice, “I’m… I’m sorry, Blaster. I shouldn’t have said what I said to you. I talked with Soundwave and Laserbeak, and they helped me understand where you’re coming from a bit better. I’d—I’d still like to see Rewind again, one day, but he’s okay right now. I know how important we are to you, I’m sorry for questioning that.”

Blaster’s smile turned a bit more genuinely as he gave Eject a pat on the head, “I’m sorry, too, ‘Ject. For makin’ you feel like y’all weren’t important to me. I probably coulda phrased myself better this morning.”

Blaster then looked over to Soundwave and Laserbeak, “Thanks, mechs. For keepin’ my cassette company.”

“Don’ mention it,” Laserbeak replied.

Soundwave continued to stare at Blaster silently for a few moments longer. He stared as an employee approached and brought out a plate of bite-sized ener-gels. Laserbeak hopped off of Soundwave’s shoulder and began to indulge himself in the treats.

“Blaster: Still upset,” Soundwave stated once the four of them were alone once again.

“What?” Blaster cycled his optics in surprise, but then averted his gaze. “No. It’s nothin’,” he mumbled, popping one of the gels into his mouth.

“Soundwave: Open to listening.”

Blaster thought it over. He glanced up at the other carrierbot, whose optics were still set fully on him. Sighing, he carefully started, “I got into a fight with my almost-conjunx before I left. I’m startin’ to think he wants to leave Polyhex, but I wanna stay here. He started makin’ plans for us without tellin’ me first, and it upset me. Not really sure how to feel about it.”

After a brief moment, Laserbeak spoke, “The boss assumes that your mech was trying t’ act in your best interests, but just went about it in the wrong way. He knows a lotta mechs around here are scared because of Kaon. That fear probably led your mech to jumping the gun on leaving, which don’ justify him not telling ya first, but may explain why he acted the way he did.”

Jazz was scared? He knew Jazz was worried, but—scared? It hadn’t crossed Blaster’s mind before, the mech did have combat training from being a security guard. But as Blaster thought about it more, realization struck him. Jazz wasn’t scared for himself. He was scared for Blaster and Eject. He didn’t want to see them get hurt. The boombox recalled the night of their first date, when Jazz stepped in for him when that mech was hurling verbal abuses at Blaster. Since cycle one, the musician had been trying to act as a protector for Blaster. The red mech felt kind of silly once the pieces started to click into place.

“I—I think you’re right, Soundwave. Thanks,” Blaster said, gratefully. Soundwave simply nodded back.

“Y’know, I’ve been wonderin’... You know a lotta mechs are scared ‘cause of Kaon, but when I asked you about it, you said it didn’t bother you at all. I mean, ya seem like a tough mech, but I was wonderin’ why that is.”

“Inquiry: Why is Blaster not afraid?”

“Hey, don’t turn the question around on me!” Blaster laughed, but relented, “Let’s see… I’m tryna stay optimistic for the most part, I guess. Those Decepticons haven’t made any big moves outside of Kaon since they sieged the place, and while I ain’t a fan of how Polyhex is right now, I think that after a while things are gonna go back to normal. What about you?”

“Soundwave: Believes Kaon is better protected than the rest of Cybertron.”

“Whoa, mech, you’re gonna sound like a sympathizer if you say stuff like that!” Blaster said in a hissed whisper, anxiously looking around the rest of the cafe. Thankfully, no one seemed to have turned their helms.

“Inquiry: Why is the Senate vanguard not stationed in Polyhex, Nyon, or Rodion?”

“How would I know?” Blaster asked.

“Inquiry: Rhetorical,” Soundwave said, and Blaster could have sworn he detected a hint of humor in the blue mech’s voice, before it disappeared. “Senate: Does not care about civilians in Polyhex, Nyon, or Rodion.”

“Inquiry:” Soundwave spoke again, “Why have the functionists of the Polyhex, Nyon, and Rodion Local Houses not returned from their ‘business trips?’”

Blaster sat silently, listening as the visored mech continued. “Inquiry: Rhetorical. Functionists of the Polyhex, Nyon, and Rodion Local Houses: Under protection of the Senate.”

“Inquiry: How many deaths have been reported in Kaon since the liberation? Inquiry: How many Kaonite civilians have reported fear of the Decepticons to those outside of Kaon? Inquiry: Why are Kaonites pledging allegiance to the Decepticons—Why are the number of Decepticon sympathizers only increasing if the Decepticons are the enemy of Cybertron?”

Blaster still sat there, in silence.

“Inquiry: Rhetorical. Blaster: Understands.”

The boombox looked down at his servos, clenched together on the table. “Why,” he whispered, voice heavy, “Did you want to talk about my radio talents, exactly?”

“Blaster: Has a powerful speaking ability. Ability: Powerful enough to sway the sparks of mechs. Soundwave: Wishes for Blaster to assist him, using his speaking abilities. Soundwave: Does not want Cybertron to live in fear. Soundwave: Wants Cybertron to be liberated. Blaster: Understands.”

“...I…”

“Soundwave: Will not force Blaster to come to a decision today, however. Soundwave: Does not wish to make Blaster uncomfortable. Soundwave: Wants Blaster to think over his words, and then choose for himself.”

Laserbeak flew back onto Soundwave’s shoulder as the carrierbot stood from his seat. “Soundwave: Thanks you for meeting with him.”

“Take care of yourselves, mechs,” Laserbeak chirped, and the blue mech and cassette exited the cafe, leaving Blaster and Eject alone.

“Blast?” Eject said quietly, placing his servo over Blaster’s, “Are you gonna seriously think about it?”

“I’m…I’m not sure,” Blaster whispered.

“Well, whatever you wanna do, I’m here for you.”

“Thanks, ‘Ject,” the boombox smiled again, overlapping their servos.

Later that night, Blaster stayed up waiting for Jazz to return. The vehiclemech had left at some point in the cycle, likely off to work, and had yet to come back. Blaster had sent him a comm message asking if he was going to be back at the apartment, and Jazz said he would. So he must’ve just been working late.

Finally, Blaster heard the door open, and he stood up from the couch to face the entrance. Jazz stepped inside, and closed the door behind him before making proper optic contact with the other mech.

“Hey,” he said simply.

“Hey,” Blaster replied. They stared at one another for several kliks.

“Listen, I—”

“I didn’t—”

They took a moment to stare at each other, before laughing. Jazz walked closer to Blaster and held the other mech’s servos in his.

“You first,” Blaster smiled.

Jazz looked at Blaster plaintively, “I’m sorry, Blast. I thought about it some more after you left, and I shouldn’t’ve left you in the dark. I should’ve told you about Ironhide the moment he contacted me. You were right, we ain’t welded at the hip, but you’re my partner, and you deserved to have known.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Blaster said, “For snappin’ at you, and gettin’ angry when you were just tryna help. I talked to a friend afterward, and they helped me understand your point of view better.”

“Sounds like a good friend,” Jazz said with a grin.

“Yeah,” Blaster agreed, then asked sheepishly, “Do ya still wanna ‘junx me?”

“Oh, hell yes,” Jazz chuckled, nuzzling his helm against Blaster’s, “I could barely cope when you left this mornin’. Say, maybe we should weld ourselves together at the hip! I wouldn’t mind.”

Blaster erupted in laughter, “I’m sure you wouldn’t. You are a serial snuggler.”

“Mhmm,” Jazz hummed in agreement, now wrapping his arms around Blaster’s frame as he led his partner backwards. Blaster yelped and then laughed again as he tripped onto the couch, Jazz settled himself snugly on top of him.

“See? We fit perfectly like this,” Jazz joked, smiling at the blushing mech. Blaster grabbed Jazz’s helm, and smashed their lips together.

Later, when the two began to fall into recharge, Blaster silently mulled over the conversation he had with Soundwave in his head. He should tell Jazz about the discussion that they had—he didn’t want to be a hypocrite, right after getting upset at his partner for withholding information from him. But Jazz didn’t like the Decepticons. He wondered if Jazz would be swayed by Soundwave’s words. In any case, he didn’t want to give the other carrierbot an answer until he talked about it first with his almost-conjunx. Making up his mind to discuss it with Jazz tomorrow, Blaster eventually slipped into a deep recharge.

It had happened overnight. There was barely any resistance this time around. Nyon had been captured by the Decepticons. Apparently, Decepticon support had grown strong in Nyon, and even Nyonites had taken arms to help the faction liberate them from their Local House. The enforcers there saw the army that approached, and surrendered near instantly.

Nyon was the closest city-state to Kaon. Nyon was between Kaon and Polyhex.

Jazz frowned deeply at the vidscreen, showing large crowds in Nyon cheering and waving Decepticon banners. Blaster watched it with carefully neutral expressions.

Amongst the destruction—the wounded enforcers, Local House building set ablaze, politicians in stasis cuffs, broken glass and rubble—the Nyonites were celebrating. Was this the liberation that Soundwave spoke of? Would Blaster be celebrating too, had he lived in Nyon?

“This. Ain’t. Right,” Jazz growled, enunciating each word. Blaster looked over at his partner.

“It ain’t,” Blaster agreed. The Senate did not send the vanguard to protect Nyon. The Senate did not even make a statement after it was conquered. The Senate didn’t care about the civilians outside of Iacon, only the functionists who served their will.

Did Jazz not see that, because he hadn’t heard what Blaster had heard? Can he not see that the Senate is the bigger threat, because his more desirable function has made him blind to it?

“Something has to be done about them,” Jazz said, optics still locked on the vidscreen, “This ain’t how you inspire change. The Senate ain’t stoppin’ them, Primus knows why, but someone has to do something.”

“Why?” Blaster asked, before he had the wherewithal to stop himself.

Jazz finally looked at Blaster, expression disbelieving, “What do you mean ‘why?’”

“Why do you think they need to be stopped…?” Blaster asked hesitantly, hoping the question wouldn’t frustrate his partner.

“They just sieged two city-states by force, Blast!” Jazz stated, as if that was enough explanation.

“But Kaon was practically one big slum before the Decepticons. And like you said, the Senate didn’t even send their vanguard to protect Nyon,” Blaster said, “And a whole lot of mechs in Nyon seem to be happy about what happened.”

“Yeah? What about the mechs that aren’t?” Jazz asked.

Blaster cycled his optics incredulously, “What?”

“Not every mech wanted their homes and livelihoods destroyed for the sake of ‘liberation,’” Jazz explained, “I’m not sayin’ things were better before, or that the Senate is in the right, or even that the Decepticons’ reasons are wrong—But shouldn’t the mechs who live there get to choose what happens to their city-states themselves? Why does it have to be done so violently like this, without their choice? That don’t feel much like ‘liberation’ to me. It’s no better than the functionists.”

“I—” Blaster started, then paused, thinking over Jazz’s reasoning. Soundwave might think that what the Decepticons are doing is for the best, but he may have never stopped to think that’s what all of Cybertron wanted. Blaster felt foolish not having considered that himself, when Soundwave was talking to him. His cheeks tinted with embarrassment, “I think you’re right. I’m sorry.”

Jazz relaxed, giving the other mech an apologetic smile, “Nah, you don’t gotta apologize, Blast. I get it. Like I said, I don’t think their reasons are wrong. Just the way they’re goin’ about it.”

Blaster nodded, “Yeah. I understand that now…”

Jazz turned off the vidscreen, probably thinking that it was about time they stopped watching the news for now. Blaster still had to talk with him about Soundwave, though.

“Hey, remember that friend I told you about yesterday? The one I spoke to after our fight?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jazz replied, focusing his full attention on Blaster.

“His designation’s Soundwave. A carrierbot like me. He’s…a Decepticon sympathizer, actually. He wanted me to help him with something…”

The musician frowned once again, “And what did you say?”

“Nothin’!” Blaster replied adamantly, “He was respectful, and told me I didn’t have to choose right away. And I didn’t want to make a decision without talkin’ with you first.”

“Well, what were you thinkin’?” Jazz asked.

“Honestly? At first, I thought I should do it. But after you explained all that to me, I’m not really sure. Soundwave’s not a bad mech, but maybe he’s not thinkin’ about it the way you are. I don’t wanna just leave him hangin’.”

“Blaster…” Jazz sighed, genuine disappointment laced in his voice, “I just don’t trust those mechs who side with the Decepticons. What if… What if he’s manipulatin’ you?”

Blaster furrowed his brow, “You don’t know that. You’ve never even met him.”

“But he sprang all those Decepticon talkin’ points on you, convincin’ you to agree with him, and then gave you the ‘freedom’ to choose what you want to do?” Jazz reached his servo out to hold Blaster’s arm. Blaster moved it away, looking Jazz up and down.

“We were just havin’ a conversation. That ain’t manipulation. By that logic, isn’t that also what you just did, anyway?”

“C’mon, Blast, we just made up yesterday—”

“I know!” Blaster interrupted, though looked apologetic about it, “I know, I’m just confused. Hurt and confused. You just said you agree with the reasons the Decepticons are doin’ what they’re doin’, but you don’t trust any of them? You ain’t even gonna give one of them a chance? Why?”

Jazz was silent for a moment, and then said quietly, “Ironhide was tellin’ me about this mech in Iacon whose gatherin’ a bunch of other people to help him resolve the issues with both the Senate and the Decepticons, mechs concerned with both groups. His designation’s Orion Pax. He’s advocatin’ for freedom on Cybertron, and wants to protect civilians from the violence caused by both sides. They…recruited me.”

Blaster stared at Jazz, mouth agape, processing what he just said. Through Jazz’s visor, he could see his optics averting his gaze, looking anywhere but at Blaster.

“You…” Blaster started, but then stopped for a moment, trying to find the words. “How long have you been comm’ing Ironhide, exactly?”

“Blast—”

“How. Long?”

“...Three cycles after the lockdown in Iacon,” Jazz murmured.

“I can’t believe you!” Blaster screamed, “You fraggin’ hypocrite! You’re tellin’ me not to trust Soundwave just ‘cause he’s on the side of the Decepticons, but then you go and do all that behind my back?! What even—” Blaster’s venting hitched as all the emotions from yesterday welled up again, “What even am I to you?”

“You’re my partner, Blaster! The mech I want to conjunx one day, I—I’m sorry. Frag, I’m so, so sorry,” Jazz said desperately, taking one step closer to Blaster. Blaster took two steps back.

“Right. Your partner. Your almost-conjunx,” Blaster replied quietly with an empty huff of laughter, “So, how important is that to you? Am I more important than what the Decepticons and functionists are doin’? Am I more important than Kaon, Nyon—everythin’ outside of this room? Am I even more important than this ‘Orion Pax?’”

The two stood there, in the living room, Blaster staring down Jazz intensely, and the vehiclemech looking down at the floor. The boombox waited. Jazz said nothing, and that told Blaster everything.

“Get out,” Blaster growled, expression dark.

Jazz’s optics finally snapped back to him, “Blaster, please—”

“Shut. Up. Get. Out. Fragger,” the red mech snarled through gritted denta.

Realizing he wouldn’t be allowed to get another word in, Jazz’s arms fell limply at his sides. He studied Blaster’s face for any sign of understanding, and indication that they could resolve this. Blaster kept his hardened expression on him, not daring to sob or cry.

After what felt like a vorn, Jazz slowly turned away. He didn’t look back at Blaster as he stepped out of the apartment, and closed the door behind him. The second the door slid shut with a click, Blaster crumpled onto the floor with a wail.

Jazz did not return that night, and he did not return the cycle after that. Half a decacyle passed, and Blaster knew that he would never see him again.

Chapter Text

Hey. I thought about it, and I’m in.

Hello. I’m very happy to hear that you’re willing to assist. I would like to introduce you to my brothers who are also in Polyhex and discuss the plans we have further. We have a meeting tomorrow night. I know you are hesitant to go out at night, but is this acceptable?

It’s fine. I’ll be there.

Understood. There will be someone at your studio to escort you to our location after your broadcast tomorrow.

Alright.

Blaster closed his comms and took a deep vent in and out. Soundwave was a well-meaning mech, despite the slag that Jazz had said about him. He gave Blaster a choice, and he made that choice.

His broadcasts have felt duller, in his audials. He tried to gather up as much false cheer as he could. Jazz might be listening, wherever he was, and he didn’t want Jazz to know that he was still upset. He did other Live Jams. Even pretended to be flirty with some of the guests a few times. There was always that chance. That Jazz might be listening. Always.

Blaster was grateful to have Eject as a cassette. If his resentment leaked into the bond at all, the minibot didn’t make any comments on it, despite his tendency to do just that. He was very sweet, comforting Blaster the first few cycles when all he could do was curl up into a ball and cry. He’s made dinner every night, too. Blaster would have to do something special for him soon.

“‘Ject,” he called out to his cassettebot, who was seated on the couch watching a game, “I’ve told Soundwave. We’re meeting up tomorrow night.”

Eject looked at Blaster silently for a moment, before turning back to the vidscreen, “‘Kay.”

With another deep vent, Blaster moved over to the couch and tried to enjoy the night with his cassette.

“Good morning, Cybertron! You’re listening to The Polyhex Groove, bringing you all the hottest tunes from this side of the planet,” Blaster announced, once again with feigned enthusiasm. Are you listening, Jazz? “I’m your host, Blaster, and it’s currently 0500 joor in Polyhex. Signals’re still bein’ blocked in Iacon, which starts to make a mech wonder what’s goin’ on over there? Listeners in Kaon and Nyon can tune in though. Ain’t that kinda backwards, since they’re the ones who are ‘under occupation?’” Blaster laughed, for good measure. “Anyway, let’s just jump into the tunes! This is ‘Bitter’ by The Somersaults.”

The broadcast continued as normally as it could. Once it ended, he was sure to let Eject dock, just in case the mech who was supposed to be meeting them was shady at all. When he was all finished up in the studio, he stepped outside and was greeted by a—black cybercat?

“Uh. Hi?”

The cybercat flicked his tail, “Hello. My designation’s Ravage.”

Oh. Oh! “You’re one of Soundwave’s cassettes, right?”

“Yeah. And you’re the one Soundwave has been talking to?” Blaster nodded. Ravage stalked a bit closer, and then began to sniff Blaster.

“You have one cassettebot with you,” Ravage stated, taking a step back.

“Uhm, yeah. His designation’s Eject. Soundwave’s met him before. Is it alright if he comes?”

Ravage sniffed the air, then nodded, “That’s fine. Follow me.”

The cybercat turned around and started walking down the block, in the opposite direction of Blaster’s apartment. He followed behind, slightly nervous as he stared ahead at the road before them. After a few turns and a bit further still, they ended up in a sparsely populated area, the roads lined with identical warehouses. Ravage slowed as he approached one such warehouse, and punched in the code with his paw.

Blaster was greeted by several mechs gathered in the virtually empty warehouse, one of them Soundwave. He regarded them all for a moment, and then slowly stepped inside.

“Greetings,” Soundwave spoke first, approaching Blaster. He held out his servo, and Blaster shook it.

“Hey, mech. It’s good to see you again,” the red mech smiled.

“Likewise.” Soundwave turned to face the rest of the group, “Blaster: Sound-based mech I was talking about.”

A blue flyer was the first of the strangers to take a step forward with a smile, “Hey. I’m Thundercracker. You can call me that or TC, whichever. How much did Soundwave tell you?”

“Just that y’all needed my ‘speaking abilities’ for something?”

“Jeez, Soundwave, how the hell do you always convince people with that little information?” Thundercracker put his servos on his hips as he turned to Soundwave, who looked unfazed.

“Soundwave: Excellent at persuasion. Also: Simply allowed Blaster to make his own choice.”

“O-kay,” Thundercracker replied, glazing over Soundwave’s comment, “Anyways, are you certain this grounder is secure?”

Soundwave looked at Blaster. “Affirmative.”

“Gotcha. Then, welcome to the Polyhex-division Decepticon base of operations, mech!” Thundercracker announced cheerily, waving his arms out to the empty space and flaring his wings. “I’m the one in charge here, and Soundwave is my second-in-command slash sidekick.”

“Soundwave: Did not consent to being called ‘sidekick,’” he interjected. Thundercracker ignored him, gesturing to the other mechs behind him.

“This is Blast Off,” he gestured to the first mech, another flyer who wore a purple visor. The mech waved.

“Hey. Always good to see a new face. Maybe you’d actually talk to me as opposed to the rest of these guys. Haha,” he laughed, and Blaster pitied him a little.

“Dead End.” The red and black vehiclemech was sitting on a metal crate, looking wholly disinterested in the conversation.

“Sorry you’re here,” is all he said.

“Ruckus.” It seemed the moment Thundercracker introduced the gold and purple mech, he actually took a good look at the newcomer.

“HEY MECH HOW LOUD DO THOSE SPEAKERS GET?!” he screamed, pointing at the ones on Blaster’s legs. Everyone flinched.

“And Shrapnel.” The purple visored insect-mech gave a wave, like Blast Off.

“I’m just happy I got put in Thundercracker’s group, group. Trust me, you got lucky, lucky.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Blaster looked at Soundwave, and whispered, “You’re actually a Decepticon? Not just a sympathizer…?”

“Affirmative. Soundwave: Apologizes for not telling you. Decepticon identity: Cannot be shared with outsiders.”

A vague feeling of dread settled in the pit of Blaster’s frame. “So that means… You all… The Decepticons…”

“Plan to liberate Polyhex next, next,” Shrapnel finished.

Oh. It felt like his energon lines ran cold as he stood there, trying to process the information. Soundwave kept his optics on Blaster, and put a servo on his shoulder. The boombox snapped his head back to the other mech.

“Polyhex: Will not be liberated violently. Blaster: Will assist in making it so.”

“Is that why you need me…?”

“Affirmative.”

“The reason Kaon and Nyon were done like that was because my trine brothers spearheaded those assaults,” TC explained, mild disgust is his voice, “We’re liberators, not savages. I want to avoid as much needless violence as possible.”

“I wouldn’t mind a little violence, violence.”

“WAIT SO YOU WERE SERIOUS ABOUT ME NOT GETTING TO SHOOT ANYTHING?!”

“SO—!” Thundercracker yelled over the other mechs before they could complain further, “The plan is to get as many sympathizers in Polyhex as possible, preferably at least half of the citizens, and then convince them to overtake the Local House. We’ll be there to help, of course!”

“We…weren’t quite sure how to do the outreach, though,” Blast Off added hesitantly, “We tried organizing protests, which helped a little bit, but not as much as we would’ve hoped.”

“Maybe because we made Wildrider acting head of the on-field groups,” Dead End grumbled like it was obvious.

So the protests were all part of the bigger plan, too. The Decepticons have been in Polyhex all this time, right under everyone’s noses.

“Then, Soundwave came up with the brilliant idea of using the air waves to promote the Decepticon cause!” Thundercracker said with a flourish, hovering around the navy blue mech, “With their love of music, countless Polyhexians tune in to the radio every cycle. What better way to sway as many people at once than with a charismatic radio host? So Soundwave went out to learn where we could get a broadcast started, and possibly find a good host as well. If he couldn’t, we were going to use Blast Off, if you could believe it.” Blast Off frowned.

“So it’s great that you’re here! Might even finally get done with this place before Starscream comes.”

“Who’s Starscream?” Blaster asked.

“Do not ask,” Soundwave replied simply.

“All you gotta worry about is if we somehow manage to overturn the Local House before he gets here,” Dead End added, “He’s second-in-command of the entire faction. Don’t know why Megatron thought that was a good idea.”

“Soundwave and Shrapnel: Will hijack the official Polyhexian Local House broadcasting frequency. Hijack: Will be untraceable. Blaster: Will be speaking with a vocal synthesizer filter for full anonymity,” Soundwave further explained, trying to ease away any of Blaster’s lingering worries.

Blaster looked over again at Soundwave, locking optics with the other mech through his crimson visor. He didn’t sense any malice or sinister ulterior motive with the carrierbot. Just a bot who genuinely wanted to change Cybertron for the better.

Still… “And if I do this, no one innocent is going to get hurt?”

Soundwave nodded, “Violence: Will not come to innocents in Polyhex. Soundwave: Promises.”

Blaster let out a slow exvent. “...Alright. I’ll do it.”

“Wonderful!” Thundercracker said cheerily with a clap, “Welcome to the group, Blaster! We’ll get the first broadcast arranged soon.”

“Soundwave: Will escort Blaster back to his apartment.”

The red mech shot the blue one a small smile, “You don’t gotta do that.”

“Soundwave: Insists,” he replied, already starting to walk back towards the exit. With a quiet huff of laughter, Blaster waved goodbye to the other mechs and followed Soundwave closely behind.

Once Blaster caught up to Soundwave, the two walked side-by-side down the dark roads, night having come while they were at the Decepticon base. For a good while, it was silent, which didn’t surprise Blaster. Soundwave didn’t seem like a talkative mech. The other carrierbot didn’t seem uncomfortable with the silence, though, so Blaster didn’t really mind it. Soundwave brought a sense of security with him that Blaster appreciated.

To Blaster’s surprise, Soundwave broke him out of his musings. “Soundwave: Would like to see Eject. Eject: Is recharging?”

“Oh! No, he’s just been vibin’ in my dock,” Blaster smiled brightly at the mention of his cassette, and knocked on his dock’s window. The compartment then opened up, and Eject hopped on out.

“Hi, Soundwave,” Eject said, happiness in his voice as he began walking with them.

“Greetings, Eject. Decepticon base: Did not make you uncomfortable?”

Eject shook his helm, “Nah, I was okay. Being docked makes me more comfortable, and it didn’t seem all that bad. Though you guys picked a really shady spot to hang out in.” Blaster laughed nervously at Eject’s honesty.

“Decepticon base: Is indeed somewhat shady,” Soundwave replied, and Blaster heard that touch of amusement return to his voice. “Inquiry: How did Eject meet Blaster?”

“Blaster picked me up from a connection agency,” Eject explained, “I really needed a carrierbot to bond with. My brain module was all messed up, or something like that. I’m doing better now that I’m with Blast.”

“Soundwave: Understands. Soundwave: Was like Eject.”

“Really?” Eject asked with a bit of wonder, gazing up at the mech.

The blue carrierbot nodded, “Soundwave: Suffered from deteriorating coherency due to lack of cassettes. Soundwave: Did not have a home, and could not work. Cassettes: Helped Soundwave stabilize.”

“Wow,” Eject exvented, still looking at the taller mech.

“Did you also meet them at a connection agency?” Blaster then asked.

Soundwave shook his head, “Negative. Ravage and Laserbeak: Found Soundwave in the streets.”

“So what job did ya end up gettin’ once you were able to land one?” Blaster wondered, curious of the other mech’s origins.

“Soundwave: Previously a low-level assistant at the Rodion Local House.” Blaster frowned a bit at that, but tried to hide it with a polite smile. Jobs like that were typically given to “undesirable” mechs who could not find employment in an occupation even vaguely related to their function. They were the kinds of mechs that people often overlooked or automatically thought lesser of. Was it truly all because of his vocal processor defect? Soundwave was brilliant, and a highly considerate mech on top of that. It’s no wonder that he had chosen to become a Decepticon. Blaster wondered if the mech felt fulfilled now, trying to make Cybertron a better place for everyone.

“Inquiry: Where is Blaster’s other cassette?” Soundwave asked, looking back at Blaster as they walked.

“Ah…Rewind is in Iacon, actually,” Blaster replied, tone slightly sad, “He’s real smart, and has a job as an archivist over there. He was…s’posed to come visit about a decacycle ago, actually.”

“Soundwave: Apologizes,” the other mech said, voice wavering slightly in a way that implied sympathy, “Iacon: Will be liberated as well, eventually. Megatron: Will free all of Cybertron.”

“Is that your boss? Er, leader?”

“Affirmative. Megatron: Recruited Soundwave. Megatron: First to see value in Soundwave, outside of cassettebots,” Soundwave put a servo over his docking chamber as his gaze shifted downward.

“It’s great that you found a mech like that,” Blaster said, smiling fondly.

Eject reached up and put a servo on Soundwave’s arm, “I value you, too! Uhm, even though I’m also a cassettebot. You’re fun to talk to.”

Soundwave leaned down a bit so his optics better met Eject’s, “Soundwave: Appreciates it all the same. Soundwave: Thanks you.”

A moment later, they approached the entrance to Blaster’s apartment. Soundwave stood a few steps away, with the intention to depart now having ensured that the other sound-mech had safely made it to his apartment. The mech had been far too kind to Blaster and Eject, though, and he felt compelled to return it.

“If you don’t gotta head back right away, wanna come up for some energon?” Blaster proffered, pointing his thumb towards the door, “Ravage and Laserbeak can fuel up, too.”

Soundwave was quiet for a moment, seemingly in thought, before he nodded, “Acceptable and appreciated.” He took a few steps forward, and Blaster smiled, opening the door and leading them up to his apartment.

Once Soundwave stepped inside, he ejected both Ravage and Laserbeak. Laserbeak stayed airborne for a moment, doing a large sweep of the front room, before settling on Soundwave’s shoulder. Ravage landed on the floor by his carrier’s side soundlessly, and one ear twitched as he sniffed the air. Blaster waved a quick greeting to them as he made his way over to the kitchen, preparing some quick fuel for them all.

“Do you need any help?” Eject asked, peeking into the kitchen from the living room.

“Nah, it’ll be fast. Go keep Soundwave and his cassettes company, aight?”

“‘Kay.” Eject went back into the main room, and Blaster put together a quick tray of ener-gels and a few cubes of mid-grade. When he stepped back out, Soundwave was seated on the couch, Laserbeak still on his shoulder and Ravage sitting by his pedes. Eject sat next to Soundwave, speaking to him about his cube team, while the carrierbot listened intently.

Blaster set the tray down on the table in front of the couch, and Laserbeak immediately swooped down to peck at a gel. Soundwave took another gel and held it out in his servo for Ravage, and Eject picked up a cube of energon.

Blaster took one of the cubes for himself and settled next to the other side of Soundwave. Bringing the cube to his mouth, Blaster savored the taste of fresh energon.

“Inquiry: Where is your partner?”

The disgruntled mech tried not to look visibly upset as he brought the cube away from his lips, but the wound was still fresh, and he couldn’t stop the way his expression soured at the mention of Jazz. “Dunno. We broke up.”

“That’s rough,” Laserbeak commented nonchalantly, still indulging in the treats.

“It’s fine. Guess some things are just more important to a mech than their partner.” Blaster exvented with a small huff, swishing the energon around in his cube, and then grumbled quietly, “Or maybe I was never important at all.”

Soundwave, frame politely turned slightly towards Blaster, replied near-immediately, “Though perhaps little consolation, Blaster: Important to Soundwave.”

The red mech forced himself to smile a bit as he continued to look into his energon cube, “Thanks, but you don’t gotta stretch the truth or nothin’ just to make me feel better. We’ve only known each other for a little while.”

“Soundwave: Being honest,” the other mech replied, leaning in a touch closer to Blaster, “Blaster: Helped Soundwave when he was just a stranger. Blaster: Did not need to indulge Soundwave’s request, but did anyway. Blaster: Continued to meet with Soundwave, and helped him with everything he has asked for. Blaster: Has been invaluable to Soundwave since he has met him.”

As Soundwave spoke, Blaster slowly straightened himself and looked back at the visored mech. The blue cassette player didn’t take his optics off of Blaster once as he finished, and Blaster could find no indication of dishonesty behind the crimson visor. Blaster cycled his optics, and then smiled again, somewhat more genuinely.

“Thanks, Soundwave. For real. Thank you.”

Soundwave simply nodded and straightened himself again, satisfied with Blaster’s acceptance. A silence fell over the room for a moment, and Blaster readjusted himself a bit on the seat, reaching for the remote. “Well, don’t be shy! Go ahead and fuel up, mech. How about a little bit of vid while you’re here?”

The vidscreen clicked on, starting to play an extremely cheesy Polyhexian soap opera. Blaster decided to stay on it, to humor Soundwave who has likely never seen the show. Eject, however, made his upset very known once Blaster set the remote down.

“Oh, c’mon, Blast! Anything but Love and Longing in Polyhex!” he complained, leaning forward dramatically as he gestured at the screen.

“Hey! LLP is required for every new resident of ‘Hex,” Blaster snickered, making sure he moved the remote further away from Eject’s reach. Eject huffed lightheartedly before slumping back into the couch, arms crossed.

Soundwave gingerly picked up one of the last unclaimed cubes off the tray with one servo, and with the other one he slid off his facemask, placing it down on the table. Blaster’s optics focused on Soundwave’s exposed face as he drank the energon leisurely. As he took the cube from his lips, the cassette player caught the other mech staring at him from the corner of his optics, and he turned again to look at Blaster.

“Blaster: Finds something strange?” he asked, the ghost of inquisitiveness in his tone but his face devoid of meaningful expression.

“Sorry!” Blaster apologized quickly for staring, “I just didn’t expect your facemask to be the removable-type for some reason. I realized I never actually saw ya eat or drink anythin’ when we met at the cafe.”

“Soundwave: Does not typically remove mask around others. However, Soundwave: Is comfortable around Blaster and Eject,” he confessed.

“What the slag is going on in this show?” Laserbeak interjected before Blaster could reply to Soundwave. The boombox focused back on the vidscreen, which showed a scene of a white and green vehicle mech passionately kissing another mech, covered in energon, under a lone streetlight.

“So the green vehicle mech is the main character,” Blaster explained, “He was a hot bartender with an abusive boss until he got recruited by a talent agency to be a model. He then became even more hot and famous doin’ all these modeling gigs, but got a crush on a rival agency’s model’s spark brother’s best friend, which is—apparently—very taboo. Also, the mech he’s crushin’ on is a serial killer. The main character just confessed to the other mech right after he killed somebody, which is why he’s covered in energon.”

“That’s…ridiculous,” Ravage said, narrowing his optics critically at the screen.

“Yeah, but also awesome,” Blaster said with a grin.

“But mostly ridiculous,” Eject quickly added, now reaching for a gel.

“Protagonist: Was able to love somebody despite their apparent flaws, which Soundwave finds very moving—“

“—I mean, if ya find murdering at least seven mechs just a flaw, then—“

“—Soundwave: Intrigued by this program.”

Soundwave and his cassettes ended up staying at the apartment a lot later than either of them anticipated. To Blaster’s surprise, Soundwave was enamored by Love and Longing in Polyhex, so the red mech felt disinclined to make fun of the show. That didn’t stop Eject, however, from making commentary throughout the viewing, though thankfully Soundwave didn’t seem to mind. Ravage and Laserbeak also participated in the jabs, so Blaster had a feeling that the other carrierbot was used to that kind of behavior.

Eventually, Blaster had begun having trouble keeping his optics turned on, and Eject had fallen into recharge on the couch while Ravage rested at his pedes. The tray of fuel had already been cleaned up, and a comfortable silence had long since fallen on the room. As the last episode winded to a close, Soundwave rose to his pedes. Ravage sensed the carrierbot move, and slowly rose from his lying position as well, circling around the navy blue bot.

“Soundwave: Has stayed too late by accident. Returning to apartment now.”

“Aw, don’t worry Soundey. I liked your company. Er, is it okay if I call you Soundey?”

“Acceptable,” Soundwave replied as he watched Blaster slowly get on his pedes. He walked the mech and his cassettes to the front door, and Soundwave took a step out before turning around.

“Thanks for walkin’ me home. You get back safely,” Blaster smiled, “And swing by again sometime.”

Soundwave nodded. “Acknowledged,” he said, with that slight intonation of happiness that he gets sometimes. Blaster had been getting better at picking up on it. The mech turned again and began walking away, and Blaster clicked the door shut. He carried Eject into his berthroom, before he went into his own, falling into recharge a lot more satisfied than he had felt in a long time.

Blaster returned to Cloudchaser’s club for a scheduled shift. It was his first time back at the club since Jazz left in a few decacycles. Truthfully, Blaster did not want to work at this club again. He knew if he went, he’d just return to his apartment brooding and grumpy, and Eject didn’t deserve that. But with the uptick in enforcer activity lately, coupled with all the mechs who have left Polyhex due to fear, the clubbing scene had been dwindling. Blaster wasn’t getting as much work, and he was admittedly starting to get desperate. When Cloudchaser contacted him asking if he was available to cover a shift, he didn’t have much choice but to accept.

When he entered the club, the flyer greeted him with a weary smile and tired optics. Blaster smiled back as professionally as he could, swallowing down the swirling emotions of sparkbreak and anger, as he shook the club owner’s servo.

“It’s good to see ya, Blaster,” she said, her voice sounding more worn than he last remembered it.

“Same to you,” Blaster replied, tilting his helm a bit while regarding the flyer sympathetically, “I’m guessin’ ya don’t want me to ask how things are going?”

Cloudchaser exvented a puff of self-pitying laughter, “Yep, I don’t.” Then, when they ended the handshake, she immediately threw her servos in the air in frustration, “It’s horrible! Ripple left—which, don’t get me wrong, I totally understand, she’s a sickly mech and with the way things are goin’ she didn’t want to hang around Polyhex—But some of my usual patrons don’t even want to come by anymore and for what? ‘Cause I got some slaggin’ wings on my back?! That just makes me one of them ‘Cons now, huh?! I was pretty apolitical before all this went down, y’know? Oh, and don’t even get me started on those enforcers—Y’know what, start me, Blaster! C’mon, start me!”

Blaster averted his optics uncomfortably, “What did the enforcers—”

“Fraggers asked me if I really was the owner of my club, and if this place was even ‘really’ a club in the first place! They thought it was a front or some scrap for the Decepticons! And I’ve owned my establishment for, what—” the flyer snapped her head towards the bartender, absentmindedly wiping a cube dry, “Beaker, how long have I owned my establishment for?”

“Twenty-five vorns, ma’am,” the bartender responded with ennui, likely having been asked this question countless times in the past few cycles.

“Twenty-five vorns!” Cloudchaser repeated emphatically, locking her optics back on Blaster, “Any upstandin’ Polyhexian would know about my club! See what bigotry does to our fine city-state?”

“Oh yeah, I see it.”

Cloudchaser let out a withered sigh as she dropped her helm upward, frame drooping from the release of the pent-up frustration. “The worst part of it all is losing so many of my regular entertainers,” she grumbled more quietly, “‘Specially Jazz. Told me the music gigs weren’t payin’ the bills no more, and he was movin’ closer to Iacon for work. I miss that slagger.”

Blaster frowned immediately at the mention of his ex. This is exactly why he didn’t want to come back here. Could he go a single cycle without being reminded of Jazz? Though he supposed he did this to himself, accepting the job Clouderchaser had offered him. He feigned an unperturbed expression as he hummed in acknowledgment.

“Is all the sound equipment still in the usual spot?” he immediately asked, attempting to divert the topic elsewhere.

“Oh! Yes,” Cloudchaser nodded, “And we only got a couple minibots performing aside from standard-builds. None of the tankers have shown up in ages either.”

In the end, Blaster got all of the necessary equipment prepared without any incident. When he approached the area he had to sit in to hook up to the sound systems, he spared a glance at the empty chair—the one Jazz had sat in back when they first met. With no one around, his expression soured, and he moved the chair to the opposite end of the room. He then took his own seat, plugged himself into the systems, and mindlessly drummed his fingers on the sides of his face as he listened to the stage performances begin. He could tell just by listening that the already normally small crowd was even slimmer than usual, but it seemed like everyone out there was having a good time regardless of the circumstances.

About midway into the night, Blaster’s comm pinged. Noticing that the frequency was Soundwave’s, he straightened himself and cycled his optics, opening the message immediately.

Good evening, the other carrierbot wrote with a glyph of casualness, Where are you right now?

Working sound tech. Bored as hell.

If anyone can manage, it’s you. I have some things for you. Is it alright if I visit you at the club once you are off work?

Ooh, a present from you? Blaster responded with glyphs that indicated good humor, Sure thing. I’ll be done in a couple joors. The club is called Blue Street.

Well, one of them is from me, Soundwave replied in kind, I’ll see you in two joors.

Having spoken with Soundwave, the rest of the night passed much more pleasantly than it had before. He had nearly forgotten about Jazz and the memories he shared with him of the space. Instead, his mind wandered to what Soundwave could possibly have for him, if he was going to bring Ravage and Laserbeak with him, if he had watched more episodes of Love and Longing in Polyhex. Before he knew it, the night had wound down to a close. Blaster giddily put all of the sound equipment away, received his pay from Cloudchaser, and stepped outside.

Sure enough, Soundwave was waiting right at the door. Ravage was undocked and sitting idly beside his carrier, flicking his tail when he saw Blaster approach.

“Eject is not with you,” the cybercat stated frankly, tilting his helm.

Blaster shook his head, “He doesn’t come with me to sound tech jobs. He’s alright though, he’s just takin’ care of our habsuite. What about Laserbeak?”

“Laserbeak: Currently on an assignment,” Soundwave responded. He paused for a moment, seemingly tapping into his cassette-carrier bond, before continuing with a hint of fondness, “Laserbeak: Also bored with work, like Blaster.”

Blaster smiled warmly and then regarded the other mech with curiosity, “So, whaddya got for me?”

“This way,” Soundwave said, softly taking Blaster’s servo in his as he guided them to a secluded alleyway a few steps away from the club. Once they were far enough into the alley that no one on the adjacent street would immediately spot them, Ravage settled himself closer to the entrance and faced the street. Soundwave released Blaster’s servo and turned to face him again.

The blue mech took a datapad and a black Decepticon emblem out of his subspace, presenting them to Blaster. The boombox cycled his optics, silently asking for clarification.

“Emblem: Solely for allied civilians with whom the Decepticons collaborate. Present only to Decepticons. Otherwise, keep the emblem subspaced at all times.”

“Datapad:” Soundwave continued, “Contains information Decepticons wish for Blaster to share for the first broadcast. Information: Sensitive, so please bring it straight home. Do not open it now.”

Blaster accepted the items in his servos, regarding them for another moment, before tucking them away into his subspace. “An ally, huh?” Blaster asked with a hesitant smile.

Soundwave nodded, “Affirmative. Ally emblem: Solely for key collaborators.”

“So that’s your big gift?” Blaster said lightheartedly, his grin becoming more relaxed.

“Negative. Soundwave’s gift: Is this.”

The Decepticon unsubspaced a gun and held it out to Blaster. The grin immediately left Blaster’s face and the boombox took a panicked half-step back.

“Whoa!” Blaster exclaimed, before recalling that they were in public and whispered, “Are you serious?!”

“Affirmative,” Soundwave said, looking unfazed as he still held the weapon out for Blaster to accept.

“How? Why?”

“Decepticons: Have weapons to spare. Soundwave: Wishes for Blaster to be protected.”

“I…I don’t know how to use one, Soundey,” Blaster said apologetically, “I’ve never even held one before.”

“Soundwave: Will teach you,” the other mech responded easily, and then gestured again for Blaster to take the gun, “Please, accept it. Safety: Is on.”

Blaster hesitated for another moment before taking the gun in his servos. Although it was about the length of his arm, it was surprisingly light. Blaster could hardly believe something that was capable of killing a mech didn’t feel heavy at all. He turned it over in his hands, studying it, before subspacing it into a long compartment on his leg.

“Uhm—thank you,” Blaster said, somewhat stilted. Soundwave simply nodded in approval.

“First broadcast: Will be at the end of the decacycle. Soundwave: Will see you then.”

“Yeah, see you then.”

Blaster watched the visored mech exit the alleyway first, turning back to give him one last glance, before walking away into the night. Blaster stood there for another moment, still processing everything, before he, too, left the alleyway to go straight home.

The remainder of the decacycle passed uneventfully, and before he knew it Blaster was waiting nervously in the tech room of his radio studio, Eject docked within his chest. He had arrived at around mid-cycle and waited—Soundwave had informed him to be at the studio a good several joors prior, carrying boxes of datapads with him. While the broadcast is going to be untraceable, he explained, making it seem like Blaster was simply taking care of Polyhex Groove related work for any cameras he may pass by through chance would lower any potential suspicion. Blaster figured that made enough sense, so he complied, although he kept Eject docked the entire walk over so he would never be seen as also collaborating with the Decepticons.

Eventually, there was a knock on the door, and Blaster shot up out of his seat. He rushed over and clicked the button to slide the door open with a shaky digit. Thundercracker leaned on the doorframe casually with a pleasant smile, as if they weren’t about to do something incredibly illegal. Soundwave and Shrapnel stood immediately next to the blue flyer, and peeking behind them were Dead End and Blast Off, guns drawn but lowered.

Thundercracker caught the moment that Blaster’s optics zeroed in on the weapons and shrugged as he let himself inside the studio, placing a servo on the nervous mech’s shoulder. “Just some extra insurance. Don’t worry about it.”

Blaster stepped to the side to let the entire group enter. He looked at Soundwave as he approached, and the blue mech paused to look back at him—perhaps apologetically—before continuing inside. Dead End and Blast Off settled at either end of the door once Blaster let it close. Blaster tried to swallow his nerves back down, if not for himself then for Eject.

“Uhm,” he said, voice wavering slightly, “Did you mechs just walk here? What about the cameras…?”

“Laserbeak: Currently locating and manipulating footage on any possible camera that may have seen us.”

“Oh. Got it.”

“Ah, so this is the machinery, machinery,” Shrapnel spoke as he approached the radio equipment with eager servos. As he got close, Eject jumped in Blaster’s dock, and Blaster stumbled forward in surprise. Out of the corner of his optic, he caught Dead End and Blast Off twitch their guns a bit more in Blaster’s direction, and the radio host immediately put his servos up at his sides in surrender.

~Don’t let them touch my stuff!~ Eject demanded over the bond.

“Sorry. Sorry,” he said quickly, facing the room as his mind scrambled for an excuse, “It’s just, ah—uhm—”

“Dead End, Blast Off: Lower weapons,” Soundwave commanded, lowering his servo in a “settle down” gesture. The armed mechs obliged, their frames relaxing as they turned themselves away from Blaster. Soundwave then turned to Shrapnel. “Blaster’s cassettebot: Does not like his equipment being touched without permission.” Shrapnel understood the command implied by those words, and drew his curious servo back.

Thundercracker seemed a bit humored by the situation, but still crossed his arms to feign mild exasperation. “Right, right. We don’t want to touch the minibot’s belongings without his permission, now. Why doesn’t he come out of his little hidey-home in there and monitor Shrapnel and Soundwave while they work?”

“Eject: Finds this condition acceptable?” Soundwave asked, voice kind, as he turned to Blaster. Blaster still considered the whole situation far too dangerous to let Eject out and about, but before he could try to come up with an excuse to keep his cassette docked, he felt his internal locking mechanism release. His dock opened up, and Eject came out, transforming back into root-mode as he landed on the floor.

“That’s alright, I guess,” he said as he looked up at Soundwave. Blaster tried to keep his expression neutral as he closed his dock, while formulating a stern lecture to give to Eject later.

“Perfect!” Thundercracker said with a smile, then turned his attention to Shrapnel, “How long do you think it’ll take to get into the government frequency?”

Shrapnel approached the radio equipment again, examining it again while Eject peered closely from just behind him. “Not too long, this should be simple enough, enough. The security measures in this city-state are a complete joke, joke.”

“Affirmative,” Soundwave agreed as he stood next to his comrade, leaning in to assist in manipulating the equipment. Even Eject pressed closer and began to help. Blaster looked on for a few moments as the three of them worked. Just two orbital cycles ago, he was a normal radio host, living a normal life, loving his normal partner. It all disappeared—so quickly, so easily. Fleetingly, Blaster wondered if there would ever be any turning back from this. If he could do what he was about to do, and then somehow find his way back to his old life again. He watched as his little cassettebot turned knobs and moved wires to get into a secured frequency—acting as an accomplice, Blaster’s brain module supplied—and wondered if not himself, if just his Eject would be able to escape from all of this if it came down to it.

A servo patted his shoulder abruptly, and Blaster had to suppress a startle. Thundercracker leaned into Blaster’s field of view, and smiled at him. “Mind showing me the broadcast room while these mechs work?”

“Oh, sure,” Blaster replied, allowing himself to be herded into his own studio. As they got to the door, Thundercracker turned around and called, “You too, Blast Off, c’mon.” The other flyer quickly fell into step with them as they entered the broadcast room, and closed the door behind them once they settled.

“Ooh, this is nice,” the blue flyer said as he examined the room with a small spin, before his optics met Blaster again, “Never been in a broadcast studio before.”

“Thanks,” Blaster replied simply, not knowing what more to say.

“So this room is soundproof? You can’t even hear the mechs in the other room once the door sealed shut.”

“Yes,” was all Blaster could say, his nerves returning suddenly at the strange question. He then added quickly, “There’s a speaker system though. If someone in the tech room wanted to hear what was happenin’ in here, or if they wanted someone in here to hear them, all they would have to do is press a button.”

Thundercracker hummed in response, an amused expression still on his face. His optics lingered on Blaster as he moved over to one of the chairs at Blaster’s table, settling casually into the seat.

“You’ve read the datapad thoroughly, right?” TC asked, digits crossed as they rested on the table.

“Yeah,” Blaster nodded, still standing awkwardly in the room. “Everything on it…that’s all true…?”

“Of course it is.” Thundercracker said, reclining in the seat. He gestured to the seat next to him, “Don’t be shy, come sit.”

Blaster spared one glance behind him, towards Blast Off. The mech kept a neutral expression while standing in front of the door, servos still gripping the gun. He turned back to the blue flyer as he slowly walked over and lowered himself into his seat. Thundercracker continued to stare at him, and Blaster averted his gaze to the table.

“I’m sorry if the guns are making you nervous, Blaster. With the Senate and Local Houses on our backs, we do have to be careful with everything we do. Even when it comes to allies, unfortunately.” Blaster looked back at the other mech, but said nothing.

“I really don’t like needless violence,” the blue mech continued, sounding honest, “And I hate the thought of innocents getting hurt on our path to liberation.”

“Does that include Kaon and Nyon…?” Blaster asked cautiously.

“Sure,” Thundercracker shrugged, sounding more mildly annoyed by the reminder of the conflicts there than upset. “Lord Megatron and Trine Starscream led the initial push in Kaon. It was our leader’s plan, so while it’s a shame what happened to the injured civilians I’m sure there was no better way to go about it. Nyon was my other trinemate Skywarp’s doing. Next time we see each other again, he’s probably going to gloat about getting results quicker than me, that slagger. I’m almost certain Nyon didn’t need an assault like that to be liberated, but I’m sure any innocent spark lost there is resting easy in the Well now, knowing they were martyrs for our cause.”

It was silent for a moment as Blaster tried to process the other mech’s strangely emotionally detached words. He claimed to hate it, but death sounded more like a minor inconvenience to him than genuine upset. And he spoke of trines…

“Are you from Vos, TC?” Blaster asked.

Thundercracker smiled again, but this time softly, “Yes.”

Vos, the great city-state of the sky. Very nearly every native-forged Vosian had an avian frametype. Due to the city-state resting on the summits of a field of iron mountains, it was extremely difficult for any mech who couldn’t fly to access Vos. For this reason, too, Vos was rather secluded from the rest of Cybertron. Vosians had their own distinct culture and traditions which other Cybertronians sometimes found strange. One notable difference was the concept of trine. Vosians believed that three was a sacred number, as Cybertron itself once consisted of the planet and its two moons, and that Primus created each Cybertronian with three core parts: the brain module, the transformation cog, and the spark. They also believed that Primus created newsparks three at a time, and that these three mechs were forever connected through trine. Vosians did not practice conjunx or amica endura bonds. Rather, almost immediately after a newspark is forged or constructed, they are trine bonded to two other mechs. Many bots outside of Vos found this bizarre, struggling to understand how Vosians were proud to be bonded to two other random mechs without their own input.

Though, even with the strange cultural disparities, Vos was a prosperous, self-sufficient city-state. It was very nearly a utopia, up until its sudden demise. It never had good relations with the city-state neighboring it, Tarn. It’s hard to say which of their many disputes ended up being the final straw, but what every Cybertronian does know is that one cycle, the conflict exploded, quite literally. Hellfire rained down on Vos as Tarn barraged it endlessly with missiles, for nearly an entire orbital cycle. By the end of it, the mountains were crumbling, unrecognizable grayed out corpses could barely be distinguished from the rubble, and there was nothing left salvageable of the city-state of the sky.

The Senate had blamed Vosians for their own downfall, for being too selfish and isolated. They had said it was retribution from Primus himself for not using their function for the good of Cybertron.

“Having been home with my trine during the Downfall, perhaps I’ve become somewhat desensitized to death,” Thundercracker admitted, staring at his twiddling digits as the memories glazed his optics over. The confession surprised Blaster, and he cycled his optics.

“I’m sorry,” the red mech mumbled, looking at the other mech sadly.

“It’s alright,” Thundercracker said softly, a slightly pained smile on his face as he looked back at Blaster, “Like the offlined innocents in Kaon and Nyon, Vos was also a martyr. If the Downfall hadn’t happened, I probably would have never seen how corrupted the rest of Cybertron had become.”

Thundercracker’s expression wavered for a moment, as he slowly looked away from Blaster, “When Vos died, it felt like my life had ended. Trine Starscream eventually led the three of us to the Decepticons. Lord Megatron showed me what my purpose was, what everything that happened at Vos was for. I’ve become a martyr, still functioning.”

Before Blaster could even begin to formulate a response, the overhead speaker clicked on. “We’re ready out here, here,” Shrapnel announced. Blaster turned to look at the window, and saw the mechs in the tech room peering into the broadcasting room.

The previous emotion instantly left Thundercracker’s face as he clapped his servos together cheerily, “Perfect! You’ll do great, Blaster, just remember what was on the datapad!”

Blaster nodded, “Uh, right.”

With a swallow to settle his nerves, Blaster pulled his mic a bit closer, and turned it on.

::Good afternoon, Polyhex. This is…the Voice. Speaking to you through the Polyhex Local House’s radio frequency. I am a friend and fellow Polyhexian, and I’m here to tell you the truth. The truth that the Senate and the Local House have been hiding from us.::

::We have been living under a puppet regime. The Senate functionists have planted placid politicians in our own Local House, allowing them to slowly pass more and more extreme functionist laws. They tried to distract us with non-serious issues, with policies concerning festivals and expansion of tourism, to keep us from seeing the way the alleged “non-functionist” politicians easily bend to the will of functionism. They considered Polyhexians to be fools, that we would not notice their deception against us. But we Polyhexians are no fools, and we will no longer be deceived!::

::The cowardly functionist politicians in our Local House have fled to Iacon for refuge from the inevitable retribution that is coming. The foolish “non-functionist” politicians believe that they are safe, to continue to monitor and oppress us in the wake of our uprising on behalf of their colleagues in Iacon. In the wake of it all, we have been abandoned by those alleged to protect us. The vibrant nightlife and peaceful society that Polyhex was once known for has been crumbling, and they expect us to sit back and let our society fall apart, so they can scavenge whatever will remain for their own twisted purposes.::

::I’m here to tell you, Polyhex: no politician is innocent. None will or should be spared from our revolution. The time is growing near for us to show them the true strength of Polyhex—the strength of Cybertron. Will you continue to be complacent, or will you take arms with your fellow Polyhexian, to help protect our city-state from the evil lurking within our government? As a proud native of our incredible city-state, I know that you all—no, that we—are going to make the right choice. No more functionism, Polyhex! No more deception!::

“Well, this ain’t good,” Jazz muttered with a frown, digits pressed up to his audial as he heard the broadcast, fairly staticky due to his proximity to Iacon’s border.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Ironhide drawled, readjusting himself in his seat as he looked over at the other mech.

“Someone just hijacked the Polyhex government frequency. Sounded like a ‘Con. Or at least some mech…working with them…” Jazz trailed off at the end, optics paling.

“Dammit,” Ironhide snarled, not noticing Jazz’s change in demeanor, “They’re on the move again.”

Jazz stood from his seat and started toward the door, “C’mon, we gotta go update Orion and Prowl, see if this’ll change the plan at all.” He sent a ping to the two mechs to meet him in the tactics room.

Jazz rushed into the room, Ironhide following closely behind. A short moment later, Prowl and Orion entered.

“Jazz,” Orion said with his deep timbre, regarding the visored mech, “What is it you wish to report?”

“Polyhex is in danger, Orion.”

“Yes, that isn’t new,” Prowl replied frankly, servos behind his back, “I’ve already run these calculations. Polyhex—along with Nyon, Rodion, and Tesarus—were all high-risk Decepticon targets since their initial siege of Kaon.”

“A broadcast just went out to every Polyhexian on Cybertron, through the government frequency. It was a call to arms against the Local House.”

“By the Decepticons?” Orion asked.

Jazz shook his helm, “It was a Polyhexian. They’re probably bein’ tricked by them—bein’ used to get the rest of Polyhex to let the ‘Cons take over.” Jazz frowned, “It was a good speech, Orion. The ‘Cons are goin’ for ‘Hex next, and they’re gonna do it soon.”

“Prowl?” Orion turned to the black-and-white Praxian.

The tactician crossed his arms, “We don’t have enough Autobots outside of Iacon yet for any kind of effective counterplay, and it is critical that Iacon remains our primary concern. However, with the projected timeline I’m currently calculating, we may narrowly have a big enough window to escort some agents out and then travel to Polyhex. I will get someone to go back to Iacon and contact Rewind so—”

“No!” Jazz blurted out, and Prowl narrowed his optics. “Rewind is Polyhexian, and he told me he’s got a spark brother and carrierbot back home. If he knows Polyhex is about to become a warzone, he’s gonna wanna go, and he’s a stubborn bot. We need him to stay in Iacon to help get mechs past the city limit.”

Prowl’s optics scrutinized Jazz silently for several moments longer, before he shifted his gaze to the red mech beside him, “Ironhide. Can you, Hound, and Smokescreen immediately escort sixty additional agents out of Iacon within a seven cycle window?”

“You can count on it,” Ironhide grunted.

“Good, Ironhide. You are dismissed,” Orion commanded, and Ironhide turned and sped out of the tactics room.

“I want to go with the Polyhex dispatch, Orion,” Jazz said, placing his servos on the command table in the center of the room.

“I under—”

“Absolutely not,” Prowl interrupted. When Jazz looked at the tactician in disbelief, he elaborated matter-of-factly, “It is ineffective to deploy key agents on secondary missions to protect city-states in the Decepticons’ path. You play a pivotal role in our primary objective of lifting the martial law in Iacon. The mission in Iacon is far more important than whatever is happening in Polyhex.”

Jazz grit his denta, “Life is life, and lots of them are gonna be lost in Polyhex if the ‘Cons have their way. You can’t say one life-saving mission is more important than the other.”

The tactician frowned, “You are being emotional. It is not a matter of our views on the value of lives. I am stating what makes the most logical sense, strategy-wise.”

“So if it was Praxus and not Polyhex, you wouldn’t go?”

Prowl remained unfazed, “Correct. Iacon is more important.”

“I agree with Prowl in that you should stay here, Jazz,” Orion spoke calmly, and the two arguing mechs turned their helms to their leader. “I understand Polyhex is your home, but I fear your connection to it may cloud your judgment, just as you claimed for Rewind. You must trust that those being sent there will do everything in their power to deescalate the situation.”

The Polyhexian kept a stern gaze on the other two mechs for another moment, but he offlined his optics and hung his helm, sucking in an invent as he tried to school his emotions. Barely above a whisper, all Jazz could say was, “Yes, sir.”

Chapter Text

Really? “The Voice?” Good one, Blaster, the mech thought to himself, cringing at the cheesy pseudonym he made up in the moment. As he stepped out of the broadcast room, Soundwave looked at him.

“Broadcast: Was successful. Blaster: Performed past expectations,” Soundwave complimented. Blaster released a shaky exvent he hadn’t realized he was holding and smiled.

“Thanks, Soundwave,” he said, looking at the other carrierbot. Thundercracker and Blast Off exited the broadcast room behind Blaster, and TC grinned widely as he slung an arm over Blaster.

“I’ll say! That’s sure to get mechs moving. I’ll get Ruckus and Wildrider to do some recon tomorrow.”

“Are we good to go home?” Eject asked, and Blaster quickly walked up to his cassette, standing in front of him and trying to look apologetic for the way the minibot acted.

Thundercracker laughed, “Yeah, I think we’re all done here for tonight. You made sure the equipment was back to the way it looked before, right, Shrapnel?” The insect-mech nodded affirmatively.

“What about the cameras?” Blaster asked, “Wouldn’t it be suspicious if anyone saw me leaving my studio right when that broadcast ended?”

“Laserbeak: Will change the timestamps on any relevant camera,” Soundwave assured.

“You should leave first,” Thundercracker added, “That way, after we leave, Laserbeak can do his magic to change all the footage.”

“Ah, yeah, that makes sense,” Blaster agreed, and then turned to his cassettebot. “Eject? You wanna dock?”

“Yeah. See you, Soundwave!” Eject said. Soundwave waved goodbye as Eject transformed and docked into Blaster’s chest.

“I’ll see you later?” Blaster asked hesitantly as he looked at the red visored mech in anticipation.

Soundwave nodded, “Soundwave: Would like to watch more Love and Longing in Polyhex together.”

Blaster laughed easily, “Sure thing, mech. Take care.”

With a wave, the boombox walked out of his studio and into the night, returning to his habsuite. Oddly, despite everything that had happened, he had felt at ease. Although the entirety of the night was nerve-racking for the mech, he managed to find peaceful recharge with the thought of spending more time with the other carrierbot in the near future.

Predictably, the news and the Polyhex Local House were up in arms the following morning over last night’s broadcast. Reporters talked at length about The Voice, his identity and the context of everything he had spoken about. Blaster was just relieved that his voice had been distorted enough that no one seemed to be able to tell it was him right away.

Still, he caught himself trying to stampen down his nerves as he returned to the broadcast studio in the morning for The Polyhex Groove. It had spread out into the bond a bit, and Eject had put a comforting servo on him in response before they left the apartment. Blaster found himself once again grateful for his little carrierbot. He kept him docked on the walk over to the studio, however, just in case.

When they arrived again at the studio, he and Eject were relieved to see that everything was as they left it. No one standing outside waiting for them, and no sign of anything inside being tampered with. Blaster spent the time before the broadcast calming himself back down. Watching Eject do his usual routine helped surprisingly well—Blaster was starting to think the cassettebot was braver than he’d ever be.

“Business as usual?” Eject asked expectantly, facing his carrierbot once he finished organizing his datapads.

“Yeah,” Blaster nodded affirmatively, “Business as usual.”

The radio host entered his studio and sat in his usual chair, taking one last deep invent and exvent to settle the lingering nerves. He looked back towards the window, where Eject was waiting. He gave a thumbs up, and a short moment later Eject signaled the start of the broadcast.

“Good morning, Cybertron! You’re listening to The Polyhex Groove, bringing you all the hottest tunes from this side of the planet.” Just as Blaster started speaking, he was suddenly struck with a thought: Should he acknowledge last night’s hack? The entirety of Polyhex and possibly Cybertron knows of it by now, so shouldn’t he say something about it—or would it be more suspicious if he made no comment, especially after sharing his thoughts on everything for the past few broadcasts? If anything, he shouldn’t overthink it, maybe make a quick remark and then move on. His mouth continued speaking as his mind raced.

“I’m your host, Blaster, and it’s currently 0500 here in Polyhex. Some strange things have been goin’ on lately, huh? Can get a little hard to make sense of everything, but I’m sure it’ll all figure itself out. Anyway, let’s relieve the stress with some tunes! This is ‘Precipice’ by Stereo.”

Blaster turned off his mic and leaned back with a sigh. Hopefully saying that much wouldn’t draw any suspicion towards him. He hoped he could keep up a persona of innocence for long enough, at least until the Decepticons are in charge of Polyhex. The enforcers will probably be closely listening to every Polyhexian radio broadcast over the next several cycles, and he wouldn’t be surprised if they approached as many radio hosts as they could during their investigation. The Decepticons covered up any possible camera footage and provided him an alibi, but it was still on him to make sure that he didn’t become a primary suspect. He’d have to be careful going out with Eject undocked, as well. The little mech was bad at knowing when and when not to lie. With a sigh, Blaster tried to brush away the anxious thoughts clouding his processor as he continued his regular broadcast.

“Like this?” Blaster asked tentatively, awkwardly readjusting his grip on the gun. Soundwave had kindly offered to give Blaster some weapon training, and so they were out on the outskirts of Polyhex, doing target practice on cans.

“Better. Readjust placement of servo: Here.” Soundwave brought his servos around Blaster from behind, gently guiding Blaster’s up a bit more.

“Oh,” Blaster exvented. Soundwave’s digits were surprisingly smooth and warm, and felt nice over his.

“Next: Focus on target with the sight,” Soundwave instructed.

“R-right,” Blaster said, offlining one of his optics as he leaned his head down.

“Lift weapon higher,” Soundwave said, moving his servos on Blaster’s wrists as he helped him lift it to the appropriate height. Blaster belatedly realized it felt a little more comfortable this way, having been distracted by the feel of Soundwave’s servos. He could see the target clearly through the sight. Soundwave didn’t take his servos off of Blaster’s.

“Blaster: Is ready?” Soundwave prompted gently. Blaster nodded shallowly, trying to keep his focus.

“Fire,” he said. Blaster squeezed the trigger, and a shot burst out from the muzzle of the gun. The ricochet surprised Blaster, and he flinched with an “eep!” as his arms flung backward, the gun nearly hitting him square in the face. The shot barely hit the can he was aiming for by its edge, and it spun for a moment before toppling from its perch and onto the ground.

“Nearly sufficient,” Soundwave complimented Blaster easily as he took his servos off of Blaster’s. Why did that make Blaster feel a little disappointed? “Blaster: Just needs to keep arms and servos steady while firing.”

“That sounds like a tall order,” Blaster laughed sadly.

“Observe,” Soundwave replied, un-subspacing his own gun. In one smooth motion, he aimed the gun and fired it in quick succession, knocking over three more cans they had lined up with near perfect accuracy. Soundwave nonchalantly looked back at Blaster, who was staring at the knocked over targets, mouth agape.

Half a moment later, he snapped his helm back towards Soundwave. “You gotta be cheating or somethin’! Ya got some stabilizer mods, right? Let me see your arms!” he gawked, making grabby motions towards Soundwave. Soundwave teasingly shifted just out of Blaster’s reach.

“Soundwave: Has no mods,” the mech replied in his light-hearted tone, still dodging around Blaster, who laughed as he chased him. “Blaster: Is just poor at keeping his arms still.”

Blaster ceased his chasing and crossed his arms, looking petulant. “Show off,” he remarked, and couldn’t help the smirk that spread on his face when Soundwave didn’t refute that.

“Blaster: Just needs more practice. Let’s try again.”

…

“So, your cassettes are out on assignments again?” Blaster asked as they seated themselves on a bench near a park inside Blaster’s home district of Harmonex. The red mech was absently enjoying a cube of energon while they chatted, though because they were out in public, Soundwave didn’t have one himself.

“Affirmative. Eject: Is also away?”

“Yup. His cube team went on a trip to an amusement park after their practice today, to get their minds off of everything goin’ on.” Blaster grinned, “How rare is this, two carrierbots both without their cassettes?”

“Quite rare,” Soundwave agreed, “But welcomed.”

Blaster broke out into a minor fit of laughter as he patted Soundwave’s shoulder, the other mech allowing himself to be jostled slightly. When Blaster looked at him again, Soundwave was staring back. To any other mech, they probably wouldn’t be able to decipher what expression lied behind that mask and visor. But Blaster knew the cassette player found humor in the situation as well.

The two sat there for a long while, enjoying one another’s company and the activity around them. Blaster had to admit, he cherished the time he could spend with the other carrierbot. Whenever he was with Soundwave, all of his worries and stresses seemed to melt away. Though he appeared aloof and straight-laced on the surface, a caring and surprisingly silly mech existed underneath. Blaster was happy that he decided to give Soundwave a chance, back when he was a stranger all those cycles ago. He found that he doesn’t even think about Jazz whenever he spends time with Soundwave. He wondered if Soundwave also valued their time spent together in the same way. Though considering how open he is when hanging out together, Blaster wasn’t particularly worried that he didn’t.

It was nearing twilight when Blaster suggested that they go back to his apartment. Soundwave agreed, and a short while later the two entered Blaster’s home.

“Want some energon?” Blaster asked, pointing towards his kitchen.

Soundwave nodded in appreciation, and Blaster smiled as he quickly prepared him a cube and handed it to the other carrierbot. “Soundwave: Thanks you,” he said as he accepted the fuel, slipping his facemask off and placing it on the counter as he sat.

“No problem,” Blaster replied, smile widening as he gazed at Soundwave’s maskless face.

They could sit and watch shows on the vidscreen like they did the first time Soundwave visited, but Blaster instead opted to put on some music. Through his speakers, the sound carried through the room at a low volume, and Blaster offlined his optics as he tapped to the rhythm.

“Music: Is pleasant,” Soundwave commented, and Blaster turned his optics back on to see the other mech staring at him, mouth upturned in a slight smile.

“Thanks. Played it on the radio recently and it’s been stuck in my brain module,” Blaster said, his tapping morphing into some light dancing as the music resonated through him. Every time he turned back to Soundwave, the mech’s gaze was still pinned on him.

The music crescendoed as Blaster got lost in the beat. He twirled with a laugh, and then beamed at Soundwave. “Dance with me!” he called, still jiving to the sound.

Soundwave straightened himself, “Soundwave: Cannot.”

“‘Course ya can! Ya got a frame that can move, that’s all you need.”

The cassette player shook his helm, “Soundwave: Does not know how. Soundwave: Has never danced before.”

Blaster put on a small smile as he slowed his motions, taking a moment to gaze at the other carrierbot. “C’mon, get up. I’ll show you. Let’s put on somethin’ slower.”

Blaster changed tracks to one with a lower BPM. Soundwave hesitantly rose from his seat, faltering a few times before Blaster held both his servos in his and lifted him the rest of the way encouragingly. He brought the other mech out to the open space away from the kitchen counter.

“Put your right servo here,” the red mech said, guiding Soundwave’s servo to the small of his back. Blaster weaved his own servo behind Soundwave.

“And then we hold our other servos like this,” Blaster continued, lacing his digits around the blue mech’s and raising them up to just below shoulder height.

“Now we sway along to the rhythm. Mirror my pedes, and be careful not to step on ‘em.” Soundwave looked intently down at their pedes while Blaster took slow steps side-to-side. The look of focus Blaster could see on the other mech’s maskless face as they moved was adorable.

Blaster and Jazz used to dance like this, late at night in their homes. It was a cherished time spent with his former partner—showing off, being goofy, holding each other close, and adoring one another. They would sometimes dance the night away at clubs, but he always found their time dancing alone in private the most enjoyable. Blaster missed Jazz’s touch. Every happy memory he had about the musician was overshadowed by his abandonment. Despite how hurt he still was over their breakup, he didn’t want those good moments to be completely soured by the lingering pain and resentment. He wanted to move on, but he struggled to find out how.

Blaster’s troubling thoughts were abruptly cut off when Soundwave looked back up at him. The blue mech had relaxed significantly, and the ghost of a smile appeared on his exposed face as he swayed with the boombox. The memories of Jazz were barely a perceptible whisper in the back of his processor. At that moment, Blaster could only gaze into Soundwave’s minute, unfaltering smile. He cares about me, Blaster thought. He cares about me. Soundwave said Blaster was important to him. Soundwave compliments him so effortlessly, indulges in Blaster so easily. Soundwave didn’t leave him. Blaster squeezed their interlocked servos, and swallowed in an attempt to reign in his swirling emotions, before parting his lips.

“Soundwave…is it alright if I kiss you?”

Soundwave’s smile faltered, and he stopped dancing. A horrible feeling began to settle in the pit of Blaster’s frame as he immediately began to regret the question. Of course Soundwave wouldn’t want to kiss him. He cared about him, but there must’ve been more important things to him, like the liberation of Cybertron. Blaster was being silly. Immature.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Soundwave: Has…never kissed another mech before,” the visored mech said sheepishly, helm averting slightly away from Blaster.

Blaster cycled his optics, caught off-guard from the unexpected confession. “Do you…want me to show you? Is that okay?”

Soundwave brought his helm back in Blaster’s direction, and the small smile returned to his face when he nodded once.

Blaster slipped his servos up so they were cupping Soundwave’s face, not breaking optic contact. He paused for a moment, feeling Soundwave’s warm and smooth faceplates, and also giving him the chance to change his mind if he chose.

“Just follow my lead. Are you ready?” Blaster said softly. Soundwave nodded once again, placing both his servos on Blaster’s waist.

Blaster slowly leaned in, and offlined his optics as he softly pressed his lips against Soundwave’s. Soundwave was stiff at first, gripping the boombox’s waist tighter, and Blaster found it cute. He pecked a few gentle kisses to the visored mech’s lips, and soon Soundwave relaxed a bit, and started reciprocating, mimicking Blaster. The red mech twisted his helm slightly so that their mouths could properly interlock, and they stayed like that for a few moments, connected and rocking gently to the music. The kiss was clumsy, lacking the finesse and confidence that Jazz’s usually carried, but Blaster loved it. It was Soundwave. It was perfect.

He broke the kiss after another moment and gazed appreciatively at Soundwave. “Well?”

“Kiss: Pleasant,” Soundwave replied, his face slightly blushed. Blaster laughed, which only caused Soundwave’s face to heat up more.

“Blaster: Found it acceptable?” the cassette player hesitantly asked.

Blaster grinned and nodded. “Yeah.”

Soundwave shuffled a bit, but tried to school a neutral expression on his face, “Inquiry: Blaster and Soundwave can kiss again in the future…?”

Blaster nodded again. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Soundwave nodded back with a faint smile, and Blaster felt the best he has in a very, very long time.

It was three cycles later that enforcers showed up outside Blaster’s radio station. He was back at the studio early with Eject when the entrance door pinged. He nearly opened it without a second thought, before catching himself. Blaster instead clicked on the intercom, and asked, “Who is it?”

“Polyhex Regional Law Enforcement Department,” one mech stated, presenting his badge to the camera, “We’re lookin’ for Blaster of Harmonex.”

“Frag, frag, frag!” Blaster hissed after he clicked the intercom off in a panic. Despite expecting to be approached by the enforcers, and having gone over what he should say to officers with Soundwave and Thundercracker prior, he still felt woefully underprepared.

His spark nearly lept out of his frame when Eject put a comforting servo on his side. The minibot snatched it back like it burned when his carrierbot whipped around in alarm.

“Blast? You okay?” he asked, concern plain in his voice.

“Yeah. Yeah, but you gotta get in my dock,” Blaster said in a hurry, chest flipping open. “C’mon, quickly.”

Blaster could practically see the pout behind Eject’s facemask, “But I don’t wanna right now.”

“C’mon, Eject, now’s not the time for this! There’s enforcers right outside the—“

The door pinged again, abruptly cutting off Blaster. A brief staring contest ensued between him and his cassettebot, his chest still open. Eject stayed firm, and Blaster faltered. He hesitated for a moment, before whispering harshly, “Don’t say anything unless I tell you to.”

“‘Kay,” Eject replied simply, satisfaction emanating from his end of the bond.

Blaster clicked the door open, trying his best to put on a cool smile to the two waiting enforcers, “Sorry about that, officers, my cassettebot distracted me for a sec there. I’m Blaster of Harmonex.”

“Uh-huh,” said one enforcer, looking unimpressed, “I’m Enforcer Roundabout and this is my partner, Enforcer Throwback. We just got a few questions to ask. May we come inside?”

“‘Course,” Blaster replied, allowing the mechs into the tech room. The enforcers strolled inside, taking a gander at all the equipment and glancing over at Eject, who was hopping back into his chair. Blaster tried not to bore down on them too hard as they examined the space.

“Can I ask what this is about?” Blaster questioned as the officers’ optics settled back on him.

“Have you heard about the recent hijack of the Local House’s official radio frequency?” Roundabout asked.

“Who hasn’t?” Blaster said with a shrug.

“Right. We have an ongoing investigation regarding the crime, and so we’re talking with various radio station owners for information,” the officer explained.

“Makes sense, I s’pose,” Blaster replied, “Not sure how helpful I’d be, though.”

“Believe me, anything helps. Care to tell us what you were doin’ on 2nd Cycle 052?”

“Let’s see…” Blaster leaned against the wall, acting like he was thinking about it. He went over this with the Decepticons numerous times. “Didn’t have a radio broadcast that day, but I did have some menial work to do for my radio show, so I stopped by here with some datapads to get it all figured out. That was before the hijack though, ‘cause I remember hearin’ it start on my walk back home.”

“If it was just some datapad work, why couldn’t ya do it at home?” Throwback asked.

Before Blaster could start to think of a response, Eject spoke up, “‘Cause I kicked him out.”

Three pairs of optics turned to look at the cassettebot, reclining in his seat. ~Eject!~ Blaster exclaimed over the bond. ~What did I just say, mech?~

“You kicked your carrier out of his own habsuite?” Throwback asked, tone flat and unbelieving.

Eject simply nodded, “Yup. He started the work at home, and wouldn’t let me put the game on so he could concentrate. But it was the heavy-frame division Tarn Crusaders versus the Tesarus Tormentors. Who’d wanna miss that game?”

To Blaster’s complete surprise, one of the officers nodded in understanding. “Ah yes, I think Tarn versus Tesarus was that cycle, huh? You a big fan of cube, mech?”

“Eject,” the minibot corrected, “And I’m not just a fan. I play for the Petrorabbits. Had to see how the game went for our own heavy-frame team.”

The officer laughed and patted Eject’s shoulder amicably, “Eject! I think I’ve seen you on the vid before when I watched minibot matches. I get now why you’d wanna kick him out—Polyhex is scheduled to take on Tesarus in a heavy-frame match sometime soon, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Ah, though I’m not sure how much research is really gonna help. Tesarus is gonna wipe the floor with us,” Roundabout chuckled and shook his head sadly.

“Almost definitely,” Eject responded casually, “Our team needs all the help they can get, though. Trust me.”

“Tell me about it,” Roundabout smiled. Eject and the enforcers continued chatting for a few more breems about cube as if they were good friends, before Roundabout said, “Alright, welp, we won’t take up any more of y’all’s time. We may come back at a later date for further questions, but we’ll leave y’all be for now. Thanks for your cooperation.”

Blaster stared silently in open-mouthed bewilderment as the two officers exited the tech room, one of them giving Eject one last pat on the shoulder before walking out. The door slid closed loudly once they left, and silence followed for several long moments.

Blaster’s attention then zeroed in on his minibot, who had nonchalantly resumed his work. “I— You— The—” he stumbled over his words, restarting the sentence several times, “Was there even really a Tarn versus Tesarus game that afternoon?!”

“Yup,” Eject said, not looking up from his work, “7-3. I couldn’t watch it live ‘cause you made us leave early. It made me mad, so you promised you’d get me soft-serve frozen ener-gels with gallium coating and magnesium sprinkles if I didn’t complain.” The minibot lowered the datapad he was holding and made proper optic-contact with Blaster as he held up two digits. “Double scoop.”

Blaster relaxed, and then let out a laugh. Eject did save the day there just now. He had forgotten that before Eject was his cassettebot, he was living on the streets with Rewind. He’s probably used to interacting with enforcers and finding ways to avoid their scrutiny. Once again, he felt lucky to have the little bot on his side.

“Well, thanks for the save, ‘Ject. Looks like I owe you a bit more than just a double scoop of soft-serve, now.”

“Mmmhm,” Eject hummed as he turned back to his datapad, “Triple scoop.”

Blaster smiled, “Triple scoop. ‘Course. Got it.”

“You don’t need to dock or anything before you leave, ‘Ject?” Blaster asked from the couch, turning slightly towards Eject’s berthroom. It’s been two cycles since their encounter with the enforcers, and he had since received his triple scoop treat. It’s also been one cycle since him and the Decepticons put on yet another broadcast as The Voice.

“Hello again, listeners,” he had said, “It’s The Voice. Your Voice. I’ve heard I caused quite a commotion the first time I broadcasted. It’s no question that using an official radio wave is an offense, but outside of the news, politicians seem to be ignoring the actual issues I’ve brought up in the first broadcast. What’s up with that?”

“It’s only natural to assume they are avoiding discussing the topics I’ve brought up because they know it is all true. Instead, I’ve heard they opted to send their little cyberdogs that are the enforcers to sniff me out. Probably shake me down and ask me where I’ve gotten all that information from, is my guess.”

“I really have no problem sharin’ my source, and I’m sure y’all are curious as well! I’ll give you the mech’s designation, alright. He’s called Megatron. He was a normal mech like you ‘n me—a laborer on Luna 2, who decided it was time to stand up for what’s right. He ain’t no dirty politician, and he ain’t a mindless enforcer.”

He had gone on to talk about other issues that Thundercracker had asked for him to discuss during the broadcast, one of which stood out amongst them being about a group called the Autobots. According to the information that TC provided, they were a new and growing faction that started in or near Iacon. But what had really gotten Blaster’s attention was their leader’s designation.

Orion Pax.

The group that Jazz had abandoned Blaster for were called the Autobots. They wished to dismantle the functionist regime and put an end to the Decepticons’ pursuits as well in the name of peace and unity. As The Voice, Blaster had called them delusional idealists who were in over their helms. As himself, well, Blaster wasn’t sure what to believe.

He should ask Soundwave about his own thoughts on them, later. He was smart and could make better sense of them than Blaster probably could.

“No, I’m good!” Eject called back. Just as the thought of Soundwave crossed Blaster’s mind, his front door pinged. He lifted himself up from his seat and opened the door. He smiled at the sight of the other carrierbot.

“Greetings, Blaster,” Soundwave said.

“Hey,” Blaster responded in kind, “I think ‘Ject’s almost ready. Wanna come in while you wait?”

Soundwave nodded and entered the familiar habsuite, letting his cassettes out in the process. Ravage and Laserbeak greeted Blaster before approaching Eject’s berthroom, looking at the closed door expectantly. Blaster turned his attention back to Soundwave. He brushed his digits across the blue mech’s hesitantly, and Soundwave moved to loosely hold Blaster’s servo in his. The boombox’s grin widened.

“Never get tired of seein’ your face,” Blaster said sweetly.

“Soundwave: Feels the same.”

Blaster took a moment to gather his thoughts, glancing down at the floor and worrying his bottom lip plate. When he looked up at Soundwave again, he said quietly enough for only the other mech to hear, “So, I’ve been thinkin’ about the last broadcast for a while. Those Autobots…do you really think they’re as bad as Thundercracker feels they are?”

“Not just Thundercracker,” Soundwave replied, “Megatron: Feels strongly about the Autobots.”

“Oh,” Blaster’s optics widened in mild surprise, “Why’s that?”

“Soundwave: Only knows the details that Megatron provided. Megatron: Was acquainted with Autobot leader Orion Pax long ago. Megatron: Believes Orion Pax is a dangerous mech.”

Blaster didn’t take his optics off of Soundwave’s visor, and tried not to let his deep worry show on his face. Orion Pax was dangerous? But Jazz hadn’t said anything about the Autobot leader being threatening. If anything, his former lover spoke highly of the other mech, albeit only briefly. Jazz would not have planned to take Blaster and Eject with him to Iacon if he had felt the mech was even slightly dangerous, either. It didn’t make much sense, but the boombox wasn’t sure if it was a good thing to express that to Soundwave. It turned out that he didn’t need to consider mentioning it, though—right as the thought crossed his mind, his minibot had appeared from his berthroom.

“Sorry! I’m ready now,” Eject said cheerily, trotting up to the two carrierbots. “Hi Soundwave!” he waved.

“Greetings, Eject.”

“Take good care of him,” Blaster said lightheartedly as he opened the exit to his apartment, “‘Ject, let me know if you need me to come pick you up or somethin’, cool?”

“Yessir,” Eject replied as he approached the door, “Thanks for letting me hang out with Soundwave and his cassettes.”

“‘Course, my guy.”

As Eject walked out the door, Soundwave approached with his cassettes close behind him. He paused in front of Blaster, and planted a gentle kiss on the side of his face, from behind his facemask. “Soundwave: Will try to keep Eject entertained.”

“If anyone can, it’s you,” Blaster said with a laugh, “See ya later.”

Soundwave nodded and then exited the apartment with his cassettes. Blaster watched them for a few more moments before closing the door to the suite. With his servos on his hips, he regarded his now empty home. Blaster wasn’t used to being alone, and he truly wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to handle it. Thankfully, he had made his own special plans in preparation for today.

The crowd in the club was noticeably smaller than usual, but it was still vibrant and full of energy. There was a disproportionate amount of vehiclemechs compared to other frame types, but everyone mixed and mingled indiscriminately under the flashing lights. Blaster relaxed as a smile tugged on his face. This is how Polyhex is supposed to be. No fear, and no hate. Enjoying the music and the vibes despite the circumstances surrounding them.

Blaster squeezed into the bouncing crowd on the dancefloor, seamlessly falling into rhythm. He allowed his mind to think of nothing but the resonating beat, flowing out through the club and deep within his frame. Primus, how he needed this. He lost track of how long he was on the dancefloor for, however when a slow song began to play, he felt it was time to step off and get some fuel. He ambled over to the bar and slid onto an available stool. He was tapping a digit on the counter while he waited for the bartender to finish up another customer’s cocktail, and soon his wandering optics caught sight of an unusual frame type, sitting near him at the bar.

The mech was a colorful mix of blue and red, and adorned a yellow chevron. But despite the flashy colors, what instantly set him apart from the rest of the mechs in the club were his large doorwings, splayed wide and moving to the beat of the music. A frame like that was usually only seen on one part of Cybertron, and that city-state’s citizens rarely traveled this far away from home.

“Strange to see a Praxian in Polyhex,” Blaster called out. The mech turned his helm toward Blaster, optics clearly looking him up and down as a smooth smile formed on his face.

“I’m here for work,” the mech replied, leaning on the counter coolly. “This is my first time in Polyhex, so I had to see how the bots here socialize.”

“Well, ya came to the right place,” Blaster laughed.

“My designation’s Smokescreen, by the way.”

“Blaster,” he replied, canting his helm.

“‘Blaster?’ Cute,” Smokescreen grinned, “Can I buy you a cube, Blaster?”

Blaster averted his optics, smiling awkwardly, “I appreciate it, but I’m kinda seein’ someone right now.”

Smokescreen looked over Blaster’s shoulder and then off to the side, before locking his gaze back on Blaster. “Are they here?”

“No, I don’t think clubbin’ is really his scene.”

Smokescreen smirked, “Then I’m sure he won’t mind if I buy you one drink.”

The red mech frowned. “Not sure how it is in Praxus, but I don’t do that kinda slag, mech.”

The blue Praxian leaned back, face sobering a bit. “Okay, my bad. How about this: I buy you a drink just so we can continue our friendly, no-strings-attached conversation? You seem interesting, and you’re the first guy in here to actually talk to me rather than just ogle.”

Blaster scrutinized the mech for a few moments. This was his first time ever really meeting a Praxian, and his curiosity tended to get the better of him in these situations…

“Sure, okay,” Blaster relented.

Smokescreen grinned again, and then leaned over the bar counter, holding out his half-finished high-grade. “Hey, sir! Another one of these for my buddy!”

“So, work, huh?” Blaster asked as he accepted the cube from the bartender, “What kinda job opportunity would make ya wanna come all the way to Polyhex?”

“Ehh, it’s more of a business trip,” Smokescreen responded, taking a swig of his drink, “Though I don’t know how long I’m even going to be here for.”

Blaster cycled his optics. “Damn. What do you do?”

The Praxian looked down at his drink as he swished it absently. “Security.”

“Oh wow, that sounds pretty interestin’. Do ya see a lotta action?”

Smokescreen chuckled, looking back at Blaster. “Nah, it’s actually really boring.”

Blaster’s smile wavered for a moment when he remembered that that was exactly how Jazz described working in security. Trying not to let his emotions show towards this stranger, however, he reset his optics as he forced a steady smile back on his face. He hoped it didn’t look too forced.

“Boring, huh? Well, that’s unfortunate. Though, if you don’t like workin’ security, why don’t ya look for something new?”

Smokescreen canted his helm to the side, “Well, while it’s boring for the most part, it is important work. At least, it is to me. It’s not any big, rich mech I’m protecting. I’m watching out for people who can’t protect themselves. Since, y’know, that’s something I’ve learned how to do. So, yeah, boring but important. I’m still proud of the work I do.”

Blaster’s optics widened, “Oh, sorry if I overstepped or anythin’.”

Smokescreen waved his servo, “No, no, you didn’t! Sorry, that must’ve sounded really deep, huh?”

“A little,” Blaster said with a lopsided grin.

Smokescreen laughed, “Well, what about you? What do you do?”

“I’m a radio host.”

Smokescreen’s optics subtly brightened in interest, “Now that sounds like a fun job.”

Blaster shrugged with a smile, “Yeah, it ain’t bad. I like what I do. It’s a music broadcast, called the Polyhex Groove.”

“Heh, that sounds like something one of my coworkers would like. He’s from Polyhex and super passionate about music. Maybe he’s heard of you.”

“Well if he hasn’t, be sure to tell him to check me out,” Blaster joked, playfully bumping Smokescreen’s frame before taking a long sip of his drink.

The light blue mech leaned his frame a bit closer to Blaster, and spoke just loud enough for the other mech to hear, “Say, out of curiosity: You got any professional theories on how that Voice guy tapped into the Polyhex Local House radio frequency?”

Blaster cycled his optics, “Huh?”

“I just figured since you’re in the business, you’d have some good guesses.”

“Oh, uh, not really. Sorry, mech,” Blaster shrugged with a smile.

Smokescreen simply nodded in understanding, “Yeah, that’s fair, I guess. Not even the enforcers here can figure it out apparently. They’re nothing like what’s in Praxus—if that guy tried something like that over there, he’d already be locked up. Hell, they might’ve caught him before he got a broadcast out.”

“So what I’ve heard about the Praxus enforcers is true,” Blaster commented, trying to sound nonchalant, though his spark rate increased within its casing.

“And then some.” Smokescreen downed the rest of his drink, and Blaster looked down at his uncomfortably while he swirled it around in his servo. He had to admit, putting up this act of ignorance with every mech he meets outside of the Decepticons was getting pretty tiring. He feels like it’s become impossible for him to have a genuine conversation with anybody, especially since his broadcasts as The Voice have been the talk of the town.

Smokescreen’s cube clinked onto the bar counter as he placed it down, causing Blaster to snap his helm back up. Smokescreen licked his lips as he regarded Blaster with a smile.

“What’s the Polyhexian opinion on that guy, anyway? The Voice, I mean.”

“Pretty split, I think,” Blaster replied as he took another swig.

“Oh?” Smokescreen said in casual curiosity as he signaled for the bartender to get him another drink, “And which side of the split are you on?”

Blaster shrugged. As the bartender placed a fresh cube in front of Smokescreen, the mech let out a chuckle. “Surely you have some kind of opinion on the mech. Or at least the things he talked about.”

Blaster looked down at his high-grade and tried to think about what Soundwave would say as he formulated a reply. “I think he made a good point about some things. And it’s weird that Iacon abandoned us at the first sign of danger.”

He cautioned a glance up at Smokescreen, who was staring at him with unreadable optics. “You said it yourself; the enforcers here are a joke. Who’s gonna protect us? Not just ones with favorable functions. All of us.”

“And you think the Decepticons are those bots,” Smokescreen observed, his optics still trained on Blaster—judgmentally? Blaster swallowed thickly and stared back. So what if he did? The Decepticons are the ones fighting to make a change—a real change.

“I don’t want Polyhex to end up like Praxus,” Blaster said with an unintentional bite in his voice.

Smokescreen straightened himself, nodding as he brought his drink to his lips. “No. No, I suppose you don’t.”

The music and noises of the crowd were the only sounds keeping things between the two mechs from being oppressively quiet. Smokescreen had turned to fully face the bar as he sipped on his drink, leaving Blaster shifting uncomfortably and feeling guilty as he looked at his half-finished fuel. He probably shouldn’t have said what he did. Smokescreen was just curious. He also probably only had an impression of the Decepticons through the negative news they receive, like a lot of bots. He didn’t know how they are—how they really are.

“I was part of a faith clan, back in Praxus,” Smokescreen started. Blaster looked over at the mech, who was staring down at his drink and smiling with distant optics. “That kind of stuff is generally frowned upon there, y’know, because functionism is against organizing like that. So I kept it to myself while I was at work, and pretty much all of my friends who weren’t part of the clan didn’t know. Anyway, a major tenant of the clan was kinship. One mech was the big sibling, and the other mech was the little sibling. The big sibling would swear to watch over and protect their little sibling, no matter what. We had a whole ceremony and everything once we were given a sibling, if you could believe it.” Smokescreen laughed.

He fingered the edge of his cube as he continued, “They made me a big brother, even though I had a tendency to be irresponsible and pretty frivolous. My little brother’s called Bluestreak—real sweet mech, anyone else would’ve been ecstatic to get him as a little brother. After the ceremony where we were made brothers, the first thing he said to me was ‘sorry.’” A small frown formed on the blue mech’s lips. “He admitted to me he only joined our clan because otherwise the functionists in Praxus would just leave him to waste away and offline. Bluestreak’s disabled. A flaw in his fuel pump and energon lines. He’s frail and prone to breakdowns. Some cycles he can’t even take care of himself. I swore an oath to take care of him, though, and knowing that he could end up in the afterspark if I didn’t act like a proper big brother, I made sure I did what was best for him.”

Smokescreen looked up at Blaster, expression neutral. “If the Decepticons were to walk into Praxus to dismantle functionism right now, what do you think would happen to Bluestreak? Would they protect him? Or would they just consider him a sacrifice for the sake of their cause?”

Blaster looked at Smokescreen, optics heavy with emotion. An image of Thundercracker flashed in his mind. They both knew what the answer was. “They would call him a martyr,” Blaster still answered, nearly inaudible over the music.

A puff of air blew out of Smokescreen’s vents. “I don’t care what they’d call him. They could spin it any which way—try to justify it however they’d like to make themselves feel better about it. He’d still be dead.”

“Of course, he isn’t much safer with the functionists in Praxus, either,” the mech said as he tapped on a red emblem in the center of his chestplate with a smirk, “That’s why I looked for some mechs who I knew would protect him when it comes down to it. I don’t want the people I care about to die for a cause. I want life, peace—unity.”

Smokescreen threw back the rest of his drink in one large gulp, leaving Blaster speechless as he watched him rise from his seat casually, as if they just got done with a regular chat. He smiled down at Blaster as he placed a servo on his hip. “You seem like you’re the kind of mech who wants that too, at least first impression-wise. You got a good spark in you, Blaster. Don’t throw that good will away, okay?”

The Praxian turned and took a few steps towards the exit, before abruptly stopping and turning around. With a smile still drawn on his face, he called out, “Oh and, by the way, lying isn’t a good look on you. But don’t worry—I’m not gonna report you to the enforcers.”

With a wave, Smokescreen left, leaving Blaster stunned. Although the rhythm of the music flowed through the club and deep within his frame, the ringing in his mind was becoming too loud to ignore.

Later that night cycle, Soundwave returned to Blaster’s habsuite with Eject. Blaster had already been there for joors—he left the club shortly after his conversation with Smokescreen, no longer wanting to dance and socialize. On his walk back to his apartment, he unsubspaced the Decepticon emblem Soundwave had given him. His fuel tank roiled and he grit his denta together as he tried to keep himself from crushing it in his servo and stomping it down into the ground until it was fully unrecognizable.

Not every mech wants their homes and livelihoods destroyed for the sake of “liberation.”

I’ve become a martyr, still functioning.

I don’t care what they’d call him… He’d still be dead.

Lives being ruined or lost for a cause. When had such a thing become so romanticized to him that he couldn’t see it for what it really was? There’s nothing beautiful about martyrdom. Whether or not the mech wanted to sacrifice themself for a greater cause, the outcome is only tragic and painful. A life that could have lived was gone. You could use pretty words and dreamy excuses to make it feel right to you, but someone would still be dead, and nothing would ever undo that.

Blaster felt humiliated that he allowed himself to be swept up by them in the wake of his post-sparkbreak vulnerability. He wondered if he should turn himself in—but then, who would take care of Eject? And the functionists would surely do something to him, as well, should he be incarcerated. He couldn’t in good conscience continue being a voice to the Decepticons. He had to find a way to stop them.

“Blaster: Is troubled?” Soundwave asked, seeing Blaster’s somber expression when he answered the door. Eject also looked up at him, worry emanating from his side of the bond.

“Uh, it’s nothin’,” Blaster said. He was unable to put a fake expression on his face though, so instead he opted to lie. “I went to a club tonight, ‘n some vehiclemechs were bein’ sleazebags to those of us without wheels. Kinda sucked.”

Soundwave took Blaster’s servos in his, and Blaster looked down at them. “Decepticons: Will put an end to shapism. Soundwave: Will never let Blaster be hurt again.”

“Okay,” Blaster whispers. Those words would have actually comforted Blaster just last cycle. Now, they just make his spark twist. Eject placed a servo on Blaster’s leg, and the reminder of his cassettebot was what finally got him to force a smile out.

“Did you have fun, ‘Ject?”

“Yeah. Soundwave and his cassettes are really cool.”

Blaster nodded and looked back up at Soundwave, “The next broadcast is in two cycles, right?”

“Affirmative.”

“Sounds good,” Blaster said, tilting his helm to the side and squeezing Soundwave’s servos, “I’m feelin’ tired tonight, but I’ll see you then?”

Soundwave gave a slow nod, “Goodnight, Blaster.”

“Night, Soundwave.”

The other carrierbot’s digits trailed on Blaster’s as he pulled away, and he gave Blaster one last look in his direction before he departed.

~Eject. Do you remember what Soundwave and Shrapnel did to hijack the government frequency?~

~Uhmm, yeah.~ Eject responded over the bond while he waved goodbye to Soundwave. ~Why?~

~We’re going to the studio tomorrow.~

Blaster barely managed to get any recharge overnight. He was still plagued by guilt, anxiety—thoughts of Soundwave, Smokescreen, Thundercracker, Eject, Rewind, and Jazz. They had only strengthened his resolve to do the right thing, before it was too late. He had a chance, and he didn’t want to squander it.

He made energon for him and Eject in the morning, but he was barely able to drink his own. Worry still lingered faintly through Eject’s side of the bond, but Blaster hadn’t known how to properly express what he was feeling, even over their connection. He just hoped Eject would understand eventually, once he found the words.

They were in the middle of their breakfast when the front door pinged. He wasn’t expecting anyone, so with curiosity Blaster went over to the door and opened it. He was surprised to look down and see Soundwave’s cassettebot.

“Ravage?” Blaster said, optics slightly wide in surprise, “What’re you doin’ here?”

The cybercat flicked his tail as he turned around, “Come with me. You and Eject.”

“What? Is somethin’ goin’ on?”

“Yes, and you must come. This is not a choice.”

Blaster stared at the cybercat silently for a moment, before turning and calling to his cassettebot, “Eject, we got to go.”

A few kliks later, Eject appeared from the kitchen, holding Blaster’s cube in his hand, “But you didn’t have your morning fuel.”

“I know, ‘Ject. It’s fine, I can fuel later.”

Frustration wafted lightly over the bond, “Take your cube with you.”

“‘Ject…”

“Please?” Eject insisted, holding the still full cube closer to the carrierbot.

“Okay, okay,” Blaster relented, feeling bad. He took the energon and subspaced it.

Nervous and not knowing what else to do, Blaster had Eject dock and followed closely behind Ravage as they walked quickly towards the warehouses. His mind raced to figure out what could’ve happened—did the Decepticons somehow find out he didn’t want to work with them anymore? Is he walking towards his execution right now? Blaster felt the weight of the gun currently in his subspace and swallowed hard.

~Blast, what’s going on? I’m getting scared.~ he heard Eject call out.

~It’ll be okay, Eject.~ Blaster instantly soothed. ~It’s just… I’ve made a mistake. We can’t trust the Decepticons anymore.~

~Not even Soundwave?~ Eject asked, sending a wave of surprise and sadness.

~I don’t know.~ Blaster responded honestly. He wasn’t sure what to make of Soundwave anymore. He wanted to trust him, but he wasn’t sure that he could.

They soon reached the Decepticon warehouse. Ravage punched the code in, and the heavy doors slid open to reveal a small crowd of bots, all armed with weapons. One mech—a short, red and blue flyer with a dark helm—immediately trained his arm-mounted gun in the center of Blaster’s chest once he saw him.

“Who is this?” the flyer sneered, eyeing Blaster like he was something disgusting.

From behind a few mechs, Thundercracker hovered over and held his servos up in an attempt to convince the other flyer to lower his.

“That’s Blaster! He’s an ally, Screamie, it’s okay.”

“What did I tell you about using that disgusting nickname in public, Thundercracker?!” the mech hissed as his face contorted in anger, his helm snapping towards TC. Thundercracker just laughed nervously as he got in between Blaster and the weapon that was still pointed at him.

“Blaster, this is one of my trine, Starscream,” Thundercracker smiled.

Blaster looked over TC’s shoulder at the other mech, and offered a small wave in order to appear innocent. Starscream just rolled his optics as he lowered his arm.

“Trine Starscream, uhm, surprised us with an unexpected visit! He’s come far earlier than Soundwave and I anticipated—right, Soundwave?”

The crowd of mechs parted a bit to reveal Soundwave, standing innocuously in the back of the room. The carrierbot strode confidently across the room until he was side-by-side with Blaster.

“Affirmative,” he said, looking at Decepticon second-in-command impassively, “Starscream: Will tell us the reason for his early arrival.”

Starscream crossed his arms as he glowered at Soundwave, “Watch your tone, lackey. Instead, why don’t one of you tell me why I heard about the presence of Autobots in this city-state through one of your grunts?” The words came out of Starscream’s mouth venomously as he pointed a thumb in the direction of Wildrider, who smirked darkly from the crowd.

“Autobots?” Thundercracker asked, his wings hiking up slightly.

“Oh, Trine Thundercracker… Had he not told you?” Starscream said with a mocking pout, sauntering over to his trinemate, “Yes, he reported to me sightings of Autobot insignias appearing on the streets of Polyhex. You really shouldn’t’ve dragged your pedes on this operation. Because of that, it’s now been bumped up a level, and I’m in charge.”

Thundercracker’s servos clenched and unclenched before he lowered his helm dejectedly, “As you command, Starscream.”

Starscream smirked triumphantly as he lifted his helm a bit higher, “Oh, and, Thundercracker, we’ll be having a talk about your…passivity, after we’re done here.”

“Yes, Starscream.”

“Good,” the second-in-command said in a satisfied tone, before spinning on his heel and looking at the rest of the crowd, “Listen up, people, we’re making this quick and easy. No more tiptoeing around, trying to get every sniveling little Polyhexian to like us. We’re flushing the Autobots out of here, and then we’re storming the Local House. Go.”

With noises of approval, the crowd rushed out of the warehouse, weapons tight in hand. Blaster spun around wildly as mechs transformed and sped by him, sparkrate fast.

“You,” a voice spoke from immediately behind him. He whipped himself around, and was met by the unimpressed gaze of the Decepticon second-in-command, “What do you do?”

As Blaster gaped wordlessly, Thundercracker took a step forward, “He’s been a key asset in swaying the Polyhexians to our side. He’s been broadcasting to them over the radio to get them to believe in the Decepticon cause.”

“Is that so?” Starscream asked, his red optics brightening slightly. Blaster swallowed and nodded.

“I have use for you, then. You will convince the Polyhexians to help us stop the Autobot menace. I doubt they’d want to fire on civilians.” Starscream flicked his wing as he glanced at the other two higher ranking Decepticons still in the warehouse. “Thundercracker, Soundwave, bring him along. Show me where these broadcasts happen.”

Starscream and Thundercracker exited the warehouse, and Blaster trailed slowly behind.

“Blaster,” Soundwave spoke as the red mech started to pass by him, looking at him with hurt optics, “Starscream: Was unexpected.”

“You promised,” Blaster whispered, “You promised me.”

“Soundwave: Apologizes.”

“...I’m not sure if I believe you,” Blaster said, averting his optics as he continued past the other mech resolutely, not looking back.

Gunshots, screams, and distant explosions could be heard as the four mechs made their way to Blaster’s broadcast studio. Starscream and Thundercracker transformed into their jet modes, and the carrierbots changed into their own alt modes to sit in the cockpits. Other flyers passed by them occasionally, some shooting at the ground below as they went. Thundercracker and Starscream maneuvered around the conflict with practiced ease, even making light talk in the midst of it.

Their time in the sky was only brief before they reached the studio. Thundercracker and Starscream opened their cockpits as they changed back to root mode, and Blaster and Soundwave left the cockpits and transformed onto the ground.

Blaster flinched at the sound of a distant explosion as he stepped into his broadcast studio, taking a quick sweep of the room. A plan was starting to form in his helm, though he didn’t like it.

“Let’s go, I don’t have all cycle,” Starscream snapped as he pushed his way into the tech room. Thundercracker and Soundwave followed behind.

Blaster undocked Eject from his chest compartment. He looked down at his cassettebot with apologetic optics, “‘Ject, wanna set up the channel for me?”

“...’Kay,” Eject replied, making his way over to the radio equipment. Blaster slowly walked over to the edge of the broadcast room, and looked over to the three mechs who blocked the exit. He thought about Smokescreen, Eject, Rewind, and Jazz. This was his only chance to do the right thing. He couldn’t waste it.

~Is it ready?~ Blaster asked.

~Yeah, I’ve set it up.~

~Put it on air, and when I give you the signal, I want you to run as fast as you can.~

~Blast?~ Worry spiked from Eject’s side of the bond.

~Don’t hesitate, and don’t look back.~

~You’re scaring me, Blast.~

~Please, ‘Ject. Please.~

~...Okay.~

Blaster watched Eject silently flip the broadcast switch, and Blaster didn’t allow himself a moment to have second thoughts. He quickly unsubspaced both his cube of energon and the gun he carried. He chucked the energon cube towards the Decepticons, and as quickly as he could, aimed the gun the way Soundwave had taught him. The energon exploded as the blaster fire punctured the cube. Starscream squawked as the blast caught him and the other two soldiers off guard, knocking them back. Dust and rubble kicked up as the wall broke behind them.

~Now, ‘Ject!~ Blaster yelled over the bond. Eject instantly darted, stumbling his way out through the hole in the studio and past the dazed mechs. Grief and panic flooded their bond, but Blaster only felt it for a moment before he totally blocked himself off. Eject didn’t need to distract himself with Blaster’s feelings.

The radio host turned and scrambled into the broadcast studio, quickly shutting the door behind him. He stumbled into his seat with a clang, and roughly pulled his microphone close to his mouth.

“Polyhex, can you hear me? This is The Voice… No. No, this is Blaster. Blaster of Harmonex. I’m sorry. I’ve made a terrible, terrible mistake. I wanted to do what I thought was best—what was best for Polyhex, and for Cybertron. Functionism is tearing us apart, and our hatred for it is making us do unspeakable things to one another, making us become bots we were never supposed to be.”

A nearby explosion made Blaster flinch.

“I’m not sure how much time I have. Before I go, I wanted to let y’all know: There’s still hope. There’s still a chance for us to do the right thing—there are bots out there right now fighting for our freedom, protecting us, and we need to do everything we can to help them. They’re called the Autobots! I know you’ll do the right thing, Polyhex, because despite it all we look out for one another. Don’t let the Decepticons turn us into something we’re not! Don’t let them tear us apart! The Autobots are the real freedom fighters! There’s still hope for us, we still have—”

Blaster’s studio shook violently as the ceiling above him burst into a powerful cacophony of heat and shrapnel. He barely had half a klik to react, flinching in on himself, when a large piece of rubble slammed into the back of his helm. The heat, pain, noise, and chaos around him felt more and more distant as his sensornet began to fail, and Blaster could not even find it in his programming to feel fear as he slipped into stasis.

Chapter Text

Starscream squawked when energon suddenly exploded in their collective faces, knocking them back and breaking the wall behind them. Soundwave was dazed only for a short moment, quickly finding his bearings as the dust was still high in the air.

When he saw Eject’s familiar pedes start to stumble by, he flipped himself over so he was on top of Starscream, covering his face.

“Get off me!” Starscream grunted angrily, shoving the navy blue bot off his frame roughly. Once the flyer was back on his pedes, the minibot was nowhere to be seen.

“Why would he do that? We got along well with him,” Thundercracker said with a frown. He looked over at Soundwave, “You guys are close, right? Go stop him!”

Soundwave took a step toward the closed broadcast room door when Starscream shot his arm out in front of him, blocking his path.

“We don’t have time to negotiate, especially not with an armed traitor. Thundercracker, in the air with me.”

“But—“

“When I give you a command, you shut up and follow it, Seeker!”

Dejected, Thundercracker nodded and activated his thrusters, going skyward.

“Soundwave,” Starscream said flatly, hovering just above the ground. He waited until the blue mech’s helm was turned in his direction. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how close you stood to that ‘asset.’ Take this as a lesson to commit yourself only to the cause.”

With that, Starscream flew so he was with Thundercracker, several feet above the broadcast studio.

“Destroy it,” Starscream commanded. He launched several of his chest missiles towards the building.

“I liked him,” Thundercracker grumbled petulantly, before firing another several missiles of his own from his chest. Soundwave put an arm up, shielding himself from the blast. With a large boom, the small studio instantly collapsed on itself.

When the dust settled, there was no sign of Blaster—no movement, and no sound. Just a pile of debris, sparking wires and broken machinery.

One of Soundwave’s digits twitched in the direction of the wreckage—wanting to dig through it to find the neutral civilian he had grown to care about. He stopped himself, deciding that risking Starscream’s ire was counterproductive.

“No more dawdling. Let’s spread out and be done with this place,” Soundwave heard Starscream say distantly. He didn’t look up to acknowledge him. He heard him and Thundercracker’s thrusters as they flew off.

~Are you okay, Boss?~ Laserbeak poked over their bond, nearly catching Soundwave off guard.

~Why are you asking?~ Soundwave sent back.

~You seem…sad.~ the avian bot replied, quieter than usual.

~Yeah. Like back when we first found you.~ Ravage added.

~I am fine.~ Soundwave lied. His minibots could tell, but also knew better than to push it.

Nearby gunfire had drawn Soundwave’s attention away from the smoking, still unmoving rubble. It seemed the conflict was drawing nearer. He wondered which direction Eject had run in. The frown already hiding behind his faceplate deepened.

Soundwave ejected Ravage, who immediately looked to his carrierbot for orders.

“Ravage: Track Eject.”

Ravage perked up at the mention of Eject, and promptly brought his head to the ground to pick up a scent. Once he caught it, he took off running. Soundwave followed behind quickly. Though not as fast as his cassettebot, he made sure he could at least keep up with Ravage from a distance.

As they ran in the direction Ravage was going, Soundwave quickly realized it was towards Blaster’s apartment. Sure enough, after several more moments of running, Ravage had slowed near the entrance of the building. Soundwave took a glance around; thankfully, the fighting hadn’t reached this area yet, though the conflict was sounding closer and closer with each moment.

He released Laserbeak from his dock as well and looked at his two minis.

~You two stay out here. Alert me if any Decepticons or Autobots approach.~

“We got your back,” Laserbeak chirped. Soundwave nodded in appreciation, and then entered the building. He quickly ascended the stairwell, skipping several steps at a time as he ran upward, until he was outside Blaster’s front door. It was closed shut, but Soundwave could hear frantic movement on the other side. He took a chance and pinged the door. To his surprise, the door slid open, having not been locked. The noises on the other side abruptly stopped. The habsuite was dark and seemingly abandoned.

“Eject,” he called out, take a slow step inside. There was no indication of movement from the front room or the living room.

“Soundwave: Will not harm you,” he said, hoping Eject could pick up on his honesty despite his inability to vary his tone too greatly. He heard a faint sound in Blaster’s berthroom, and Soundwave cautiously walked inside, careful with his movements and attempting to look non-threatening.

He saw the edge of Eject’s pede from underneath Blaster’s empty berth.

“Eject,” Soundwave called quietly. The small frame underneath the berth flinched harshly, and retreated further inward.

“Don’t hurt me,” a shaky voice came from the darkness under the berth.

“Soundwave: Will not harm you,” the carrierbot repeated. He sat down cross-legged on the floor a short distance away, and peeked at the faint glow of Eject’s optics.

“Blaster said not to trust the Decepticons. That he wasn’t sure if we could trust you,” Eject said.

“Soundwave: Understands,” the Decepticon admitted. He had broken the trust and probably terminated the functioning of the second mech to ever give him a chance, and wasn’t sure if he could forgive himself for that. There would never be another mech like Blaster.

“You do…?” Eject asked.

Soundwave nodded, gazing down at the floor. “Soundwave: Has broken his promise. Soundwave: Cannot forgive himself for that.”

Eject stared at him quietly, and a moment later crawled ever so slightly closer to the other mech.

“I can’t feel him anymore,” Eject suddenly said in a near sob, “He’s gone cold and empty on the bond and isn’t responding to me. It hurts. What happened to him, Soundwave?”

Soundwave turned his helm and looked deeply into the minibot’s glassy optics. He hoped that Eject could sense Soundwave’s own heavy emotions, blocked behind his vocal processor defect. “Soundwave: Apologizes.”

“No…no…” Eject sobbed, shaking as his helm thunked onto the floor and he curled up into a ball. “Blast…!”

Soundwave sat still and stared at Eject as his emotions spilled out of him. No words could fix this, so instead he remained a silent presence, hoping that much would provide at least a slight comfort to the mech that had grown to be his friend.

“Can’t…I can’t…” Eject rasped, his voice staticky with grief, “I can’t function without a carrierbot…Without Blast, I…”

“Soundwave: Understands. Soundwave: Is like Eject,” Soundwave replied, recalling a conversation they had that now felt like long ago. With his carrierbot offlined, Eject would inevitably descend into mental turmoil and anguish.

But Soundwave could fill that gap, and protect Eject in the process. It was the very least he could do for being responsible for getting the mech he loved killed.

“Soundwave: Requests that Eject form a bond with him.”

“What?” Eject asked in disbelief, slowly uncurling himself.

“Eject: Could become Soundwave’s cassettebot. If Eject so desires,” he tacked on at the end.

“I would have to become a Decepticon then, won’t I?”

“Affirmative,” Soundwave confirmed with a nod, “However, Eject: Would not have to hide from Decepticons.”

“And what about the ones that already know me? Like TC, and Shrapnel…”

“Soundwave: Will arrange to have Eject’s frame modified just enough to not be recognized.”

“Wouldn’t my designation just give it away?” Eject asked flatly.

“Eject: Will be given a new designation.”

“But I like Eject.”

“Soundwave: Apologizes.”

Eject’s brows furrowed in what was likely a pout but scooted out of the berth and settled himself across from Soundwave, so the blue mech considered that a win.

“I don’t think I’m really Decepticon material,” Eject spoke, sounding genuinely apologetic, “Besides, there’s my spark brother… and my feelings about Blaster would make it really hard to create a new bond…”

The two were silent for a moment, Eject tracing a pattern on the floor dejectedly. It was true that it was exceedingly difficult for a cassettebot to forge a bond with a new carrierbot if their previous one was so strong. And with a spark brother who wouldn’t also be bonded to the same carrierbot, it was near impossible. The discrepancy could possibly cause irreversible mental damage. But it was only likely if the minibot remembered their previous bond, and the connection to their spark brother. Soundwave did not wish to take even more away from Eject, but if it was the only hope for the little bot to survive, it had to be done.

“Eject: Will need to be reprogrammed,” Soundwave said.

“Reprogrammed?” the minibot repeated, aghast that the mech would even suggest that.

“Bonding: Would be a near impossibility without the reprogramming.”

“I can’t do that,” Eject shook his helm, “Absolutely not.”

“Eject: Can, and he must.”

“No, I can’t,” he asserted, crossing his arms and turning away, “You’re asking me to not even be me anymore.”

Soundwave sat silently for a moment, tilting his helm to the side as he looked at the cassettebot. Then, he said, “Eject: Will always be himself. Even with a new designation, frame modifications, and a reprogramming. At his spark, Eject: Will still be Eject. That cannot be erased.”

Eject remained as still and stubborn as a wall.

“Soundwave: Will ensure Eject is reunited with Rewind once the conditions are optimal. Soundwave: Promises.”

After a few beats of heavy silence, Eject uncrossed his arms and slowly faced Soundwave again. His expression was sparkbroken, and it pained Soundwave to even see it. His frame shook slightly, the rattling barely audible.

“Do you really?” he whispered.

Soundwave nodded, “Soundwave: Will not break this promise. Soundwave: Will do whatever it takes.”

Eject released a shaky exvent, his shoulders drooping as the weight of the situation pressed down on him. After recollecting himself somewhat, he quietly said, “Okay.”

Soundwave opened up his arms invitingly. Eject hesitated several times, but then crawled into Soundwave’s hold. The carrierbot wrapped his arms tightly around the minibot, felt the minibot’s trembling frame until it began to settle. He would never allow Eject to suffer ever again. He absolutely could not allow it.

After about twenty breems of the two sitting there in silence, Soundwave comforting Eject and holding him close, the two mechs move to stand. Soundwave held his servo out, and Eject took it in his.

“Soundwave and Eject: Will leave Polyhex to make the necessary modifications immediately.”

Eject nodded, looking up at the carrierbot, “‘Kay…”

As the two walked servo-in-servo out of the apartment for the last time, Eject asked Soundwave, “Uhm, did you have any ideas for my new designation?”

Soundwave gazed down at Eject, and meeting the other bot’s optics, his spark felt warm.

“Soundwave: Used to have dreams of being bonded to a minibot called Frenzy.”

“Frenzy,” Eject echoed, “I think I’d make a good Frenzy.”

Chapter Text

When his optics slowly flickered online, he didn’t know where he was. There was a thick tube down his intake and something plugged into one of his medical ports. He struggled to move—his frame felt like it was clogged up with tar. Everything sounded as if it was submerged in a deep, viscous liquid, muffled and distant. A beeping noise from somewhere was steadily getting faster.

A figure leaned into his line of sight, but it was unfocused, and glitched to the point of being unrecognizable. He tried to speak, but with his frame not working properly and the tube in his mouth, he only let out a low groan.

“…—Kay…You…damage…—ain?”

He didn’t understand. He groaned again.

“…—s alri—...—ther sedative…—est…okay?”

The figure glitched and disappeared. He tried to move his optics around to see where it went, but everything looked the same except for the glow of what he assumed were overhead lights. He felt whatever was in his medical port be replaced, and he started to feel impossibly heavier. His already dim optics flickered and darkened even more. It felt like everything around him was slipping further and further away, swept up in a current beyond which he existed—or was it him, floating away from this strange and wobbly reality? Darkness invited him back into its eerily comforting embrace, whispering a soft tune full of promises, like a lullaby. He couldn’t fight it—wasn’t sure if he even wanted to—and so his optics offlined once more, and he welcomed another dreamless recharge.

When his optics onlined again, he felt stiff and achy. The tube felt uncomfortable in his intake, his helm was throbbing with intermittent bursts of pain, and he could barely twitch without the ache radiating throughout his entire frame. His face contorted in pain and he grunted as he tried to lift himself to sit up, but then a servo was pressing down on his chest, stilling him.

He looked over beside him, where a bulky-looking mech with medical crests was standing beside him calmly.

“Lie back,” the mech said, “You’ll strain yourself. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for a few cycles, now.”

Blaster stared at the mech for a moment before wordlessly complying. The mech pressed a button so that the head of the berth was propped up, allowing Blaster to lie at a more comfortable angle. Then, the mech turned on a datapad and began to skim through it while simultaneously looking at the devices Blaster was hooked up to.

Blaster tried to speak, but only spat static around the tube lodged down his throat. The medic looked up from his datapad and at the tube.

“I suppose you don’t need that anymore,” the mech said, placing the datapad to the side and reaching for the tube, “This might feel uncomfortable. Relax your intake.”

In one smooth motion, the medic pulled the tube out from Blaster’s mouth. Blaster gagged and coughed once it was gone, strange but relieving to finally have his intake cleared.

“What—was that—?” Blaster rasped, still coughing.

“An energon tube,” the medic explained, wiping down the tube before wrapping it around a hook on the device it was attached to, “It’s how we’ve been fueling you.”

“Where am I?” Blaster asked once he had settled.

“An Autobot medbay, not far from Iacon. I’m the Chief Medical Officer, Doctor Ratchet. You can just call me Ratchet.”

Blaster relaxed marginally at the mention of Autobots. Ratchet took the datapad again, but this time pulled up a chair beside the berth and sat down.

“Can you tell me your designation?”

“Blaster…”

“Good, thank you,” Ratchet typed something down on the datapad.

“How long have I been here for, doc…?”

Ratchet regarded Blaster again, a serious expression on his face, “Three orbital cycles now. Some of our mechs found you buried in the rubble of what was Polyhex about two decacycles after the Decepticons attacked that area. We didn’t find many others in the aftermath beside you. You’re very lucky, Blaster.”

“I’ve been in stasis for over three orbital cycles?” Blaster asked, dumbfounded.

Ratchet nodded, “We’re a very persistent species. Our frames will go into stasis to keep our spark from extinguishing when in a critical state, and in extraordinary cases that can keep a mech alive for vorns. The stasis kept you alive long enough for us to find you.”

The medic put on a professional smile as he continued, “You’ve woken up a few times over the past several cycles, but this is your first time waking up coherently and saying your designation. That’s a very good sign, you’re on track for a full recovery.”

“What about my cassettebot?” Blaster said, brow furrowing, “His des’ is Eject. ‘S he here too?”

“Ah,” Ratchet sat back, keeping his expression carefully neutral, “I think you’d prefer to speak to someone you know about that. The only reason you hadn’t been transferred to a neutral medical facility after we stabilized you was at the request of an Autobot who said he was close to you. I can go get him right now, if you like.”

Blaster frowned. The only mech he knew who was an Autobot was Jazz. Had he requested that Blaster be kept here? Why would he do that? It would be awkward—Blaster wasn’t sure what he’d say to him, or how he’d even react…

“Sure. Okay,” Blaster affirmed solemnly. Ratchet got up from the seat and walked away, bringing two digits up to his audial to speak into his communicator. Blaster looked up at the ceiling, placing a servo on the glass over his spark. He tried to send a ping over the bond to Eject, but it all felt strange and distorted, and he couldn’t make any sense of it. Maybe it was a side effect of the long stasis.

He heard the sound of pedes approaching, and turned his helm in the direction they were coming from. When the mech approached his medical berth, he had to cycle his optics to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. It wasn’t Jazz.

“Rewind?” Blaster gasped, bewilderment plain on his face.

“Hey, Blast,” the minibot said, placing his servo over Blaster’s, “Long time, no see.”

“Yeah,” Blaster could only agree. His Rewind. His plating was scuff-free and he looked well taken care of. There was a bright red emblem on his black chest that wasn’t there before—the Autobot symbol.

He was trapped in Iacon for so long, for decacycles over decacycles Blaster had no idea if his other cassettebot was truly alright or not. He spent every cycle worrying about him. And he’s okay. He’s here. His Rewind. Thank Primus.

Blaster tried to move, and grunted when pain radiated throughout his frame again. Rewind squeezed his servo, and Blaster was dumbstruck again that it was real and here and holding him.

“Pretty sure Ratchet already told you not to be moving,” Rewind said, the light humor in his voice the same as Blaster remembered it.

“Just—c’mere, ‘Wind. Please.”

“Alright,” Rewind said softly. He carefully climbed up onto the berth, watching for the wires that were still in Blaster’s medical ports, and then clambered onto the carrierbot’s frame. He laid himself over Blaster’s dock. Blaster wrapped his arms around Rewind’s frame, reminding himself again that he wasn’t a figment of his imagination, Rewind was really here and he was okay and he was warm and he could feel his spark close to his. Rewind tucked his helm beside Blaster’s neck, and Blaster instinctually nuzzled into it, holding his cassettebot even tighter.

“I missed you. You got no idea how much I missed you,” Blaster whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.

“I know. I could feel it,” Rewind replied, “It was faint, but always there. In a way, it comforted me.”

“Then it stopped, and I thought you died,” the minibot added, voice serious.

Blaster closed his optics, and rested his forehead against Rewind’s, “I’m sorry. I really messed up.”

“I heard you saved a lot of people that day, actually. Polyhexians helped keep the Decepticons at bay long enough for the Autobots to call in reinforcements, and many of those unable to fight fled safely.”

“Did ‘Ject get away, too?”

Rewind tilted his helm to look at the other mech properly, “That’s what I was hoping you would know. Eject hasn’t contacted me, and I haven’t felt him in decacycles.”

“No…” Blaster whispered in disbelief, shaking his helm. His voice increased in volume and grief as he wailed, “He can’t…He can’t be…Oh, Primus, it’s all my fault!”

“Blaster…”

“I told him to run, I left him alone and he needs me and I-I trusted them, I trusted them like some gullible idiot and I’m—I’m horrible.”

Rewind tapped the side of Blaster’s helm softly, cutting off the carrierbot’s rambling, “Hey, Blaster. Stop. Spiraling won’t help, and frankly it isn’t your style.”

“But—your spark brother…”

“If he’s been offlined, I would know for sure. It didn’t feel like our bond as spark brothers had stopped necessarily, just became…staticky and distant. But he’s still out there somewhere. I know he is.”

Blaster took a shaky vent to calm himself and then nodded shallowly. Rewind was right; if Eject had died, his brother would have instantly felt it in his spark. The fact that he hadn’t felt that was a good sign—Blaster just had to hope that they would find him.

“You’re right. Sorry for freakin’ out,” Blaster said, tapping his forehead against Rewind’s.

“It’s alright.”

A shaky smile then pulled at Blaster’s lips, “So, the Autobots, huh? How long has that been goin’ on for ya?”

“Oh, only just a little bit after the initial lockdown in Iacon.”

Blaster moved his helm away from Rewind’s to look at him properly, “That’s a joke, right? You’re jokin’. This is one of your jokes where I can’t tell it’s a joke so then you just laugh ‘cause you’re still smarter than me.”

“I’m not joking! But I am still smarter than you, yeah.”

“Wow… How did you find ‘em…?”

“Orion Pax and I were already acquaintances. He frequented the archives I worked at, got along well with all the staff there. When the lockdown happened, he soon reached out to me, and asked if I could lend him a servo in protecting Iaconians with the rest of his group. And here we are now.”

“And we could use your assistance as well,” a voice suddenly cut in. Rewind and Blaster’s helms snapped simultaneously in its direction, catching sight of a rather intimidating-looking black-and-white Praxian approaching the medical berth.

“Ugh, Prowl,” Rewind groaned quietly, sliding off of Blaster.

“Rewind,” the mech, Prowl, responded shortly, narrowing his optics at the minibot.

“Uh, were ya talkin’ to me, mech?” Blaster asked, pointing a digit at himself.

Prowl straightened himself, servos behind his back, as he redirected his attention to Blaster, “Yes. My designation is Prowl. I am second-in-command of the Autobots.”

“Blaster,” the carrierbot responded, canting his helm in greeting.

“I already know. I also already know that you are the Voice, the infamous Polyhexian radio hijacker.”

Blaster frowned, servos clenching in tension as he tried to read the second commander’s impassive expression.

“Relax, Blaster. Prowl’s not mad. He just comes off that way to everyone all the time,” Rewind reassured, placing a servo on Blaster’s arm.

“You’ve caused quite the stir not only in Polyhex, but Cybertron as a whole,” Prowl continued, pointedly ignoring Rewind, “It was rather inconvenient for us when the Decepticons had you questioning our competency as a group. I had to work to assuage bots even within our ranks.”

“They took advantage of me and played me like an instrument. I’m so sorry for the trouble I caused.”

The edge of Prowl’s mouth lifted in a smirk, “On the contrary, I am impressed by your skills—and it is no easy feat to impress me. We have a vacant communications officer position in our base, and I would like you to fill it.”

Blaster cycled his optics in surprise, “Huh?”

“Become an Autobot,” Prowl said plainly.

Blaster glanced at Rewind, who was looking at him silently, servo still resting on his arm. “I’m flattered to hear that, but I…think I need some time to think about it, mech.”

“Of course,” Prowl nodded, “However, should you not choose to be an Autobot we would have to transfer you to the nearest neutral area upon your recovery. Not to mention that you are surely on the Decepticon’s kill-on-sight list after what had happened in Polyhex.”

“Prowl!” Rewind snapped.

“I am simply stating the facts of the matter,” Prowl replied frankly with a shrug.

“You—“ Rewind started, but was cut off by the angry rev of an engine from just behind the Praxian. Prowl turned around and met the furious gaze of Ratchet.

“Hello, Ratchet,” Prowl greeted, turning his frame to fully face the CMO.

“What did I tell you about using my medbay as a recruitment center, Prowl?!” Ratchet growled angrily, crossing his arms.

Prowl glanced at Blaster and Rewind momentarily, a faint flash of nervousness in his optics, before looking again at the doctor. “You told me not to. However, I—“

Ratchet pointed sharply at the exit, “Out.”

Prowl’s doorwing twitched in irritation. He looked back again at Blaster. “Please take your time to consider the offer and inform me of your decision.”

Blaster nodded, “Uh, sure thing.”

With a quick nod in return, Prowl briskly walked out of the medbay. Ratchet’s intense gaze followed him the whole way out.

Ratchet’s optics softened somewhat when he focused his attention on Blaster, “Sorry about that. Prowl means well, but his social skills are abysmal and he has no sense of boundaries.”

Blaster let out a small laugh, “‘S alright. I…have a cassettebot who’s kinda similar.”

“Are you in any pain? It’s been enough time now since your last dose for another pain relief patch.”

“I’m pretty achy,” Blaster admitted, shifting uncomfortably, “The patch won’t knock me out, will it?”

“Not at a lower dose, no. I’ll go prepare it for you.”

“Thanks, Ratchet,” Blaster smiled. The CMO waved him off as he turned to leave.

When it was just him and Rewind again, the minibot leaned in a bit closer, amusement emanating through his side of the bond. “You don’t really need to think about it, do you?”

Blaster gave him a sly grin in return, “Nope. Just figured if I said yes right away we’d lose our quality time.”

Rewind nodded in understanding, “Yeah, you’re right. He might’ve gotten Optimus Prime down here and everything.”

“Hold up, Optimus Prime?” Blaster asked, optics brightening in surprise.

“Oh, yeah,” the cassettebot shrugged casually, “Orion Pax goes by Optimus Prime now.”

—Two Decacycles Later—

Blaster was back on his pedes, and very nearly back to his old self. Rewind visited the medbay when he could, but his duties as a records clerk often had him preoccupied. He had caught Blaster up to speed on what had happened on Cybertron while he was unconscious under the rubble; the fall of Polyhex, Rodion, Tesarus, and other city-states as the Decepticons furthered their conquest. How the matrix had chosen Orion Pax as the new Prime, and soon after an all out war erupted between the Autobots and Decepticons at Iacon. Now, functionism had fallen as well, but over half of the planet had become a battleground between the two factions. Peace didn’t appear to be happening anytime soon, and more and more bots were choosing a side.

He had met Optimus, briefly, when the leader had stopped by the medbay. Apparently he had made it a habit to visit the medbay regularly to check on the invalids and whoever else was being kept under Autobot care. The mech was even more impressive face-to-face; his presence instantly commanded a room, and yet the deep timbre of his voice was filled with individual care and concern to every mech he spoke to.

He told Optimus then about Prowl’s earlier visit and that he wanted to work in communications as an Autobot. Optimus’s optics glowed with warmth, and said that they would perform an assessment and then see to the necessary arrangements once Blaster was discharged from medbay.

Today was that cycle. First Aid, another medic, had cleared him, and Prowl was waiting for him, just outside the room and right on time.

When Blaster approached him, Prowl had presented a badge and a datapad to him.

“Here: your badge, and the Autobot Code.”

Blaster took the datapad, turning it on and suppressing a grimace at the page count, “Oh, thanks.”

Prowl took a step forward and carefully pressed the badge onto Blaster’s dock, ensuring that it was perfectly aligned. The bright red emblem shined the way he remembered it on Smokescreen, and he grinned to himself at that thought.

“Hey, is a mech called Smokescreen on this base?” Blaster decided to ask.

“Smokescreen, yes,” Prowl nodded, “He is one of my immediate subordinates in the tactics department.”

“So I’ll be seein’ him around? I wanna thank him for somethin’.”

“Thank Smokescreen? I can’t say I’ve heard anyone say that before,” Prowl said with a slight smile.

Blaster furrowed his brow, “Why’s that?”

“Nevermind,” Prowl shook his helm with a sigh, “If you met him, you know how sociable he is. You’ll certainly find him in the recreational area sometime soon, if not an unauthorized party.”

Huh. Blaster wondered what kind of reputation Smokescreen had amongst the Autobots he worked with. He supposed he’d find out soon—he and Smokescreen seemed to enjoy the same type of company.

“In any case, follow me,” Prowl spoke again, turning and walking down the corridor. Blaster followed closely behind him.

“Where we headed?” the boombox asked curiously.

“I’ve arranged a meeting for you to be introduced to the rest of the superior officers. It’s important for you to know them.”

Blaster nodded, “Gotcha. Makes sense.”

Other Autobots they encountered in the corridors along the way to the meeting straightened themselves and acknowledged Prowl as they passed, Prowl greeting them quickly in return. The way everyone stopped slouching or began to look busy at the sight of the Praxian made Blaster wonder if Prowl came off as strict and intimidating to everyone around him. But then he thought of the way Ratchet had spoken to him and how quickly Prowl had folded, and figured that the intimidation-factor was at least partly for appearances.

Blaster was eager to get to know all the different Autobots on base. He tried not to let it show too often, not even to Rewind, but hearing about Polyhex being destroyed had caused his tanks to turn. He loved his home—everything he did, he did with the hopes of protecting it—and yet that wasn’t enough. Most of everyone he knew and associated with up until that point was Polyhexian, and he had no idea where they were or if they were even still functioning. He may very well have to start his entire life over here, on this base just outside of Iacon. He just had to hope no ghosts from his past were here, too.

Jazz. He hadn’t seen or heard his designation once while in the medbay. Maybe that means he’s posted at a different Autobot base, or out on a mission of some kind, or working in a certain department that has nothing to do with what Blaster would be doing. Or offlined. Primus forbid. Blaster had complicated feelings about his ex, but he certainly didn’t hope anything horrible happened to him. He wasn’t sure if he could live with himself that way either, knowing their last interaction would have been their breakup and then never hearing from Jazz again.

Blaster’s thought processes screeched to a powerful halt when Prowl opened the door to a spacious meeting room, and his optics immediately locked onto a familiar, bright blue visor.

Jazz’s expression remained neutral, but Blaster caught the way his frame tensed marginally. Even after all this time, Blaster could instantly spot the mech’s subtle, easily hidden nonverbal cues. He found some kind of ironic humor in that. Blaster, too, schooled his brief surprise in a near-instant, and forced himself to move his optics away from Jazz, very purposefully regarding the rest of the mechs in the room as he stepped fully inside, behind Prowl.

“Thank you all for being on time,” Prowl spoke, sounding distant and far more unimportant in Blaster’s audials. Out of the corner of his optic, he saw Jazz staring straight at him, though he moved to lean casually on the nearest wall.

Prowl gestured to Blaster, “This is our new communications officer, Blaster. He will be working in the monitoring station with Red Alert, though his focus will be on filtering, receiving, and delivering external communications to and from the base.”

“Hello again, Blaster. I am happy that you chose to join us,” Optimus Prime spoke, happiness visible in his optics.

“Thank you, Lord Prime, sir,” Blaster replied, turning to fully face the Autobot leader.

“Please, you can just call me Optimus.”

“Though the only mechs who do that consistently are the ones in this room,” Ratchet commented, before looking at Blaster, “It’s good to finally see you out of the medbay. You know this already, of course, but I’m the Chief Medical Officer, Ratchet.”

Blaster smiled, “Sure do. Thanks for fixin’ me up, Ratchet.”

Prowl gestured to the mech seated right beside Ratchet, “This is our lead weapons engineer, Wheeljack. He is also in charge of the research department.”

“Nice to meet ya,” Wheeljack said, his helmfins glowing in a welcoming orange hue.

“Hey, mech.”

“If you hear anythin’ blow up on the basement level, don’t worry. It’s just him,” a bulky, solid red mech interjected with a smirk.

Wheeljack looked over at the mech, “Well, it’s also sometimes Brainstorm, whenever he’s here.”

Prowl then gestured to the red mech, along with an aerial bot standing closeby, “These are our ground and air infantry generals, Ironhide and Windblade.”

“I used t’ work in security with Red Alert,” Ironhide spoke, crossing his arms, “Just don’t take him too seriously and maybe you’ll stay sane.”

“That intense, huh?” Blaster laughed.

“He just…worries a lot. You’ll see what Ironhide means,” Windblade added, “Red Alert means well.”

“Finally, this is our lieutenant of special operations, Jazz.”

Blaster locked optics with Jazz again. Jazz shifted a bit, arms crossed with a lopsided smile on his face. Blaster wondered if he was the only one in the room who could tell how awkward and forced his body language was.

“Nice to meet ya, mech,” Blaster said, smiling just as uncomfortably as Jazz.

Jazz nodded in return, visor dimming slightly, “Likewise.”

“Wow, I think that’s the least amount of words Jazz has ever spoken when introducing himself,” Wheeljack commented from off to the side.

Jazz let out a laugh as he looked over at Wheeljack, “Ya think I’m chatty? I’m only like that when I gotta be. It’s part of the gig, bein’ SpecOps.”

“You two are both from Polyhex,” Optimus added, “And I’ve heard you previously owned quite a popular music radio channel, Blaster. Jazz is a very talented musician, so I’m sure the two of you would get along.”

“Maybe,” Blaster said, glancing briefly at Jazz. Jazz looked away.

“As much as I’m sure you’d love to stay and chat, Blaster, unfortunately we have our own executive meeting now,” Prowl spoke, pulling out a datapad, “I’ll call someone here to show you around the base. Let me see who has an open block right now… Ah, perfect. Bluestreak is free—he’s one of our newer agents, as well.”

“Bluestreak?” Blaster asked, optics brightening, “Smokescreen’s brother?”

“Ah, he told you that story,” Prowl said with a knowing look, “Yes, his ‘brother.’ He’s very talkative, but easy to get along with and he loves to meet new people. He’s on his way right now.”

Shortly after Prowl said that, a faint rush of pede steps could be heard approaching the meeting room entrance.

“Speak of the Unmaker…” Ironhide mumbled quietly as a gray, widely grinning Praxian appeared in the doorway.

“Reporting for duty!” the mech said in a cheerful tone, standing at attention right at the threshold of the doorway.

“Thank you for coming quickly, Bluestreak,” Optimus said in an appreciative tone.

“It was no problem at all, Prime! I was already right down the hall, reading a datapad, though I was thinking of heading over to the rec room to see if the Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were on break. Though Sides usually comms me when he’s free, so I guess they aren’t right now. Oh, but I did see Hound leaving one of the training rooms earlier, so maybe he and the other SpecOps agents are on break right now! They usually all share a free block, right, Jazz?”

Yeesh. Prowl wasn’t lying about the mech being talkative.

Jazz nodded at Bluestreak with a smile, “Yep, when there’s a lull in activity I like to give my mechs free time together. Can’t always afford to do that, so I let ‘em have it when I can.”

“Bluestreak,” Prowl spoke before the young Praxian could go on another tangent, “This is Blaster. He is a new Autobot and needs someone to give him a tour of the base. Would it be possible for you to show him around?”

Bluestreak looked at Blaster with sparkling optics, “Of course! I’d love to! It’s nice to meet you.”

Blaster smiled back, “Same here.”

The two mechs said goodbye to the superior officers and exited the meeting room. Once the door closed, Bluestreak said to Blaster with a smile, “Guess we should start on the basement level and then work our way up.” He showed Blaster to the nearest elevator, explaining along the way that there are several elevators located on each end of the base in case of any emergencies, as well as stairwells.

“So, what’s your function amongst the Autobots, Blaster?” Bluestreak asked, but then waved his hands frantically as his optics brightened, “I mean—what’ll you be doing? Sorry, I’m from Praxus and that’s how you usually asked people about their occupation. It was like, super functionist over there so we had a lot of strange ways to say things—this is actually the first time I’ve ever been out of Praxus so I’m still getting all the functionist lingo and phrases out of my language cortex but sometimes I slip up.”

“‘S alright, my mech,” Blaster replied with a smile, “I’m working in communications. What about you?”

“I’m training to be a sniper. I’ve always been a pretty good shot—it’s nothing like the turbofox hunts at the Towers in Iacon, but my big brother would sometimes take me to those shooting ranges with the moving targets and fake pellets. I liked to do the long distance challenges,” Bluestreak explained, pretending to aim with an imaginary sniper rifle.

“Smokescreen, right? I’ve met him before.”

Bluestreak lowered his arms and grinned, “Yeah!”

The elevator dinged, and the gates opened up. Bluestreak stepped out into the wide hallway before them. The scent of chemicals and singed metal wafted vaguely in the air.

Bluestreak gestured to the open hallway as they walked, “Here we have the basement. This whole level is dedicated to research and engineering, so unless you’re under Wheeljack’s supervision or just a mech looking for him, you won’t really be down here too often. The entire research and engineering department can also feel kinda cliquey at times because of that, since they spend most of their time down here. There’s some nice mechs in the department though. Like Perceptor!” Bluestreak waved to a red mech through the open door of a room, who was focusing intently while working on some kind of motherboard.

“Hi, Perceptor!” Bluestreak called out.

Perceptor looked up, glancing at both him and Blaster, “Hello, Bluestreak.”

A loud banging noise suddenly echoed from the end of the hall, causing both Blaster and Bluestreak to flinch, though Perceptor appeared unfazed.

“Frag it, Grapple, it doesn’t need to look pretty, it just needs to work!”

“It looks like a giant dumpster with a gatling gun welded on top! If Hoist were here, he’d agree!”

“If you try to bevel that spot one more time, so help me—”

“Oh, I’m going to bevel it alright, because otherwise I am not having my designation attached to this monstrosity.”

“That would be Huffer and Grapple,” Perceptor said with a sigh, going back to his work, “They’ve been at it for some time now.”

“Yikes,” Bluestreak said with a laugh, “Alright, well me and Blaster are going to leave you guys be.”

Blaster and Bluestreak hurried back to the elevator, leaving Perceptor behind along with the sounds of arguing. Privately, Blaster was grateful he wouldn’t be working in the basement.

They stepped out of the elevator once more when they reached the first floor. This area was more populated, with the quiet chitter-chatter of mechs being heard from various directions.

“The first floor is where you’ll find the training rooms, armory, and medbay. There’s a few meeting rooms here too—like the one you were just in, with the supes. The entrance to the base is over this way, and there’s always at least one mech on front door duty. Usually one of Ironhide’s troops.”

Bluestreak peeked around a corner, gesturing for Blaster to look over as well. A short, red mech was posted at the door, sitting on a crate while polishing his rifle, looking bored and mildly irritated.

“Uh oh. Looks like it’s Cliffjumper’s turn right now. At least he seems like he’s in a good mood.”

“That’s what he looks like in a ‘good mood'?” Blaster whispered back, furrowing his brow. The little bot didn’t appear to be in a good mood in the slightest.

“Yeah. Now’s the best time to go over and say hi, so let’s introduce you! Just be careful what you say.” Before Blaster could respond, Bluestreak stepped out from the corner and approached the other Autobot with a wave.

“Hi, Cliffjumper! How’s it going?”

Cliffjumper looked over at Bluestreak, frown still visible on his face, before his optics wandered to Blaster, who he eyed up and down. “Who’s the big red box?”

“Uh, the ‘big red box’ is the new communications officer, Blaster,” Blaster said, keeping his offense to himself.

“Bah, I was hoping you’d be part of the ground infantry,” Cliffjumper grumbled, focusing back on his rifle, “You would’ve been fun to spar with your boxy frame.”

Blaster couldn’t help but let out a small chortle at the honest answer, “Sorry, mech. Maybe once I get to combat training, you can help me practice.”

Cliffjumper smirked deviously, “I’ll hold you to that.”

“I still have to show Blaster the rest of the base, so we’ll catch you later, Cliff!” Bluestreak said, pulling Blaster away by the arm. Cliffjumper just waved them off lazily as a bored expression returned to his face.

The second floor was a bit louder, with the sounds of laughter and casual conversation filling the space. Mechs leaned on the walls as they talked, and no one seemed to be in any rush.

“This floor is where you’ll find the mess hall, rec room, and habsuites. You can really hang out anywhere when you have a free block, but this is the floor where you’ll find the fun stuff. You should send me your schedule once you get it! Me and my friends like to hang out in the rec room when we’re all free—you should join us.”

Blaster smiled at Bluestreak, “Yeah, for sure. I’d love to vibe with you and your boys sometime.”

Bluestreak showed him where the mess hall, rec room, and habsuites were respectively before guiding him up to the third floor. This floor was far quieter than the ones before it. There were hardly any mechs lingering in the hallways, and most of those that were were carrying datapads.

As they walked down the corridor, Bluestreak explained, “The third floor is where the office-y type work is. Records keeping, tactics, accounting…you know, the boring stuff. It is usually nice and quiet here though, and there’s a few meeting rooms, so it’s a nice place to go to get away from the buzz of the rest of the base. Oh, and with the exception of Ratchet and Wheeljack, the supes’ and Prime’s offices are all on this floor, too, if you ever need to find them.”

“Blue!” a familiar voice suddenly called out from further down the corridor. Blaster was surprised to see the bright-colored Praxian he met ages ago in Polyhex, Smokescreen.

“Hiya, Smokey!” Bluestreak called happily in response. The slightly taller Praxian slung an arm over Bluestreak, bringing the other mech close.

Once Smokescreen’s optics settled on Blaster, his grin widened, “Hey, Blaster! It’s been a long time.”

Blaster nodded, “Yeah, it has. Listen, I… I wanted to thank you, for givin’ me a chance and helpin’ me realize what the right thing to do was, back in Polyhex. If it weren’t for you, I don’t know where I’d be now. So thanks.”

Smokescreen’s optics softened slightly, “Don’t mention it. I’m glad you’re here. Though it’s a shame what happened to Polyhex.”

Blaster spark clenched. “Yeah,” he whispered. He was still processing it, in his mind, and he felt like the worst of the anguish had yet to truly hit him. Right now, it all just felt numb and distant.

“Praxus went through the same thing, not long after,” Smokescreen said with a frown, “I think the ‘Cons made it a point to hit Praxus hard, since it was a functionist city-state. Blue was the only mech we could find with a spark pulse.”

Bluestreak went stoically quiet as he stared at a far wall, optics distant.

Blaster’s frown deepened as his own optics dimmed, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“My point is there’s a lot of mechs here who know what you’re going through. These last few orbital cycles, the vast majority of mechs who joined our ranks are ones who’ve been personally affected by the conflict with the Decepticons in one way or another. There’s a lot of grievers here—a lot of mechs who will understand you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”

Smokescreen smiled in satisfaction before giving Bluestreak a shake, prompting the gray Praxian to look up at him. “Enough of the sad stuff, huh? Prowl’s making you give Blaster his tour?”

Bluestreak smiled at his brother, “Yeah. We’re almost done.”

“Then I’ll leave you guys to it. I was supposed to give Prowl my report forty breems ago. Might swing by the rec room before I do.”

“Smokey!” Bluestreak admonished with a laugh, pushing himself away from the other mech, “You’re really going to piss Prowl off, one of these cycles.”

“Don’t worry. I know which buttons I can push with him at this point. Welcome to the Autobots, Blaster!” With a wave, Smokescreen slipped by them and headed towards the elevators. Blaster smiled to himself as Smokescreen departed, grateful that their paths had crossed when they did.

As Bluestreak began walking them to an elevator at the opposite end of the floor, Blaster spoke, “Smokescreen told me a bit about you when we first met. It must be nice havin’ your brother here with ya.”

Bluestreak let out a small laugh, “Oh, Smokey is not happy at all that I’m here, though he doesn’t show it. He begged me not to enlist in the Autobots.”

“Really?” Blaster asked in surprise.

The gray mech nodded, “Yeah. I have a chronic medical condition that causes me to break down sometimes. He’s always been really protective of me because of that. When I recovered after the attack in Praxus, he wanted me to transfer to a neutral medical facility.”

Bluestreak paused at the elevator gate, “After what I went through, I knew I couldn’t just run away. That wouldn’t make the nightmares go away. I’ll never regret my decision to become a sniper.”

The young mech grinned as he looked at Blaster again and pressed open the gate doors, “Smokey always treated me like I’m made of glass, but he’ll see I can do exactly what he does. I’m disabled, not helpless, y’know?”

Blaster smiled back, spark warmed by the honesty of Bluestreak, “Yeah, I get ya.”

The duo stepped into the elevator, this one a bit smaller than the previous ones they entered, and Bluestreak hit the button. As the gates closed, the mech said, “Anyway, our last stop is the monitoring station. This elevator and an emergency stairwell on the third floor are the only ways to access it. Since you’re in communications, I’m guessing this’ll be where you’ll be working usually. Right now, Red Alert is the only Autobot who’s there regularly. He’s the security director. I’m sure he’ll be happy to have company!”

When the gate opened, a mech was standing squarely before it, blocking the view of several screens and with his servo twitching towards the pistol holstered on his hip plate.

“Not a step farther! This station is for authorized personnel only.”

Blaster blinked in disbelief and nervously glanced at Bluestreak, who seemed not at all startled by the mech’s reaction. The Praxian took a step forward anyway. “Hi Red Alert! How’s it going?”

“This station is for authorized personnel only!” the red and white mech repeated, glaring daggers at the other Autobot while stealing wary glances at Blaster.

“This is Blaster. He’s the new communications officer—that would make him authorized personnel, wouldn’t it?”

“I know who he is,” Red Alert snapped back, “And he is not authorized until I complete my assessment and deem him secure.”

“I’m pretty sure Prowl and Optimus Prime have already assessed him,” Bluestreak replied with a casual shrug, “Do you want me to comm them to ask if you should be conducting one, too?”

Red Alert narrowed his optics, “Don’t.” Bluestreak’s mouth quirked upward, looking victorious.

“Wait,” Blaster interrupted, causing the security director to look at him with judging optics, “Is that me on your monitor?”

Blaster pointed to one of the screens only partially blocked by Red Alert’s frame. It was looping footage of Blaster and Bluestreak walking down one of the hallways of the base.

Red Alert shuffled a few steps sideways so he was fully blocking the monitor, but that only caused another screen at the other end to be fully visible. “And that’s me in the medbay!” Blaster exclaimed, now pointing to footage of him lying alone in the medical berth.

“Ohh Red, Ratchet’s going to be super pissed once he finds that hidden camera,” Bluestreak said, looking at the security director with an expression of pity.

“Damn,” Red Alert hissed under his breath.

“As you can see, Blaster, Red Alert takes his job very seriously. But once he trusts you, he’s a real sweet guy, promise.”

“You think I’m sweet?” Red Alert asked, the surprise in his voice sounding genuine—starkly different to the initial impression the mech gave off.

“Of course I do!” Bluestreak responded, “And no one’s as good at your job as you are.”

“…Hm,” Red Alert hummed, seemingly dismissively, but a blush creeped on his face. He turned to sit back in front of the security monitors. Blaster untensed and smiled at how Bluestreak managed to get the other mech to deescalate. The bot was clever.

“We’ll get out of your circuits, Red,” Bluestreak said, “See ya later!”

With a wave, the Praxian led him and Blaster to the stairwell and back to the third floor, leaving the security director behind. Once they were back in the corridor, Bluestreak said, “That’s the whole base! It was fun showing you around, Blaster.”

“I’m glad you did!” Blaster replied gratefully, “I had a great time walking around with you, Blue. Is it okay if I call ya that?”

“Yeah!” Bluestreak beamed, “My free block is ending, so I have to go to the first floor for training. Do you need me to show you where anything is again before I go?”

Blaster shook his head, “Thanks, but I think I got it all down. You go to your trainin’!”

“Okay. Don’t forget to send me your schedule once you get it!”

“You got it, mech.”

“See you later, Blaster!” Bluestreak said with a wave.

Blaster waved back, “Later, Blue!”

Once Bluestreak disappeared around the corner, Blaster dropped his servo to his side and let out a deep sigh. It was starting to hit him how different his life was going to be now, and there was no way to go back to his old one. He’d have to deal with Jazz again, too. At least Rewind was here. And Bluestreak was nice.

His dock felt empty.

Unconsciously, he pinged Eject over the bond. His chest ached when he didn’t receive a response, and he frowned deeply as he rubbed a servo over it.

A low fuel alert popped up on his HUD. At least he had one problem that could be easily resolved.

The mess hall was crowded with mechs. The smell of energon and additives filled the room along with the sounds of conversation and laughter. Blaster had to wait in line for several breems before being able to get a cube of mid-grade. He opted not to add anything to it after grimacing at the line for flavorings.

He looked at the available tables and had to stifle another grimace. All of them were occupied with mechs conversing with one another. Blaster was usually a sociable mech, but right now, all he wanted was a little peace to sit with everything that’s been going on since Polyhex. He scanned the area for any spot that looked like he might get that, and his optics settled on a table in the far corner, where a deep blue vehiclemech was glaring into his energon cube while clutching it between two servos. Everyone else seemed to be keeping some distance from the mech, but Blaster was too tired to care. He walked over and sat down at the table with his own cube.

The mech immediately looked at Blaster like he was something disgusting. “Can I help you?” he asked, his heavy accent giving him away instantly as someone from Veritas Towers—a place where the crust of Cybertronian high society were brought up, on the outskirts of Iacon.

“Sorry, mech. Just want a spot to sit while I fuel.”

“Well, go find a different spot,” the mech said with a sneer.

“There’s nowhere else to sit,” Blaster said, gesturing to the rest of the space, “Nowhere where I can have some peace and quiet, at least.”

“That’s not my problem,” the other mech responded, shooing Blaster away with a wave of his servo.

Blaster didn’t have the patience for this, and he wasn’t going to be bossed around by some snobby-looking Towers mech. “I can see why no one wants to be anywhere near you,” the carrierbot said flatly, taking a sip of his energon.

The mech’s brow on his red faceplate twitched. “Yes, so why don’t you take the hint and join them?” he huffed, placing his chin on his servo as he looked away.

“I’m already comfortable, so too bad.”

The mech just grumbled, followed by silence. Blaster took it as an opportunity to enjoy his mid-grade, so he sipped at it leisurely as he went over this cycle’s events in his memory chip.

Eventually, the Towers mech brought his own cube of energon to his lips. He didn’t hide the look of repulsion as he lowered it, followed by a quiet “ugh.”

“Not like the stuff they give you at the Towers, huh?” Blaster commented, hiding his humor at the other’s reaction.

“No,” the mech said sadly, gazing at the cube. Blaster remembered what Smokescreen said about a lot of grievers being on base now, and his humor was instantly replaced with a sense of sobriety. Rewind recounted to him how Veritas Towers was destroyed when the war reached Iacon. Pretty much all of the mechs from there remained in that small bubble, rarely venturing out of it. This very well could be the mech’s first time interacting with anyone outside of the Towers—a sheltered mech that was thrown into war.

“Watch my cube for me,” Blaster said suddenly, raising himself from his seat.

“What?” the mech asked incredulously, “I’m not—”

Before the vehiclemech could finish his sentence, Blaster was already off and heading towards the line for additives. Several breems later, when it was his turn in line, he grabbed several saucers and took stock of what was available. He grabbed lithium and palladium shavings, and some mercury syrup. He returned to the table, presenting the saucers to the mech.

“Put these in your fuel and try it again,” Blaster said, sliding the saucers over to the mech encouragingly.

The mech eyed them skeptically, looking at them and then his cube, before reaching to hesitantly lift up the one with the palladium shavings.

“Sprinkle them in gently—don’t dump it all at once,” Blaster instructed. The mech furrowed his brow before carefully tapping some shavings into his drink, and then doing the same with the lithium shavings. He then grabbed the saucer with the mercury and frowned at it for several moments.

He looked up at Blaster, some of the initial aggression in his optics dissolving away, “How am I supposed to do this one?”

“Drizzle it in slowly, and spread it around while you do,” Blaster smiled. The mech did as instructed, emptying the saucer into his cube.

He watched as the additives swirled in his fuel for another moment, before lifting it to his lips and giving it another sip. This time, he didn’t look disgusted with the fuel, and his optics brightened slightly.

“Better?” Blaster asked with a grin. The mech’s optics snapped to Blaster, seemingly just now remembering he was sitting across from him, and he tried to school his expression into one more disinterested.

“It’s tolerable,” he said, taking another sip.

Blaster gave a small chuckle, and returned to sipping at his own fuel.

“How did you know I’m from Veritas Towers?” the mech asked in a near mumble, gazing once again into his fuel.

“You kiddin’? You have one of the heaviest accents I’ve ever heard in my life.”

The mech frowned, “Those who know tend to avoid me or talk down to me.”

“You ever think it might just be because you’re doin’ the same thing?” Blaster asked, tilting his helm to the side.

The mech glared up at Blaster, but it didn’t hold the same scorn as it did earlier, “They do not understand me, and they get angry when I do not understand them. I have never left the Towers before—I am not accustomed to this life I have now with the Autobots.”

“Yeah. I’m still gettin’ used to it, too,” Blaster said softly, squeezing his servos together on the table. The other mech simply stared at them.

“My designation is Tracks, 31st of the West Tower,” the mech said, sudden and formal. He brought his drink to his lips again, likely to hide his nerves—the mech was very easy to read.

Blaster grinned again, “Blaster of Harmonex. I ain’t sure what number I am.”

“Harmonex,” Tracks said, swishing his cube, “That’s where a lot of musicians are forged, isn’t it?”

“Well, all of Polyhex is known for that. But there’s quite a few famous musicians from Harmonex, yeah.”

“The Towers would occasionally hire musicians from there for celebrations, but they were only permitted to perform specific, traditional Iaconian songs,” Tracks explained, “I sometimes wondered if they’ve ever preferred to play their own music.”

“I can show you some later, if you want,” Blaster replied, “I actually used to own a Polyhexian music radio channel.”

“...That is acceptable,” Tracks said with a nod.

The two conversed casually as they drank their cubes. Talking with Tracks was surprisingly pleasant, after Blaster’s initial impression of him. He was still an extremely sheltered, vain, and materialistic mech, but he wasn’t totally insufferable to be around once he showed an interest in talking with you. It was satisfying to get the other mech to smile, even if it was fleeting.

They continued chatting for a short while after they finished their fuel, too, to Blaster’s surprise. As Tracks started another sentence, it was sharply cut off by a booming voice.

“TRACKS!” the voice roared, silencing the entire mess hall. Tracks’ face paled when he saw the red plating of Ironhide by the entrance.

The mech stomped over with heavy steps to where Tracks and Blaster were seated. Tracks shrunk in on himself as he approached.

“What are you doin’ here?” the general questioned, voice furious.

“Uhm, fueling,” the Towers mech responded, glancing over at Blaster with fearful optics.

“And ignorin’ your comms?”

“I found the pings annoying, so I turned them off,” Tracks explained, as if that were reasonable.

“Your free block ended half a joor ago,” Ironhide growled, “You’re supposed to be in training with the rest of your platoon.”

“If it took them half a joor to realize I was absent, then it really doesn’t seem like they required me that despera—”

“Don’t finish that sentence. Get up,” Ironhide demanded darkly. Tracks shot out of his seat.

“March,” Ironhided ordered. He glared as Tracks passed by him and towards the exit.

Tracks paused at the exit and gave one last glance back at Blaster. Blaster gave him a small wave goodbye, and Tracks looked away as Ironhide gave him a push forward, disappearing past the door frame.

Chapter Text

A ping on his office door had him glancing up from the paperwork he was completing late into the night cycle—long after the majority of the base was in recharge, with the exception of those who were currently assigned night shifts.

He looked back down at the datapad on his desk, sending the signal to unlock his office door. “Enter,” he called out, and a beat later the door slid open.

Prowl looked up from his work again to see Smokescreen loitering at the entrance. Once their optics met, the blue Praxian gave a sly smile and took the several steps he needed to stand before Prowl’s desk. Why his subordinate always waited for Prowl to look at him before stepping inside, he will never know.

“Good evening, Smokescreen,” Prowl said, resuming his tapping on the datapad.

“Have you read my report, sir?” his subordinate asked. Smokescreen rarely had the grace to refer to him as “sir.” He must not be in a good mood.

“I have.”

“The addendum, too?”

“Of course.”

“May I sit, sir?”

“You may.”

Smokescreen lowered himself into one of the chairs before Prowl’s desk. Prowl finally turned off the datapad and gave Smokescreen a good look. Smokescreen was a master of hiding both his emotions and true intentions, but when alone with Prowl, his carefully constructed persona tended to slip away. The other Praxian’s face was neutral, but his doorwings flicked in frustration.

“You’re upset I recruited the new communications officer,” Prowl stated—it was the only logical conclusion he could draw from Smokescreen's late office visit.

“I think wary is a more accurate term,” Smokescreen responded, servos resting politely on his thigh plating, “Though I’m sure you calculated that the reward outweighs the risk already.”

“You would be correct,” Prowl nodded.

A frown appeared on Smokescreen’s face, “Just as you calculated them when recruiting Bluestreak.”

“Bluestreak is fully mature and can make his own decisions,” Prowl replied, keeping his tone neutral. Smokescreen was still bitter about that—but Prowl had no reason to worry.

“Forgive me, but I can’t help but notice that when the risks only pertain to me, you are fine with taking the chances,” Smokescreen said, his frustration now leaking into his voice, “Sir.”

Prowl locked his digits together on his desk, “Are you here to lodge a formal complaint against my methods, Smokescreen?”

Smokescreen shook his helm, “No. I’m just here for an explanation.”

Prowl’s optics drifted away from his subordinate for a moment as he thought. Technically, he didn’t have to tell Smokescreen anything. There was an 83.5 percent chance that he would continue to follow any instruction that the SIC gave him even if Prowl simply dismissed his request.

“Calculating if it’s worth it to tell me?” Smokescreen asked with a smirk.

“Yes,” Prowl said, truthfully. It was just for fun. After all, there was a 93 percent chance that Prowl would give him the explanation regardless of its impact on Smokescreen’s future efficiency—simply because he respected the other Praxian.

Not that he would ever admit that to Smokescreen.

“Very well,” Prowl started, properly looking at his subordinate again, “As it originally went before the battle at Polyhex, I had no intention of offering Blaster a position with us. However, after I learned of Blaster’s capabilities regarding the radio, I determined he would be beneficial to have with the Autobots. On top of that, a…complication suddenly appeared.”

“Complication?”

“Were you aware that Rewind has a cassette-carrier bond with Blaster?”

Smokescreen’s optics brightened momentarily, “I did not.”

“I only learned that once he submitted a request for Blaster to be held here. If I followed through with a transfer to a neutral medical facility, there was a 98.75 percent chance that Rewind would investigate.”

“He doesn’t trust you,” Smokescreen said ruefully.

“He does not,” Prowl agreed, “In any case, in the event that Rewind investigated, there would have been a 53.1 percent chance that he found the report you submitted to me on 23rd Cycle 052, despite various precautions I could have taken to have it hidden.”

Smokescreen looked away, nodding with reluctant understanding. “And the chances of Jazz finding that report, with Blaster here?”

“Between 78.98 percent and 97 percent, depending on numerous variables.”

“That’s even worse than Rewind!” Smokescreen exclaimed, shoulders hiked up and looking aghast.

“It’s mostly inconsequential, actually. Unlike Rewind, there is only an 8 percent chance that he would confront you, me, or anyone on this base about it,” Prowl leaned back in his seat, “Since that would expose how he used you to sway Blaster away from the Decepticons.”

Smokescreen cycled his optics, staring down his direct superior with his mouth agape, “You are downright devious, Prowl.”

“It was just what I deemed the most logical course of action.”

“Yeah, the most logical course of action, but at my expense. Jazz is never going to tell me anything ever again if he thinks I’m a snitch. You know that, right?”

“I have other ways of monitoring him, though it’s probably in your best interest to make sure he keeps trusting you with his secret,” Prowl smirked as he crossed his arms, “And you are a snitch. It’s in the fine print of your job description as a diversionary tactician.”

Smokescreen simply shook his head in disbelief as he rose from his seat and started making his way towards the door.

“Tell me if Blaster says anything to you about his former relationship with Jazz, would you?” Prowl called out just before Smokescreen opened the door.

Smokescreen turned around with a smile, “For tactics, or for gossip?” Before Prowl could respond, the blue Praxian waved his hand and turned to face the door again, “Aw, who am I kidding—it’s always both with you.”

A smile graced Prowl’s lips as he went back to his paperwork. ‘Devious,’ he thought, ‘Yes, I suppose I am.’

When he woke up, his dock felt empty.

~Eject?~ he called out over the bond subconsciously. The sensation of static and strangeness from Eject’s side felt louder than it did the previous cycle, and it was unsettling.

He frowned as he rubbed his servo over his dock.

He then noticed an unread message in his commlink, and promptly opened it, welcoming the momentary distraction from the frayed bond.

Greetings, Blaster. This is Prowl. I hope you found the first night in your suite acceptable.

I have attached a couple of files to this message. Firstly, you will find your shift schedule. You will not be starting until the third shift block this afternoon, to give you time to wake up, fuel, and explore some more if you so desire. Red Alert has been our interim communications officer while there was a vacancy and will be training you and offering assistance as needed. I apologize.

Secondly, I have attached the file containing the base staff’s contact list. Please download it as soon as possible. With this, you will have the comm frequencies for every Autobot on base as well as their general availabilities—nothing beyond if they are on their free block or not. It is mandatory to have it in your databanks. I have also added your frequency onto the contact list, so the others on base can contact you when needed.

Do reach out to me if you have any questions or concerns. I tend to be extremely busy every cycle, but I address anything that is brought to my attention as soon as I’m able.

-Prowl, Second-in-Command

Blaster smiled to himself as he downloaded the file and saw the long list of bot information. He could already tell the base was diverse just from the tour yesterday, but analyzing the long list solidified just how many different mechs were posted here. He found Bluestreak’s designation within the list, and sent him over a copy of his schedule.

With that out of the way, his mind inevitably started to drift back toward his bond, and he moved off his berth with a small frown.

~Rewind?~ he called out next, trying to focus fully on his unfractured bond. He sensed Rewind opening up more from his end, flooding Blaster with sensations of comfort and calmness.

~Hi, Blaster.~

~Do you want to get morning fuel together?~ Blaster pinged inquisitively. Rewind sent back an affirmative, and Blaster’s lips curled once again into a hopeful smile.

——

He only sat alone for a short while before Rewind showed up. The mess hall was far less busy than it was the night-cycle before—perhaps more of the staff shared a free block for dinner than for breakfast. He made a second cube, ready and waiting for his cassettebot when he appeared. The minibot accepted it gratefully once he slipped into the seat across from Blaster.

“How was your first cycle out and about?” Rewind asked after he took a drink of the cube.

“It was a lot, but pretty interestin’. Bluestreak showed me around the base—Do ya know him?”

Rewind shrugged, “I know of him, I suppose. Our jobs on base don’t really overlap, so I don’t see a whole lot of him.”

“Oh,” Blaster replied, “I guess that makes sense. I’m hopin’ not to get too secluded around here, since it looks like I’ll only be sharin’ the monitoring station with Red Alert.”

“Oof,” Rewind said sympathetically, “Good luck with that, Blast. Though, people tend to like you, so I’m sure you’ll find lots of new friends.”

Blaster smiled, “I hope so. Thanks, Rewind.”

A flash of a black helm and a blue visor appearing in the entrance nearly made Blaster choke on his energon, and he tried to discreetly duck his helm in a sad attempt to not be noticed. Jazz had walked into the mess hall with a small yellow bot, and the two were engaged in conversation.

“What are you doing?” Rewind asked, looking unamused.

“Tryin’ to blend in,” Blaster muttered, putting his servo to the side of his helm to hide his face.

“No offense, Blaster, but you're bright red and, like, super tall.”

“Shh!” Blaster hushed, “Don’t say my des’ out loud.”

“Who are you hiding from, anyway?” Rewind turned around to look in the direction of the entrance. Blaster snapped his digits frantically to get his cassettebot to turn back around.

“Stop! He’ll know I’m talkin’ about him.”

“Jazz or Bumblebee?” Rewind asked, having seen them over by the fuel dispensers.

“Jazz,” Blaster replied in a near whisper, lowering his optics to the table.

Rewind tilted his helm, “Why are you avoiding Jazz of all mechs?”

“Uhm…we were…he’s my ex,” Blaster said quietly, sounding guilty.

Rewind’s visor blinked as he cycled his optics, “What?”

“Before the war,” Blaster continued, tracing a pattern on the table, “We met at a club. We saw each other for a good while. Even started the ritus. It was serious, I guess.”

“Jazz was that mech?” Rewind said in shock, “I mean, Eject told me you were getting all mushy with somebody, but I had no idea who. And then the lockdown happened before I could really learn anything else.”

Blaster simply nodded, and Rewind sat in quiet amazement for a few moments longer. The boombox brought the cube to his lips in the midst of the awkwardness, stealing glances in Jazz’s general direction occasionally. He was sitting a few tables in front of him and Eject, but still talking casually with the yellow minibot, Bumblebee. He had a relaxed smile on his face while he chatted with the other bot, seemingly paying Blaster no mind.

“What happened?” Rewind asked suddenly, and Blaster focused his optics on his cassettebot again.

“Whaddya mean?”

“Between you and Jazz. Why’d you stop seeing each other?”

Blaster looked down at the table again, trying not to look too upset as he recalled the breakup. “The war happened. I basically made him choose between me and the Autobots. He chose the Autobots.”

“Oh,” Rewind said quietly, also staring at the table momentarily in thought, “Well, you’re both Autobots now. Neither of you would have to choose.”

Blaster shook his helm, “It ain’t that simple. He really hurt me that cycle…and I’m not sure if I ever really got over that. ‘Sides, he might’ve moved on. I tried to, after all.”

“That makes sense,” Rewind responded with a nod. Suddenly, the minibot’s visor brightened. “Oh, I gotta go. My shift is starting.”

Blaster smiled and started to stand up along with the cassettebot, “You want me to walk ya over to your office? You could even dock while we go. It’ll be like the old times!”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Rewind said, gesturing for Blaster to sit back down, “Finish your fuel. I’ve done the walk by myself plenty of times.”

Blaster’s grin wavered for a moment as he hesitantly sat back down, “Oh, if ya say so, ‘Wind.”

“See you later, Blast!” Rewind called as he jogged off towards the exit.

Blaster gave a half-hearted wave in return. The moment Rewind disappeared past the door, his servo dropped back onto the table and he heaved out a heavy sigh. He was starting to feel a tad restless for some reason, and bounced his leg impatiently in an attempt to work it out. It only seemed to get worse, though, so with a grumble he dug the heels of his servos into his optics, hunching over slightly.

The clink of a glass onto the table in front of him had distracted him from the frustration building in his cables. He glanced up, expecting to see that Jazz had decided to sit with him for whatever reason, but instead he saw the pompous grin of the Towers mech he met the cycle before.

“Tracks?” Blaster said, lowering his servos and straightening himself.

“You sound surprised to see me,” Tracks observed, swishing his cube around in his servo, “Were you perhaps expecting someone else?”

“Nah, I just wasn’t expectin’ you to willingly sit with me.”

“Hmm, quite understandable. I don’t typically grace common mechs with my company.”

“‘Common mechs?’”

“Paupers, plebeians, proletarians. You know—your ilk.”

He cannot possibly be serious, Blaster thought, regarding the mech with a fleetingly dumbstruck expression. Then, he rested his chin on his servo and gave him an unimpressed stare. “Oh gee, I’m honored,” Blaster deadpanned.

“As you should be!” Tracks said with an excited grin, not catching the blatant sarcasm, “This is exactly why we get along. You understand me.”

“Right,” Blaster said with a chuckle. Tracks took a sip of his cube, and when he lowered the glass Blaster caught the swirl of mercury in his energon. He felt some satisfaction at seeing the haughty mech enjoy the additives he recommended before.

“Alright, here’s some free advice to save ya from a beating in the future: don’t call anyone any of those things.”

Tracks furrowed his brow, confusion painfully apparent, “Why not? It’s not as if they’re insults.”

“They kinda are.”

Tracks’s optics flashed, and a faint blush creeped onto his cheeks, “I hadn’t known. We used such terms all the time at the Towers.”

Blaster smiled, “‘S all good.”

“In that case, what should I call you all?”

Blaster tilted his helm to the side, “Uh, well, just ‘mechs,’ I guess. There ain’t no ‘you all’ anymore—you’re among the ‘common mechs’ now, too.”

“Right, since the Towers no longer exist.” For a klik, Blaster was worried that perhaps he phrased it the wrong way. He hadn’t meant to remind the other mech of the destruction of his home. However, the worry dissipated when Tracks smirked again, seeming wholly unaffected by the reminder. “Thank you for explaining it to me. It only further proves that you understand me.”

“Y’know, I’m kinda wonderin’ about that. There ain’t any other mech from the Towers here? I mean, I know it’s a small and tight-knit community, but I haven't heard anything about you bein’ the only survivor…”

The smirk that Tracks was sporting immediately wiped off his face, replaced with a small frown. “Oh, no, I wasn’t the only one to survive, and I’m not the only one who enlisted with the Autobots. Mirage from the North Tower is with Special Operations.”

“And that’s a bad thing because…?”

Tracks crossed his arms, “He’s a self-righteous piece of work. He always acted as if he were better than most people at the Towers, myself included. He’s no better now with the Autobots, either. When we went on our suitorship, he hardly spoke a word to me, you know.”

Blaster quirked a brow, “‘Suitorship?’”

“Oh yes,” Tracks said, taking another polite sip of his cube, “At the Towers, the young, unbonded mechs go on a suitorship with eligible bachelors from the other towers. It’s all arranged by the headmasters of each tower, of course. At the end of your suitorship period, you have to pick several mechs that you feel would make a suitable conjunx for you, and then the headmasters go over it all and decide who will be your bonded.”

“Huh. I never knew that,” Blaster admitted. The Towers always kept mostly to themselves, and while Blaster knew Towers mechs only ever bonded with other Towers mechs, he hadn’t known there was an entire process to it. “So it’s required for you to have a conjunx endura?”

“For myself and the majority of residents at the Towers, yes.”

“So, you…?” Blaster trailed off with a slight wince, hesitant to ask the question. An amused glint shined in Tracks’s optics.

“Have a conjunx endura? No, I do not,” Tracks leaned back, letting out an unserious sigh as he continued, not sounding the slightest bit upset, “The headmasters of the West Tower all got blown up before they could pick someone for me.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that,” Blaster said with a frown.

“It’s quite alright. All that’s left is to move forward,” Tracks responded, “What about you? I’m sure it’s different from the Towers, but did your kin also pressure you to bond?”

Now it was Blaster’s turn to smirk amusedly, “I ain’t got ‘kin.’ I’m a cold construct.”

“A cold construct!” Tracks said in awe, “I’ve heard of them, but there weren’t any at the Towers. So you were never a protoform?”

“Nope,” Blaster said, shaking his helm. Like every other cold construct, Blaster’s life began in a fully formed adult frame. There was the special class he and those created in his batch were required to attend and pass before being released into society, but that was just to make sure they could perform their function without causing trouble. That was the closest experience Blaster could get to a developmental period. It did feel kind of weird sometimes to think about how forged mechs got to figure all that stuff out in the real world as their frames developed with them, meanwhile Blaster sat at a desk while an instructor explained to him and his class how grocery shopping worked. He never yearned for a different upbringing though, at least not openly at the school. Questioning something like that was a one-way ticket to having to repeat a course.

Blaster was created in the only cold construction facility to have existed in the Harmonex district. Being funded solely by the Polyhexian functionist party, it was a rather small and unimpressive factory, nothing like the ones in other parts of Cybertron. His function was to support the forged musicians that Polyhex boasted—a means to increase tourism, essentially. His secondary function was to assist in the relief of carrier-less cassettebots, as carrierbots were a rarer frame type on Cybertron, and the ratio between them and the cassettebot population was rather drastic. His frame type was difficult and expensive to manufacture, Blaster would learn later, and it wasn’t too long after his initial construction that the Harmonex facility shut down. He would also discover later, through an acquaintance also constructed in Harmonex, that they were all ultimately a minor, promotional side project by the Polyhex functionists in order to garner more popular support. That was why they were constructed to work nicely in the background of the entertainment industry and why their school wasn’t particularly strict about where exactly that took them—it was a rather unserious career unlike law enforcement or the sciences, which cold constructs in places like Iacon were made for.

“How fascinating,” Tracks said, smiling down at his fuel, “To think I would now be able to befriend a bot who was constructed cold.”

Blaster grinned in return as he finished his fuel. Tracks was a strange bot, but becoming his friend—Blaster liked the sound of that tune.

Red Alert looked no happier to see Blaster at the monitoring station again for his first shift than he did the cycle before. Blaster was just relieved to see that this time, the security monitors did not have recordings of him displayed. He wondered if Red Alert got a talking to from Prowl or Optimus Prime. The security director’s arms were crossed tightly, and he made no effort to hide the displeasure on his face.

“I have been instructed to train you,” Red Alert said plainly.

“Yep,” Blaster replied in an even tone, popping the p.

Red Alert’s optics lingered on Blaster’s as he turned around, “The comms are over here.”

The vehicle bot directed Blaster to the communications console at the far end of the room. Right off the bat, Blaster could tell that it was an impressive system, and likely offered the ability to handle multiple comm channels at once. Made sense for a major Autobot base, especially the one housing the Prime. Red Alert handed him a datapad containing the standard procedure for handling external communications—stressing that it was important that Blaster followed it every time, to the letter. Communications were a common target for hacks and tampering and ignoring the precautions taken in the procedure could hinder plans at best or compromise countless agents at worst. Blaster took the datapad in his servos and nodded, prioritizing keeping it to memory. Red Alert also presented to him a separate datapad containing a list of codified terms—agents, locations, protocols, and other sensitive information. This datapad was kept off the main server and the codes were altered regularly for further security. Poor Red Alert had to handle all of this on top of the security within the base while there was an absence. Blaster felt a little bad for the guy.

“It seems like a lot and for most bots it is. But I’m sure with your history and experience it will come easier to you than it did for me,” Red Alert admitted once he finished the overview of the system. Blaster stared at the security director dumbly for a moment, unsure if he heard him right. It was somewhat comforting to know that while he was paranoid, he was not full of himself.

“I-I’ll do my best,” Blaster stammered.

“Hook up to the system. Follow the procedure. If you don’t know what to do or if it is a dire matter of security, alert me immediately.”

“Got it,” Blaster replied. Red Alert nodded, satisfied.

Blaster wired himself to the base’s communication console and allowed himself to fully integrate with the system. The communication system queried his identity and he presented to it his digital credentials as communications officer. The system happily opened itself up to him and he was relieved to learn that it didn’t feel much different than integrating himself with his radio channel. As he expected there were several channels available, allowing him to navigate through multiple different open comms if needed. It would be even easier to communicate through the various channels if he had a cassettebot assisting him, and the reminder of the absence made his dock feel cold and empty again. At the moment all channels were running smoothly and were on standby, so he took advantage of the silence and did his best to distract himself by studying the procedural manual.

A dozen breems passed and Blaster was nearly caught off guard by the sudden alert of a communication request on Channel A-1. Per procedure he gave it an initial check for any signs of tampering, but it seemed secure. He opened the line.

“Identification?” Blaster immediately asked. Nothing could be discussed before identifying the contacting party.

“Let’s see…this time, it’s FR-762,” the voice on the other end said casually.

FR, Blaster thought to himself, referring to the code list, That’s…one of the indicators for search and rescue. He scrolled through the list of agents under search and rescue until he spotted 762 on the code list—Inferno.

“Thanks,” Blaster said once he identified him, appreciative that the first person he spoke to over the comms seemed to be patient. “What’s your business?”

“Got some casualties here,” Inferno said simply. Blaster expected him to say more. He did not.

“Repeat that?” Blaster blurted out after another moment, stunned.

“Sure,” Inferno replied calmly, “I got, like, five-ish agents here that are wounded.”

“Five-ish?” Blaster repeated. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Yeah.”

“Are you able to count them?”

“Oh, sure,” Inferno said agreeably, going quiet for a moment. “Definitely five.”

“What are their statuses?” Blaster asked quickly, already getting another channel ready to ring the medbay.

“Wounded, as I informed earlier,” Inferno said with a slight sigh, as if that were sufficient information.

“Wounded how?” Blaster pressed, “Are they unconscious? Are any of them critical?” Was this a prank call or something? Blaster checked the connection again. It was still secure.

“Oh no no, nothing like that. But they should see a medic, I’d say,” Inferno said, still as if they were having a casual conversation.

“What is your current location?” Blaster asked. If they were far, he may need to contact other agents, as well.

“Uhmm. Sector B-3-72. Quadrant 36Z.”

Blaster was already pulling up the code list again as Inferno spoke, hurriedly identifying the location as an area not far from base. It didn’t sound like there was any ongoing conflict, so contacting ground infantry on top of the medbay should be sufficient.

“Hang tight,” Blaster said, keeping his voice calm, “I am patching this through to Medbay and Ground.”

A servo on his shoulder caused Blaster to nearly jump out of his seat. He snapped his helm to see Red Alert standing over him.

“No need for that,” Red Alert said calmly.

“What?” Blaster said, optics wide, “There’s wounded soldiers, the medbay needs to know.”

Red Alert plugged himself into one of the microphones, “FR-762, status.”

“All clear, Comm,” Inferno replied immediately, suddenly sounding much more professional, “No casualties to report.”

“What?” Blaster said again.

“It was a test,” Red Alert clarified, looking at Blaster.

“A test? You nearly gave me a spark-attack!”

“If it makes you feel any better, I told him he shouldn’t do it,” Inferno spoke over the channel, “Ahh, but he has such a way with words, it’s hard to tell him no sometimes—”

“Thank you, FR-762, that’ll be all,” Red Alert interrupted stoically, ending the call and unplugging himself from the system as he focused on Blaster once again. “I had to make sure you would follow the procedure and were not working to sabotage our communications.”

Blaster felt like he was moments away from boiling over. “Listen, mech, I don’t know what I did to set you off so bad, but—”

Red Alert straightened himself and closed his optics, “You surpassed my expectations. Not only did you follow the procedure, but you were already preparing to patch in all of the appropriate departments for such a situation without my assistance. Prowl was wise to recruit you for communications.”

Blaster was once again at a loss for words as he stared blankly at Red Alert, all of his previous frustration instantly melting off his face. “Uh?”

“I still do not fully trust you,” Red Alert explained as he looked firmly at Blaster, “But I agree that you are more suited for comms than I am. That’s a sound-based frame type for you, I suppose.” The security director turned and walked back towards his desk, “I will not hover while you work. I’ll leave you to it.”

True to his word, Red Alert seated himself in front of the security cameras and focused on them, not giving Blaster another wary glance in his direction. Blaster was dumbstruck only for another moment before a wide grin slowly crept onto the new communication officer’s face as he turned back to the comm console, continuing his shift in peace.

Soundwave did not retaliate when the servo backhanded him across his face, clenching his fists tightly at his sides as he tried to tolerate the sharp pain. Retaliation was against his function—the only job that would accept an unwanted being such as himself.

“You incompetent fool!” the Rodion senator spat with pure vitriol, “I give you one task—one simple, measly task—and you completely blunder it! You were not to allow Senator Dram access to those files, how could you fail to do that?”

“Soundwave: Apologizes, Senator,” Soundwave replied submissively, optics cast towards the floor. Senator Dram ordered that Soundwave give him the files. He could not disobey an order from a senator, even if they conflicted with previous orders. It was either punishment then, or punishment now.

The anger etched onto the senator’s face did not lessen, “You will be cleaning the main chamber tonight while you mull over your actions, and I expect you to report back to duty for your usual workcycle in the morning. Honestly, you should be grateful I do not have you kicked out back onto the streets for this.”

Soundwave understood the implication behind those words, and gave a bow. “Soundwave: Thanks you, Senator.”

His servos, still clenched at his sides, trembled slightly in subtle defiance.

Soundwave dismissed his third low fuel warning from his HUD as he cleaned the main senate chamber, a few joors into the work. All of the senators and most of the staff were gone now, it being late into the night. His cassettes have left to find him fuel, despite his objections, and now the silence hung heavy in the vast, dim space.

The faint, barely perceptible sound of machination not his own had him pausing his scrubbing. He zeroed in on a dark corner of the chamber.

“Rodion Local House: Now closed to visitors,” Soundwave called out, keeping his optics trained on the darkness in the distance.

“…So, you heard me after all,” a voice spoke back to him from the darkness, but still did not leave it, “I expect no less from a sound system.”

“Function: Low level assistant for Rodion Local House. Not: Sound system,” Soundwave responded impassively.

“Is that what you chose to be?” the voice asked.

Soundwave resumed scrubbing, realizing that the intruder would not leave anytime soon and he had to be done with this before he began work in the morning, “Low level assistant: Was the only suitable function.”

“According to whom?”

“Everyone.” Everyone.

“No. Not to me. There is greatness within you. The fools of the Rodion Senate are blind to it, but I can sense it,” the voice responded resolutely, causing Soundwave to pause once more and stare back towards the darkness. No one had ever seen such potential in Soundwave, and he expected it to be a joke to tease him. But the sound of the stranger’s voice had not even the slightest indication of trickery or exaggeration—it was the sound of complete honesty.

“I’m not lying. You can hear it in my voice, can’t you? The rumors say that some sound-based bots have telepathic capabilities, but your audials are just so attuned to noise that you can even hear the sounds of lies and truths.” This mech was knowledgeable—more than the Rodion senators. Soundwave still said nothing.

“What is your designation, comrade?” the mech in the darkness asked.

Soundwave hesitated momentarily, “Soundwave.”

“Hear the truth in my voice, Soundwave,” the mech’s voice projected, its sound bouncing off the far walls and echoing back at Soundwave, instantly dominating the space, “You are deserving of a life greater than this. Rodion has abused you—I refuse to stand for it, and I hope that I can help you feel the same, for yourself and for everyone else they have taken advantage of. You are exactly the kind of mech I need by my side, to assist me in my dream of creating a new, more prosperous Cybertron. Will you allow me to give you a better life, Soundwave? Will you join my Decepticons?”

Soundwave was nearly overwhelmed by the all-encompassing, unwavering truth in the mech’s voice. His cassettes valued him, sure, but they were bonded and programming dictated that they needed one another. He had never thought anyone—especially not a stranger—could ever see such worth in him. It was a first in his life, and Soundwave found that he was not sure what to make of the ineffable emotion bubbling inside of him.

“Soundwave: Requests visitor’s designation,” he said after several moments of standing in stunned silence.

The mech stepped forward, out from the darkness. His red plating shined almost transcendently under the soft glow of the moonbeams peeking in through the glass ceiling. He approached Soundwave with a smile so kind and genuine he could hardly believe it was directed at him.

The mech placed a gentle, loving servo on Soundwave’s cheek. Spreading out from the spot where the servo rested on his cheek, warmth enveloped his frame. As the mech opened his mouth, the sound of his voice close to his audials, Soundwave identified the foreign sensation in his spark as profound, unfaltering adoration.

“Blaster.”

Soundwave jolted awake, shooting up from his berth. He looked around frantically, but quickly settled when he realized he was in his habsuite at the main Decepticon base in Tarn. His cassettes were nowhere in sight, and he remembered that they were working communications while he rested.

Alone, he put his helm in his servos and curled inward slightly. He often dreamed of Blaster, but those kinds of dreams—where his precious memories of Megatron were substituted with the boombox—were amongst the worst. It felt as if he was being haunted by him—perhaps he was. Perhaps Blaster’s spark had not found its way back to the Well after being crushed under the weight of his own radio studio.

No. That was foolish, emotive thinking. If Blaster’s spark were following him, he’d have noticed it. The other carrierbot was resting in the Well of All Sparks. At least there, neither Decepticon nor Autobot could touch him.

Soundwave composed himself and rose from his berth. An alert on his HUD notified him that the Decepticon leader had requested his presence in half a joor, and he gathered datapads containing a report he completed before his rest and placed them in his subspace.

He waited exactly half a joor before he rapped his knuckles on the door in several quick successions, paused for precisely four kliks, and then opened the door. He had done this routine for countless cycles at this point, since he had been reunited with his lord, Megatron, not long after the battle in Polyhex. Many of the things in his life are now categorized in that way—either before Blaster, or after Blaster.

Before Blaster, he had already considered himself a loyal Decepticon. It was Megatron, after all, who was the first to see any value in Soundwave, when they had first met ages ago. He followed every command without hesitation and unerringly. Nothing made him happier than to please Megatron, to further the Decepticon cause.

After Blaster, he found himself wavering more often. He would never dare reflect that outwardly, but as the conflict with the Autobots continued, Soundwave had caught himself wondering that if Blaster had not died in Polyhex, would certain actions the Decepticons had taken since have killed him instead. Such thoughts always ultimately plagued Soundwave with guilt. Despite it all, his desire to please Megatron superseded everything else.

“Ah, Soundwave,” Megatron’s voice echoed from the end of his office. His tone was calm and pleased, and Soundwave preened a bit at the sound. “Approach.”

Soundwave took the several steps necessary to stand at parade rest before Megatron from where he was seated, across his desk. Megatron watched him intently the whole way, his smile not leaving his face.

“I would like to hear your report now,” Megatron said, reclining his seat.

“Yes, Lord Megatron,” Soundwave responded instantly, keeping his posture straight and still as he pulled out the datapads and placed them on the chief commander’s desk. Megatron picked up one of the datapads, turning it on and skimming through the contents as Soundwave continued his report.

“Operatives in Iacon: Continue to monitor the Autobot-held energon storage facility. Autobot guards: Have become more and more lax in their duties due to lack of activity. Soundwave: Suggests sending a small team, scrambling Autobot communications, and storming the energon facility within the next decacycle.”

“And these schedules here are accurate?” Megatron asked, not looking up from the datapad. He was referring to the times that the Autobot guards rotated.

“Schedules: Are as the operatives reported,” Soundwave replied. Megatron nodded, satisfied with that answer.

“I’m assuming you would like to be part of the strike team,” the Decepticon leader stated, placing the datapad flat on the desk as he looked at Soundwave again.

Soundwave nodded. “Soundwave: Has grown adept at scrambling communications.”

Megatron smirked, “Very well. Just make sure to keep those cassettes of yours in line.”

“Yes, Lord Megatron.”

“And bring Skywarp with you. Otherwise, the strike team can consist of whoever else you deem appropriate.”

“Skywarp?” The question slipped out of Soundwave unintentionally. Skywarp was a proud, violent Decepticon. His thirst for bloodshed would rival Starscream if the latter was not the dominant mech in their trine. And even then, he often fought with his trinemate—typically over matters of stealing kills, or Starscream’s shaky loyalty to Megatron. With Skywarp as part of the strike force, there would surely be casualties.

“Is that a problem?” Megatron asked, his smirk quickly being replaced with a frown. Soundwave straightened himself.

“No, Lord Megatron.”

Megatron regarded Soundwave for another silent moment as he steepled his digits on his desk. “At ease. I’d like to talk casually,” he finally commanded, his expression neutral. Soundwave relaxed his posture, bringing his arms out from behind him and to his sides.

“Do you know why you are third-in-command, Soundwave?” Megatron asked. He certainly didn’t know why Starscream was the only other mech with a position higher than his.

“It’s because you are intelligent, and that I trust you,” Megatron answered before Soundwave could speak, “You are one of the first I chose to join the Decepticons, and that was a very deliberate choice. I trusted that your loyalty to the Decepticons would be passionate and unwavering.”

Megatron’s optics darkened in a way that made Soundwave feel small and vulnerable, “And I knew you would be intelligent enough to appreciate the ramifications of questioning that loyalty.”

“Soundwave: Is forever loyal to you and the Decepticons, Megatron,” Soundwave replied immediately.

Megatron’s tone remained even, “After the battle in Polyhex, Starscream mentioned in his initial report that you were possibly fraternizing with an asset.”

Soundwave’s spark thrummed within its casing. That conniving bastard. “Thundercracker: Suggested I befriend the asset to allow us access to his radio studio.” It was a partial truth—it was planned for Soundwave to befriend Blaster. It was not planned for the feelings to become genuine. Internally, Soundwave apologized to TC for throwing him under the bus-former. Such reasoning would earn him less of Megatron’s wrath than Soundwave if he was fully honest.

“Is that so?” Megatron asked, narrowing his optics. Soundwave nodded. “I’m only mentioning this now because I’m concerned about your…lessening conviction,” his leader pressed, and of course he would notice Soundwave’s minute change in behavior.

“Soundwave: Did not care for the asset. Besides, asset: Has been eliminated. Decepticon cause: Is the sole focus of Soundwave’s attention.”

Megatron leaned back in his seat once again, seemingly assuaged by Soundwave’s answer. “Very good. It was important to verify, I’m sure you understand.”

“Yes, Megatron.”

The Decepticon leader placed Soundwave’s datapads on a stack to the side of his desk, “Bring me your list for the strike team in two cycles for me to approve. You are dismissed.”

Soundwave canted his helm and turned to leave, careful to not make his motions seem quick and nervous. The moment the door clicked closed, Soundwave’s knees felt weak, and he nearly collapsed onto the floor. Megatron had thought Soundwave was questioning his loyalty. He would have to work harder to prove that no bot was more important to him than his leader.

He quickly made his way to the communications console. He had to make sure his cassettes weren’t getting into any trouble, now more than ever—especially since his most recent additions were a rather mischievous duo.

He opened the door. Ravage and Laserbeak were hooked up to the console, thank Primus.

“Give me a turn, fragger!” A voice yelled angrily from off to the side. Soundwave focused his attention to the left wall of the communications center, where his two minibots were seated. The black minibot was reaching desperately for the game console in the purple one’s servos, who was pushing him away with his pede.

“Frag off, Rumble! You can’t touch it—it’s mine,” the purple minibot growled back, giving the black one another kick. Rumble landed on his aft with a clang, and then looked up and noticed Soundwave’s presence.

“Boss! Frenzy is hoggin’ the GameMaster again!” Rumble jumped to his pedes, pointing accusingly at the other cassettebot.

“It’s mine,” Frenzy growled in response, “And I’m in the middle of playing Cube League 3.”

“You always play as the stupid petrorabbit team in that dumb sports game! C’mon, bro, I want to play Forgecraft.” Soundwave’s optics brightened.

“They’re not stupid!” Frenzy just about screeched, abandoning the game and tackling Rumble onto the ground. The two brothers quickly devolved into a fury of clangs and curses.

“Can y’all SHUT UP?!” Laserbeak squawked angrily from the comms console. Soundwave approached and lifted one minibot up in each servo, separating them.

“Rumble and Frenzy: Will cease this,” he said. Rumble crossed his arms, and Frenzy tried to sneak in one last (missed) kick from where he dangled above the ground.

“Frenzy: Will let his brother play Forgecraft,” Soundwa ve said. Rumble beamed while Frenzy looked devastated the same way he was when Blaster died.

Soundwave placed Rumble on the floor first, and he immediately made a beeline for the GameMaster. Frenzy’s spark-broken expression morphed into one of petulance as he turned his helm away and crossed his arms.

“Frenzy: Will behave?” Soundwave asked the minibot still in his hold.

“I’m not talking to you,” Frenzy said, keeping his gaze averted.

“Soundwave: Will continue to hold Frenzy, then.” As predicted, that got the minibot riled, and he started thrashing fruitlessly.

“Noooo!” Frenzy cried, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry! I’ll behave, Boss! I will!!”

Satisfied, Soundwave placed the struggling bot onto the floor. He nearly stumbled once his pedes touched the ground, not even having noticed he was being lowered.

“Frenzy: Will assist Soundwave on the communications console,” Soundwave said.

“...’Kay,” Frenzy mumbled, looking longingly at the GameMaster in Rumble’s servos.

“Inquiry: Why does Frenzy always play as the Polyhex Petrorabbits?” Soundwave asked curiously. Was it some innate feeling he had—a distant connection he still had to his former life? Soundwave was not sure if he should be hopeful or concerned. Shockwave had said he was very thorough in his reprogramming of Eject.

“The name is silly,” Frenzy replied simply, and the tension in Soundwave’s frame evaporated instantly. The two made their way over to the communications console to relieve Ravage and Laserbeak.

Before they plugged in, Frenzy looked up at his carrierbot, “Can I dock after this shift?”

“Certainly,” Soundwave responded, and Frenzy finally smiled.