#midnightbears

i feel like he doesn't move at all during nighttime. he's as still as a corpse sometimes lol. i don't think he snores either, most of the time you'll just accidentally overhear him mutter "namu..." under his breath. however, if he so much as feels your warmth leaving him for a fraction of a second, he's awake and sensing around for you, dragging you back to his chest after you accidentally pushed him away in your sleep.

he always falls asleep after you. it's a small habit he picked up, only allowing himself to fully relax after you are in the land of dreams. he takes these small intervals of time between your sleep and his own to voice small prayers, his broad hands caressing your back and the top of your head lovingly.

if you happen to get out of bed in the middle of the night to get a glass of water or to use the restroom, make sure to hope fervently that gyomei won't wake up. unless he's aware of why you left the bed (eg: sleepy murmur of 'hunnyboo i need to use the toilet I'll be right back'), he'll start imagining the worst possible reasons for your absence.

imagine him feeling around for you. he finds your side of the bed empty and suddenly shoots up from bed, his blank gaze wide with apprehension, cold sweat staining his temples. where are you? he'll call out your name into the night with his entire body rigid and his voice is quavering and he scrambles to pick himself up from the bed and you don't know how much he's desperately hoping that you are okay, that you are okay, that you are okay, that you—

your soft footsteps litter the room again, a steaming cup of tea in your hands. you call out to him, your hand reaching for his, all is well.

the flame hashira . . . rengoku kyojuro!

this man literally does not care for your personal space.

he will cling to you like a koala, legs wrapped around yours and arms holding you close to his chest, nuzzling into the junction where your neck and shoulder meet, a soft "mmhhh..." leaving his lips when your perfume reaches his nostrils.

the problem with kyojuro is that sleeping with him during winter is wonderful because the man is a literal furnace. most of the time, he will sleep shirtless, allowing you to cling to him if you're cold, his rough hands traveling up and down your back soothingly to keep you happy and warm. summer, however, it's a completely different story.

you feel bad for kicking him away when he tries to hug you, but your mood is incorrigible when you are a bit too overwhelmed with the heat, and you don't want to lash out at him more than you already do when he attempts to bring you to his chest or spoon you from behind. you'll literally roll away from him or go sit outside to get fresh air, and he feels so BAAADDDD because omg he just wants to cuddle you and show you affection you're his amazing beautiful wife :(

normally, you both go to sleep around the same time after a few minutes of cuddling, but whenever this man manages to convince you to let him lay on your tatas and scratch his head, he is gone within minutes.

does not mind being big or small spoon, he enjoys both. but if he had to choose, he normally prefers to be the bigger spoon, mainly because he gets a kick out of feeling like he's protecting you and you're just so cuteeeee he loves you soooo mucchhhhh look at you omg.

he snores a bit, but you've gotten so used to it that, at this point, it's just ambient noise for you to fall asleep to lmao. you once caught him scaring himself awake with a particularly loud snore, it caught you so off-guard but it was the funniest shit you've ever seen and now you're waiting for the next time it happens.

even in his sleep, kyo's protective instincts are on full display. he'll pull you closer if you move too far away, his arms tightening around you subconsciously. if you have a nightmare, it’s like he senses it, even in the deepest sleep. you’ve woken up more than once to his sleepy voice whispering reassurances and his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back until you fall back asleep.

overall really sweet, but a pain during summer <3

the sound hashira . . . uzui tengen + wives!

now, tengen is the god of cuddling, and he's got plenty of practice with his four beautiful wives. he makes sure everyone gets their fair share of his affection, rotating between snuggling with each one of you throughout the night.

you guys could go to sleep in an established order but that completely changes overnight. one minute he’s spooning makio, his arm draped over her waist, the next he’s got you nestled against his chest, suma snuggled up behind you, and hina’s head resting on his shoulder. sometimes he wakes up alone on the other side of the bed and sees you all snuggling together and goes >:(

similarly, it's not unusual for the whole group to end up in a tangled pile of limbs by morning. tengen's long arms and legs make it easy for him to reach everyone, pulling you all into one big, cozy embrace <3

much like rengoku, he's an absolute furnace, which is a blessing and a curse, depending on the season. in winter, you and his wives love curling up against him to steal his warmth, but in summer, you often find yourselves pushing him away, only to be pulled back in when he sleepily grumbles about missing your touch.

tengen’s snoring is legendary. most of the time, it's tolerable, but some nights, you've nudged awake one of your co-wives because you don't want to sleep alone just so you can go to one of the separate rooms and cuddle there instead and the poor man is sooo hurt by it during the morninggg poor guy poor guy awe

believe it or not, tengen is the last to go to sleep but not for the reason you think. his skincare routine is longer than yours and your co-wives combined lmaooo, so while he keeps putting shit in his face and hair, you and the girls start to arrange the bedding however you like and get comfortable.

suma always needs to be close to someone, so she normally snuggles up to you first, whereas hinatsuru doesn't like to be in the middle of the pile so she'll mostly cuddle whoever remains in the outer circle. makio, while she may never admit it, loves being swaddled, so she nestles between you and hina.

he enters the room to find you all sleeping without him, but he smiles softly and simply joins you, pulling all four of you close <3

you were picked immediately, and you had no choice but to stand before your father, trembling, and pretend that you agreed with his decision with a serene expression on your face. you could tell this was just his way of finally getting rid of you.

in the words of your father behind closed doors, if someone couldn't be bothered to have the decency to visit the temple in person and instead sent a mere messenger to request a carefully trained shrine maiden, it was clear they didn't deserve the best of what he could offer.

you smiled, agreeing with him.

when you went to pack what little things you had, nobody was in the shared quarters; at least you would spare yourself of your sisters' cruel remarks over your father's decision. you did not have many things of your own; you packed your hairbrush, a book, and what few things you held dear.

the kakushi was waiting outside when you emerged. trying to maintain a semblance of calm, you offered him a small smile. he looked at you with curiosity but did not say anything. kindly, he allowed you a moment for a brief prayer before the buddha statue at the front of the temple. then, you were off.

no one came to say goodbye to you.

it was alright, you supposed. the only person you could think fondly of was your mother, and a barbed wire of melancholy slowly wound around your heart at the thought of not being able to part ways properly. you knew that she preferred you over her other daughters, but even so, you were aware that she would never hear the end of it from your father if she came to say her farewells. you would write to her.

you were the third of six sisters, and always, one of them was more talented than you were, just a tad bit more attractive, just a tad bit more creative, just a tad bit more charming. sure, you were well-versed in the duties of a useful spouse—okay, all your sisters were as well. what good was that when you had nothing special about you? what was it your father called you? ah, yes, mediocre.

the kakushi did not speak to you for the entire trip, for which reason you did not know. a question hung on the tip of your tongue, although you dared not ask it. at some point, he urged you to wear a blindfold and climb on his back, which you simply accepted, knowing better than to ask.

you didn't make anything out during the journey, only listening to the sound of small pebbles vibrating against the ground as he made his way up a mountain. after what felt like hours, he finally put you down, gently tugging the blindfold off you and allowing your eyes to adjust to the bright light of morning.

once you were presentable, he escorted you toward the estate entrance. you could tell he was a bit off put by the way you were just accepting things, but he didn't say anything about it.

the kakushi stopped before the towering gate of the ubuyashiki mansion and offered you a deep bow. you thanked him, and you could see him smile with his eyes before he left. another kakushi, a woman this time, escorted you toward a graveled garden, a small figure sitting by the engawa.

she knelt on the ground and bowed her head, and you did the same until she picked herself from the ground.

looking forward, you met the gaze of a boy who looked to be around the age of fifteen, with kohl black hair that sat just above his shoulders. he had the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen, so easy to look at, lavender tainting the irises. he had the calming smile of a buddha, and although knowing nothing about him beyond reputation, you felt at ease with him.

"i am kagaya. i trust your journey went smoothly? thank you for your patience, maiden. i apologize for not going to your temple in person, i hope your priest will forgive me. believe me, i wanted to, but i'm afraid my illness would not have allowed me to make the trip."

the boy's voice was unlike any other you had ever heard, fluid and gentle, causing a wave of reassurance to wash over you. you felt at ease immediately, as though something had just taken every burden off your shoulders and instead shrouded you in a cloud of repose.

"it was no trouble, oyakata-sama, truly." you followed this with a deep incline of your head, your own voice remaining serene and mellow, "it is an honor to be in your presence."

kagaya smiled. "your temple is of great renown. my clan has had the pleasure of counting with your priests and maidens across the centuries. there is no need for such formalities, child."

granted, you were sure you were older than him by a few years, but the way he called you 'child' was comforting, and you were not about to question him, simply keeping quiet.

"you are to marry one of my pillars, maiden. he is an honorable man, the lord of stone, i am sure the two of you will get along. he should arrive any moment now."

you willed yourself to say something, yet you simply could not. you were not the first maiden who was given to a lord for marriage, and you certainly wouldn't be the last. still, your heart did a flip at the simple notion of ending up in a similar situation as your mother, forced to produce offspring until your husband found you undesirable.

for a moment, a cold hand wrapped around your heart in fear of what that man would do with you. however, the single thought of the young boy before you lying about the pillar's honor revolted you. he was telling the truth, and if he said the stone pillar was a good man, then you had nothing to fear.

softly, the sound of footsteps reached your ears, and you turned slightly to see a towering figure approaching, his presence both imposing and serene all at once.

the man who stood before you was unlike any you had ever seen. large beyond comparison, clad in the dark robes of a uniform and a green haori. his stature was immense, with muscles that seemed chiseled from stone. he was young, with an impassive face, yet undeniably handsome. his eyes, clouded with a milky whiteness, told you that he could not see, yet he moved with a grace that belied his blindness.

"this is himejima gyomei, the stone pillar," kagaya introduced, "he has been chosen as your betrothed, and i trust that you will find solace and strength in his presence."

gyomei walked toward you, his movements slow and deliberate, his footsteps echoing throughout the garden—

your breath hitched as he knelt before you, reaching his hand out. but instead of what you expected, he pressed his palm against your cheek, his voice reverberating like a chiming bell inside a cathedral. he caressed your cheek as one would treat an injured butterfly.

"maiden beloved," he murmured, tears spilling from his eyes, "i apologize for making you wait."

the ceremony was that same day, quick and endearing.

you were married in front of oyakata-sama, his wife, and other members of the corps as witnesses. before you knew it, the wedding concluded, and your husband guided you to your new home with you by his side.

gyomei was not acting like he had been given you as some justly won right to do with as he pleased. that set your heart at ease, greatly so, and in some way, it was like he could tell, too. he was walking slowly, allowing you to keep up with his large strides. small talk filled the empty silence of the way home as he listed all the things you would assist him with.

you were to cook for him, clean the estate daily and take care of it when he was away, write letters for him and read them when he received any, and...

huh. that was it.

getting used to your routine was easier than anticipated as weeks passed, although you would be lying to yourself if you said that gyomei's patience and demeanor weren't helping you in the slightest.

he had insisted that you sleep in a separate bedroom within the estate, taking into account that despite being your husband, he was still a complete stranger to you. the very moment you reached your new home, he made sure to explicitly tell you that he did not wish to embarrass you or cause you discomfort in any way, shape, or form.

during mornings, you would naturally wake up at the crack of dawn, your training making things much easier. you would dress yourself in the robes gyomei had gifted you for your wedding and make your way to the kitchen to start a big meal for the day. you'd wake him up then, guiding him to the kitchen to share breakfast together.

most of the time, you ate in silence, although you did not mind at all. after that, you would wash dishes, and he trained. the estate was not that big, so having to sweep the floor or dust the shelves daily did not bother you, and you instead found comfort in the repetitive routine. you would finish quite swiftly and urge gyomei inside again for tea time during noon.

you tried to entertain yourself as best as possible during the afternoons and evenings. usually, you would find yourself tending to a small garden you'd created when you arrived. your husband would sometimes join you, captivated by the sweet smell of the flowers and the sensation of the earth beneath his fingertips. you would explain what the flowers looked like and how they were meant to be taken care of, and he, in turn, basked in your every word.

gardening duty was one of the things you enjoyed most back at the temple, and since no one else was willing to get their hands dirty, you were the maiden who would regularly take care of the flowers.

you bought flower seeds during your first trip to the market in the nearby town and took the time to introduce yourself to as many people as possible. the locals were very kind to you, and as you started frequenting the shops more and more, you were always being greeted by folks who wished you and your husband the best.

as months passed, your relationship with gyomei deepened in ways you had never expected. the initial tension and clumsiness of living with a stranger began to fade, replaced by a growing sense of familiarity and comfort.

gyomei, true to his word, respected your boundaries and gave you space to adjust at your own pace. however, small gestures of care and affection started to seep into your daily life. he would often leave freshly picked flowers from your garden by your bedroom door, their vibrant colors and sweet fragrance greeting you first thing in the morning. sometimes, he would assist you with household chores, his presence making the mundane tasks feel lighter and more enjoyable.

he began to pay attention to the little things, like how you offered wounded slayers who stumbled upon the estate a fresh meal and a place to redress their wounds, or how you fed the cats mingling around your shared home every single night, even noticing that you had taken the time to name them and remember everyone.

the town's people, too, played a part in your growing closeness. they would often remark on how harmonious you and gyomei seemed together, their kind words fortifying the bind that tied you together. you started to see the way gyomei interacted with them and how much respect the people had for him—and you couldn't help but admire him more each day.

your conversations, though initially skimpy and shallow, began to flow more naturally. gyomei's deep voice would rumble through stories of his past with the children of the orphanage, his experiences as a hashira, and the lessons he had learned along the way. you, in turn, shared snippets of your life at the temple, your family, your dreams, and your fears. it was through these conversations that you realized how much you had in common despite your different backgrounds.

anyone with a pair of working eyes would see it, or, at least, anyone who had known for at least once in their lifetime what a soul-stirring connection with another human felt like. you found comfort in his presence, seeking him out like a moth to a flame, and he, in yours, only wanted you to tend to his wounds after missions, fix his haori, or wait by himself outside just so he could pray by your side.

eventually, it got to a point where the separate bedrooms became less of a necessity and more of a formality. you often found yourself falling asleep together in the living room after long conversations or shared moments of silence. whenever you did manage to part ways, you always lingered by your door, a dreamy smile encasing your lips.

you could not deny yourself anymore. you were the happiest you had been in years.

one evening, as you both sat for dinner, the familiar quiet enveloping you like a warm blanket, gyomei's voice broke through the tranquility.

"i love you."

the bunch of food you were going to bring into your mouth splattered into the bowl again with a messy splash. oh. oh my god. you whipped your head toward your husband, who stared at you with a soft expression on his face.

"you do not have to say it back if you do not feel the same, but i wanted you to know." then, gyomei went back to chewing his food as if he had not said what he had just said.

"why?"

gyomei shifted his head in your direction with a worried expression, your teary tone and doddering heartbeat doing nothing to mitigate his apprehension. he tried to reach for you, but you jerked away from him. he could tell that whatever you were feeling was not directed toward him, but still, it pained him greatly to know you were suffering.

"g-gyomei, i—"

your hands were shaking, and he reached for them to trace your skin with the pads of his thumbs. he opened his mouth, but you beat him to it as you keeled over, shoulders trembling as sobs left your mouth, your usual calmness thrown out the window.

"y-you said that you wouldn't embarrass me! there is nothing special about me. what is it about me that you could possibly love? you're always so good to me," you were throwing word vomit at this point, and the worst part was you did not even know where it was coming from, "i haven't done anything to receive your affection! i'm just doing the things i'm supposed to do..."

tears slid down his cheeks before he could stop them, and he leaned forward to pull you into his embrace. your body completely froze, an unknown emotion taking over. gyomei had never initiated contact before. most of the time, you had to be the one to grab his hand or tug his collar.

"my little maiden... you have no idea how precious you are to me," gyomei murmured, his voice impossibly gentle and firm. he held you close, his large, comforting presence grounding you as your sobs began to subside. "you see yourself through the harsh lens of your own eyes, but i see the truth of your heart with my own. your unconditional kindness, your strength, your sincerity—these are just some of the reasons i love you."

his words seeped into your cold heart, slowly quieting the tempest inside. you couldn't understand how someone as incredible, kind, and powerful as gyomei could see such worth in you, but the sincerity in his voice and the warmth of his embrace made you want to believe him.

"you don't have to prove your worth to me or anyone," he continued, his voice alleviating your wounded spirit. "you are enough, just as you are. your presence in my life is a blessing, and i am grateful for you every single day."

"gyomei," you whispered, your voice trembling but no longer with fear. "i… i love you too. i was just scared. scared that i wasn't enough for you."

he smiled softly, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. "you are more than enough, my love. and i will spend the rest of all my lifetimes showing you just how much you mean to me."

gyomei’s immense frame trembles slightly as he sits there, feeling the careful touch of your hands on his wounds. he can sense the sadness radiating from you, more intense than the pain of his injuries. each of your delicate touches is laced with the hurt you are trying so hard to mask. your eyes are focused, your movements precise, but your silence is deafening.

"beloved…" gyomei's voice, usually so calm, grounding, and composed, cracks slightly. he seeks your gaze, gently grabbing your chin, realizing that it is faintly trembling in his hold. "please... i know i’ve caused you pain. forgive me."

you pause for a moment, hands hovering over a particularly deep cut, pondering, pondering. you bite your lip, refusing to let the tears brimming in your eyes fall. your silence isn’t out of anger (he knows this, he knows), but fear—fear of losing him every time he comes back injured, fear of the day he might not return at all.

the implications of your silence suspended in the air like a viscous fog. he reaches out, his large, calloused hand gently covering yours. the contrast between his rough skin and your delicate fingers is stark, yet it is this very difference that embodies the solidity and tenderness of your relationship, it seems. the warmth of his touch seeps into you, a silent plea for forgiveness, a reminder of the love you share, an imploration for that tenderness you give so willingly.

"please," he whispers again, his voice softer this time, if even possible, "my beautiful wife, do not shut me out."

apparently, that's all it takes for your resolve to finally break. tears spill over, and you drop your head, letting them fall freely. without a word, you move closer, resting your forehead against his broad chest while very diligently skipping over his wounds. he wraps his arms around you, holding you tight as if trying to shield you from the very world he fights against.

"i’m so afraid," you finally admit, voice trembling. "every time you leave, i’m terrified you won’t come back. what would i do?"

gyomei's gentle heart stings at your confession, the dull ache of his wounds now forgotten as you sob into his chest. gods above, what kind of husband is he? he tilts his head down, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head, keeping his lips on the crown of your hair. "it is such a privilege to matter to you, my dearest one. you, and only you, make my life peaceful."

"I just want you to be safe," you murmur against his chest, your voice muffled but clear in its desperation.

gyomei nods, a soft smile stretching his perfect lips. his hand pats your head affectionately, his other arm winding around your body. "i will do everything in my power to return to you. every time. you are my reason to fight, don't you know?"

you lift your head to meet his gaze, his blank eyes empty but filled with the same vulnerability and love that you feel. "promise me you'll be careful? for us."

tears slide down his cheeks once again, although this time, you know they are fueled by the burgeoning love in his heart. "for us."

Panic gripped you like a vice as you desperately attempted to defend yourself, your movements erratic, uncoordinated. But your efforts proved futile against the experienced maneuvers of the mech. Blow after blow rained down upon you, each sending shockwaves of pain through your circuits.

The sharp, metallic tang of energon permeated the atmosphere, curling around you like a shimmering veil. It intertwined with the pungent aroma of oil and various fluids, creating an intoxicating compound that stung your olfactory sensors. Your ventilators whirred incessantly, battling against the oppressive heat that threatened to overwhelm you at any moment.

A heavy blow landed squarely on your chassis, sending you crashing to the ground with a resounding clang. As you struggled to regain footing, your opponent loomed over you, their optics gleaming with malice.

With a surge of adrenaline, you lashed out with renewed determination, striking back with all the strength you could muster. But it was too little, too late.

The mech quickly overpowered your feeble attempts at resistance, driving you back with relentless force, and suddenly, you lay sprawled upon the unforgiving floor of the arena. You gasped as your servos instinctively clad around the mech’s, which were pressing against your neck plates. Darkness surrounded you as the mech towered over you, swallowing you whole.

The volume of the crowd was loud enough to sound as if the whole of Cybertron had packed into the small stadium. With coolant and energon streaming down your cheeks, you surrendered to the inevitable. This was it. You were going to die here. Your spirit broken, your hope extinguished in the merciless light of the arena.

Only, gazing into the light, you were transported to a much simpler time.

"If you could change anything in the world, what would it be?"

The chamber was extremely quiet, save for the occasional tinkle from Starlight’s digits as she caressed her daughter’s helm, comfortably snuggled on her carrier’s breastplates and sleeping her questionably-earned exhaustion away.

"Mmh," you hummed out loud, turning to look at your friend from your berth, "I don’t know, what would you change?"

Starlight smiled harder, though the rest of her face plates remained the same, so it was quite the rare expression. "I wish Vaportrail was born in a nicer place, Cybertropolis, maybe."

"You wouldn’t wish to change anything for yourself?" you asked.

"I have you, and there’s not another you anywhere in all of Cybertron."

Starlight, was this what you felt before dying?

Starlight, was this what you felt before being killed?

Starlight, was this what you felt before being murdered?

You couldn’t breathe. Black tinged the edges of your vision. Then it turned red, scarlet, maroon. In that moment, something snapped inside you like a sea wave crashing against the rocks at the beach, like the snapping of a rubber band, like a balloon being popped, and all semblance of fear evaporated, replaced by a singular focus: revenge.

An awful rage so deep it reminisced the sun started bubbling inside you. A wave of anger so profound it dried up every drop of liquid in the world and replaced it with sand. Indignation blurred everything you’d ever been and ever would be, and you felt yourself gaining colossal strength. You needed revenge. You needed it like you needed to breathe. You wanted him to hurt.

And so, when your tremoring was at its greatest, your resentment was beyond bitterness and revenge, and the mech was about to enclose you in a makeshift grave—you just let go.

With a guttural scream that echoed across the arena, you unleashed your pent-up fury upon your assailant. You struggled and battled with a wild intensity fueled by nothing but the sweet, cold feel of revenge, scratching and gnawing as you attempted to escape from the hold that confined you.

Dams broke, and your processor slipped into a high of adrenaline so strong you didn’t know whether your body would purposely overheat. You couldn’t feel the pain of your wounds or the shooting pains in your gauntlets and your mandible. Had you inwardly deactivated your pain receptors?

You wrestled the weapon from your opponent's grasp with a lethal cascade of adrenaline-fueled strength and swung the blade in his direction.

The keen clangor of the blade hitting the mech's helm wreaked the arena into a hysterical state.

The mech stumbled backward with a scream as he gripped his facial plates.

But you didn't just stop there.

You leaned over him and swung the blade.

It found the base of his helmet.

A sickening crunch of metal against metal.

The mech staggered. He even dared to gasp in shock.

You swung again, a pained cry leaving his dermas.

Another crack.

You pulled back your elbow, a spray of energon hitting you on the plates of your face.

You swung again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Ag̷̹͈̭̟͎̰̳̳͙̞̃̈́̌͑͒̍̐͠͠ain.

Agá̷̧̡̨̛̪̫͍̻͓̭̖̠̿̎̾̍͛͝in.

A̸̖̳̠͊g̷̹͈̭̟͎̰̳̳͙̞̃̈́̌͑͒̍̐͠͠á̷̧̡̨̛̪̫͍̻͓̭̖̠̿̎̾̍͛͝i̵̝̖̬̬͐̿̓̒͆̐̄̀͠ņ̷̤͕̣̙͈̏͌̎̃̎̾̀̃͒̓͊͗̽̚͝

W̸̧̘̣̝̻͎͕͉̥͖̋͊̍̌̅̚ì̷̝͋͠th a final, cathartic scream of defiance, you drove the blade deep into the mech’s helm, watching with grim satisfaction as sparks flew and circuits sputtered.

There was a brief, abrupt silence while the mech moaned more quietly, attempting to move. It crumpled inward with a low huff.

A pool of energon gushed out from his wounds, soiling the ground around him as you backed away to watch him die. You were shaking—breathing heavily, limbs quivering with exhaustion—and moments later, the other gladiator went limp.

You willed yourself to raise a hand toward your dermas, coolant pooling around your optics.

But the spectators erupted as your servos went up to your face.

And when the adrenaline finally wore off, you were almost sent to the ground at their sheer volume.

They were cheering for you.

It only took a moment to register the blinding pain.

You turned around and stumbled away from the pit and into the building, your optics tracing the ground and your servo scratching at the metallurgic skin over your sternum to ensure that your spark was still whole.

You stumbled down the corridors, the roaring cheers from the arena fading distantly and morphing into something you could not comprehend anymore, but their echoes still haunted your audials. The steady drip of energon from your body was driving you crazy, some of it your own, but most of it not.

Your servos trembled uncontrollably, the once-raw adrenaline slowly draining from your systems, replaced with an overwhelming surge of panic. I killed him. I killed him. The words repeated in your processor like a damaged disk, a nightmarish chant you couldn't silence no matter how hard you tried. Your optics darted around wildly as you moved deeper into the complex.

The tunnel's cool metallic walls closed around you. You forced yourself to keep moving, your breathing shallow and frantic, as if the very walls themselves were constricting around your chassis, squeezing tighter with each second. 

Your servos—trembling, bloodied—kept reaching for the walls, hoping to steady yourself, but every step sent your processor spinning. You were panting, desperate not to overheat your body, vision blurring as your optics struggled to focus. What have I done?

Then, you saw it.

In the dim light of the tunnel, your optics caught a glint—a flash of silver reflecting the low glow of the overhead lights. You staggered toward it, desperate for something, anything to ground you. The surface of a discarded metal panel gleamed like a mirror, and it was there that you saw yourself.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Your reflection stared back at you, but it was a version of yourself you didn’t recognize.

Your armor, dented and scratched, was smeared with dried energon, your own, and the mech’s you had killed. Your pale and trembling faceplates were streaked with the liquid, your optics wild and wide in disbelief. You could barely make out your features beneath the mess of fluids and grime.

You looked... feral. Broken.

But alive.

You were alive.

Somehow, against all odds, you had survived.

Your trembling slowed. The ragged, panicked breaths you’d been drawing in deepened as you stared at your reflection, the horrible truth settling into the pit of your spark. You had made it through that pit of death. You had won.

Slowly, your servos reached up, brushing over the dried fluids and scratches as if confirming that the wrecked reflection was indeed yours. You were bruised, battered, drenched in energon—but you were still standing.

That strange, cold realization started to settle in your spark.

"I’m… alive."

Then, cutting through the fragile silence, a voice crackled through the speakers above you, the distorted sound making you cringe.

"Winner," the voice declared.

You recognized the voice immediately.  Bullway. His tone was cold, devoid of emotion, and very different from the charming facade he’d put on in your old satellite. "I want to see you. Now."

A chill ran down your spinal strut. Bullway. If he wanted to see you, it wasn’t because he wanted to congratulate you on your victory. Had you done something wrong? You had won. You had given them the entertainment they wanted!

Your optic twitched as Bullway’s voice echoed in your audials again. You swallowed hard, your stabilizers shaking as you tried to regain your footing. There was no time to hesitate. You had no choice in this. If he wanted to see you, then you had to go.

Taking one final look at your reflection—bloodied, battered, but alive—you wiped a trembling servo across your faceplates as if trying to erase the horror of what you had just done. But it didn’t come off and just smeared across your cheek like a second paintjob.

You turned just in time to see a mech waiting for you across the hall.

"Hey, come with me."

Not trusting your voicebox to articulate what you wanted to say correctly, you wordlessly nodded, following after him.

Albeit a small part of you felt smug about it, you didn’t comment on how the mech visibly cringed at the energon staining your faceplates, quietly realizing that he was walking a great distance from you, as though if something he said would set you off the wrong way. As if you would repeat your previous actions upon him.

A few clicks later, you noted that the hallways were different, and with great dismay, you realized that he wasn’t leading you to the bosses’ offices. An ugly thought of what they might do to you now that you had unexpectedly won the match knocked on your processor. It would explain why the guard was leading you somewhere else. Your optics widened as it appeared and disappeared just as quickly.

"Hey," you called out to him, waiting until he briefly turned his head to glance your way. "Where are you taking me? This is not the way to see the bosses."

"The lobby." he said curtly, "You’ve won your place there with us, gladiators only."

"You’re a gladiator?"

"Yeah," he nodded, turning to look at you. "We were told there would be a match worth watching, so we all knew that Bullway had snatched a new batch of rookies from somewhere. Normally, rookies lose, bloody fights and all."

"I didn’t lose."

"That you didn’t," he answered, a ghost of a smile pulling at his dermas. "It was a horrible fight, you know. You finished it quickly and left right after. You gotta drag it out nicely if you want the audience to go crazy, but knowing that you are a rookie, I guess that’s why the crowds went wild."

The mech's relaxed demeanor grated on you, sharply contrasting with the turmoil still bubbling under your armor. You could sense the adrenaline coursing through you, the lingering echoes of the bloodlust that had propelled you through that arena, and now this gladiator was speaking as if it were just another routine battle.

As if the brutality you’d unleashed was nothing more than an expected performance. His words only heightened the gnawing discomfort in your spark, but you forced yourself to stay calm.

"Is it like that for everyone?" you asked, voice strained but steady. "Just... another fight?"

The mech glanced at you from the corner of his optics, his pace slowing just enough for you to fall in line beside him. "For some, yeah. For others, it's a way of life. Once you’ve been in the arena long enough, it’s just routine. You win, you survive. You lose, well... you don’t have to worry about much after that."

His matter-of-fact tone, almost automaton-like, grated on your nerves incessantly. There was nothing routine about what you'd just done. You looked away, staring down the dimly lit hallway as you walked, trying to ignore the thick, cloying scent of oil and energon still clinging to your frame.

"I didn’t expect it to feel like that," you muttered, almost to yourself.

"Like what?"

"Like I became someone else."

He gave you another sidelong glance, his optic ridge rising slightly as he considered your words. "Yeah, that happens. You change in the pit. It's not always for the better."

You stopped walking for a moment, your steps faltering. He paused too, turning to look at you, his expression unreadable. You could feel the rage from earlier simmering again, but it was different now—colder, more focused. Disdainful.

The mech took a step toward you, saying, "First time’s always the hardest. But you fought, and you lived. That’s what matters. No one’s going to ask you how you feel about it."

You scoffed, the bitterness in your processor spilling into your voice. "I bet they won't. As long as I keep bleeding for them."

He shrugged, as if that was just the way things were. "That’s the game. But hey, at least now you’re in it. There are worse places to be."

"Yeah?" you muttered, bitterness twisting your words. "Like dead?"

He didn’t answer immediately, his optics studying your face for a beat too long. "Something like that."

Before you could respond, the hallway opened into a larger space, a sprawling, multi-leveled chamber. Above and around you, several balconies arced around the space in a tiered structure, almost like a coliseum turned inside out. Each level was packed with mechs—some leaning over rusted railings, others pacing along narrow walkways, their heavy footsteps echoing through the chamber.

From these balconies, stairs spiraled down to the main floor, where groups of gladiators clustered together, some repairing their armor, others sharpening weapons or talking in hushed tones. A few glanced up at you as you entered, their optics lingering on your energon-stained form for a moment before they returned to their own business.

The smell of energon hung thick in the air, integrated with the acrid tang of oil and the metallic scent of freshly-welded parts. Overhead, dim lights flickered erratically, casting long shadows across the grime-slicked floor. In one corner, a group of mechs were hunched over a makeshift table, clearly gambling away whatever shanix they had earned in the pits.

Here and there, you could spot racks of weapons—blades, maces, guns—lined up along the walls like trophies. Some mechs were testing them out, and the sound of sharpening blades and the low thrum of power cells charging filled the space. Despite the noise, an underlying tension threaded through the room, like a wire stretched too thin.

You caught a few mechs eyeing the stains that marred your armor, their optics narrowing with curiosity and something else—respect, maybe, or wariness. It wasn’t clear. You knew what they saw when they looked at you: a newcomer, fresh out of the pit, still drenched in energon—both yours and your opponent's. And yet, you had survived.

The mech beside you nudged your shoulder gently. "This is it. Gladiators’ lobby."

Everything was interrupted by the sudden, sharp clang of a door being thrown open.

All optics snapped toward the entrance as Bullway stormed in, his heavy frame rattling the metal grating beneath his peds. His presence was electric, and even the more seasoned gladiators went quiet at the sight of his fury.

No one was scared of him, not really, but everyone agreed it'd be better if they didn't anger the one bot who controlled rations and the few things allowed for entertainment.

You, of course, weren't aware of this rule.

His optics, blazing with indignation, zeroed in on you.

"You," he barked, jabbing a thick servo in your direction, his frame practically vibrating angrily. "You just cost me one of the best gladiators I’ve ever had."

Bullway’s voice reverberated through the chamber, louder than even the murmurs of mechs on the balconies. His tone was sharp and accusing, and the heat in his optics made it clear that he hadn’t come to congratulate you.

You straightened your frame but didn’t get a chance to speak before he stomped closer, his bulk imposing.

"I thought it'd be a good fight, figured he’d rough you up a bit, maybe teach you a lesson. But no, you had to go and kill him!" His fists clenched tightly, the metal creaking. "Do you have any idea how long it took me to build him into the fighter he was? And you—you just walk in there and ruin him in your first damn match!"

The crowd watched you both closely, their optics flicking between Bullway and you like they were watching another fight unfold. He was livid, but there was more behind his anger. It wasn’t just the loss of a fighter—there was humiliation, too. Bullway had bet on the wrong outcome, and now he was making it your problem.

You felt your spark flare with defiance. The words tore out of your mouth before you could stop them.

"I didn’t ask to be here," you shot back, stepping forward, the energon staining your frame somehow making you more confident in yourself. "But I won. Fair and square."

Bullway sneered, towering over you now. "Won? You think this is about winning? That mech was supposed to be my winner. You were just a piece of bait! A rookie!"

"Y/N."

His visage morphed into confusion at the single word that left your mouth, though there were still traces of the anger that had previously plagued his faceplates.

Your optics narrowed, and you repeated yourself. "Y/N. That is my name. Use it."

Bullway blinked, taken aback for a split second before his expression twisted into cruel amusement. "A name? You think that matters? In this place, you don’t have names. You’re all just numbers, commodities, pieces of metal to be used up and thrown away when I’m done with you. And I couldn’t care less what you want to call yourself."

His words stung. Bitterly, he was reminding you of what you’d been reduced to in this violent, brutal world. Yet, despite his callous dismissal, you held your ground. You were more than just a number now, more than the faceless gladiator he wanted to make you. You weren’t H-08 anymore, at least, not to yourself.

You hadn’t been since the day Starlight changed everything.

"My name," you said slowly, wiping energon from your cheek as your voice trembled with both defiance and strength, "is Y/N."

Bullway’s optics flared, but you didn’t stop. His words, his mockery—none of it could erase the truth of who you were.

You had once been H-08, a nameless designation in the cold, sterile halls of the satellite where you’d been force to mine until your protoform ran out of strenght—a number, nothing more. You hadn’t even thought it mattered, hadn’t known it could matter, until Starlight came along. She’d been the one to look past the designation, to see you for who you were, not what they made you to be.

She didn’t see you and think, "What is she for?" but instead, "What is she like? What are her hopes and dreams?" She didn’t once think to see you above or below her. Nor did she ever think you were better than her or she better than you. You were her equal; she drilled that into you.

Starlight had always pushed you to choose a name, something that was yours and no one else’s, just like how she had chosen Vaportrail’s name.

"You deserve that. Not a number, not some cold code in a system. A real name. One that means something to you."

At first, you hadn’t understood why it mattered. Why choosing a name felt like reclaiming something, like grabbing hold of a piece of yourself that had been hidden away. But as time passed, you’d grown into it, and when you finally said it out loud for the first time, Starlight’s optics had gleamed with pride.

That name was all you had left of her now, and you weren’t about to let Bullway or anyone else take it from you.

Bullway snorted, his optics narrowing. "Whatever you call yourself—it doesn’t change the fact that you’re still standing here because I let you. Don’t forget that."

But his words fell flat against the wall of resolve that had built up inside you. You met his glare without flinching, the weight of your name grounding you. You were Y/N, and no matter how many battles or insults Bullway threw your way, that wouldn’t change.

"I didn’t ask for this," you said, your voice initially a whisper, but soon growing into words that the entire room could hear, "but you threw me in that pit, and I survived. I earned my place here, and I’ll keep earning it. Don’t talk to me like I’m some scrap metal to be tossed around. I won. He lost. That’s how this works, isn’t it?"

The defiance in your voice seemed to shock him, and for a moment, the entire lobby went deathly silent. The mechs perched on the balconies leaned forward slightly, some in surprise, others in thinly veiled approval.

"You think that makes you special?" he spat, "Killing one gladiator doesn’t make you invincible."

"I don’t need to be invincible. Just strong enough to survive."

Bullway glared at you for what felt like an eternity, his faceplates tight with frustration. Finally, he exhaled, stepping back just enough to let the tension drop a fraction. His optics roamed over you as if sizing up what you had left after that brutal match.

"Well, congratulations," he said, turning on his heel sharply. "You survived. But don’t think this is over. There’s always someone bigger and stronger waiting, and next time, I won’t care how long they’ve been in the pit. You better be ready."

The door slammed behind him, the echo reverberating through the lobby.

This place reeked. Pure flowing smoke and vapor, stinking energon, and the smell of the gray coal and ash that powdered the laborers' and miners' bodies like scintillating glitter filled the pavements of that day—such fragrant poetry. 

The barely perceivable light that shone down could not even be called proper illumination in the first place. Every once in a while, the wells of your optics danced up to gaze toward where the sweltering sunlight was supposed to be.

Still, your spark did nothing but wail at you when, each time, all that you caught were mountains upon mountains of pitch-dark vapor, dull particles of dust from the mines, and the visualization of the austere whispers of despair and anguish among the workers of one of the mining towns from one of Cybertron's Primus-forsaken satellites, Nuna 5PY.

Even if you turned to look towards the downtown streets, the particles infiltrated your vents and blistered your optics.

Some workers used gas masks, while others retreated to the mines, where the synthetic stench wasn't as foul, but most were forced to return to work. They snatched up energon everywhere they could, recharged in fits and starts among their screaming. You seriously needed to leave.

As Vaportrail coughed onto the city street, you held her small servo. Even with the torrential acid pouring last night, the smog got to her well before the rush hour. 

You realized things would not improve today, so you hurried in fear of the younger developing tear-streaked optics and a headache to match. It saddened you that Vaportrail would never know what a normal life would be like. It was as though they had collectively given up years before she was born, which was unjust to her and all the future sparklings. 

You grabbed her and pulled her into the cart. Traveling was enjoyable, but not at the price of introducing additional hazardous particles into the environment. 

Mining Outpost R–02 was one of the towns from Nuna 5PY, where unnamed members of the lower classes labored interminably, tediously. The gloomy, smoky shambles of a metropolis required the Communication Grid to communicate with other areas and locations simply. It was no place for a sparkling. 

The infant cybertronian lay quietly on the sulfurous mine carriage attached to the railway, more vulnerable than the glass that was painstakingly constructed for the masses of the High-caste buildings and just as giddily colored.

You wondered if her peds are dirty; how would you know? You pondered what she ate back when Starlight was still living in this downtown slum; where did her mother get energon to nourish her? 

Your servos were callous from several scars and defects, and a part of you ached to sweep her up in her arms and shelter her eternally. But. How could you ever live with yourself if you didn't allow such an innocent being to live a tranquil life?

"I'm sorry about your carrier," You told the sparkling wistfully, making sure she was comfortable for the long ride from here to where your late best friend wanted her youngling to go if something ever happened to her. You gave her a small pad which contained personal information like her name and situation, along with a plead for somebot to take her to safety, "Cybertropolis is a nice place, just make sure you reach the police station safely, they'll know where to take you." 

"Thank you," Vaportrail squeaked out, her knees pulled up to her chest plate. 

The train inevitably started, and you walked in tandem with the slow speed of the carriage just to get a good, final look at the sparkling's dainty, cheerless face. Vaportrail would surely be a problem when she got older because all of the mechs would swoon over her—deservingly so.

With those optics and a grin as charming and gauzy as that, she was the very picture of the youthful beauty who had once bored the name of Starlight. You believed she was the sweetest femmeling on the planet.

"I love you, okay? And I'm sure your carrier is so proud of you. Good luck!"

Eventually, you had to withdraw from the train, which only allowed you to stare at the vanishing small frame of a waving Vaportrail, whose response had been forever lost in the sad, sepulchral winds of the town. 

Despite that, you could still stare at the sparkling's naive, callow features and find colossal gratitude and admiration in its place, which made a lump form in your voicebox and squeezing palpation beat inside your spark chamber.

With Vaportrail gone, the smell of blazing smoke burned your olfactory sensors and induced you to cover them with your suitable servo. You had never before realized that the shrilling blare of the injectors, the drills, the massive excavators, and the wheels of the trucks could be so overwhelmingly loud, either. From the corner of your optics, the flashes and instants of the sparks that aimlessly flew around whenever metal met metal brought you out of your bewildered daydream. 

But then you turned and saw the portrait of shattered ambition, lost hope, undetermined origins, opaque bitterness, damaged honor, futile dreams, and wavering will that assembled the cybertronians of Nuna 5PY.

It was a blow to the back of your head.

Starlight was dead.

If you closed your optics, you could still see the glow on her metallurgical protoform, the spark that no longer burned, and the sound of her laughter that still reverberated in your audio receptors and processor.

Oh, you missed her desperately. 

She'd spent her days as a young and daring cybertronian who didn't let the vacillating shame of her prostitution career ridicule her or anything she was. A good, pleasant, and kind femme that thrived and existed, only for some mech to tear her from her home and forever close her laughing optics. She was a femme, a friend, a sister, and a carrier.

She was someone.

"Oi, femme!"

You knew that whoever was calling that word in such a degrading manner was referring to you and you only. You were aware that you were one of the few femmes working on that hellhole.

Sourly, you turned your helm to the source of the voicebox and found your boss—if he could even be called that—staring at you rigorously from across the street. Other mechs were beside him, and in their hungry optics, you could see hunger, amusement, a blatant lack of respect, and other things—all of it for you.

"You said five minutes. Start moving your aft before I tell someone to move it for you."

The group of despicable mechs started laughing at the humorous, unique, spectacular, utterly not-ever-done-before knee-slapper comment. You wondered what comedians told to get a chuckle or two out of their audience nowadays. 

You detested yourself when you started walking back to the mines with crystal-clear coolant forming in your optics and with the words caught inside your voicebox.

Even the clicking of your battered timer had a languid touch in the fading light of their (your) chamber as if it were a spark-beat at rest. The perpetual rhythm of it became more of a white noise inside the transparent yet spurious safety surrounding your beguiling, chimerical space bubble. 

The memory of the lingering perfume of Starlight's aromatic utensils saturated you far more intensely than it did only days before, making you want to pound and bang your head against the wall until you ran out of energon inside your body.

Your spark chamber was wrenched apart in the core by a hollow cavity. It had been there for forty-eight groons. Faithless and cynical, the pit that took form inside of you pulled you to the very depths of your revolted mind.

You were immobile, your bare servos lying at your sides and your digits tinkering with the berth. Everything within the room drove you crazy and made you want to tear out your optics under the scrutinizing, deep-rooted omnipresence of both the carrier and the sparkling.

Vaportrail was not napping on her carrier's bed; her small chest plating was not rising and falling according to her mellow, smooth breathing. You remembered how she would spring from Starlight's berth just to greet you after every single burdensome solar cycle of nothing but suffering under the cruel comments and sometimes spiteful actions of mechs and their superiors. 

You knew and understood that she left for a better life in Cybertropolis, yet you just can't comprehend why you are not hearing her dulcet giggles and her voice as soft as a feather.

"Y/N, look at me!"

You turned your helm lightly toward the soft-spoken sparkling from your spot on your berth. 

One of your stabilizers was crossed over the other, your servos snuggly behind your helm. Due to your horizontal position, you were seeing Vaportrail in a somewhat awkward manner, whispering something to her carrier excitedly, which made you turn your whole frame so you were resting against your side, lifting your helm with your right servo.

"What is it, V?"

Vaportrail, who had her mother's laughing optics, stood proudly atop Starlight's berth beside her laying figure, servos on her hips and grin on her dermas, meekly waiting for you to look at her so she could show her spectacular stunt.

She was no bigger than a mining pickaxe, which is why she was never let out of Starlight's and your’s shared chamber. She was still tiny, even for a youngling her age, but that was not unusual, as the impoverished environment and the mediocre energon didn't do much to help anyway. Primus knows what could happen to someone so small and so weak.

Her confident, puffed-up stand made you laugh casually, as while typically Vaportrail was a modest sparkling, never one to demand attention or directly ask for what she wanted, whenever she got like this and let out her inner childishness for the silliest of things, both you and Starlight would get tons of laughter out of it.

"Go on! Show Y/N what you've been practicing," Starlight encouraged.

When you nodded at Vaportrail, signaling that your attention was entirely on her, her optics lit up. She walked towards the end of her carrier's berth, planting her peds at the very ends before turning around. 

Vaportrail crouched, and with a slight push from her servos and an impulse from her peds, she successfully rolled forward in the berth, landing on her bottom before scrambling to get up and putting her servos up in the air, muttering a small 'Ta-da!'

You had smiled warmly, watching Vaportrail giggle to herself giddily. Starlight clapped for her and swarmed her in a big hug, proud of her sparkling and happy that she had gotten her little trick right. Honestly, you were a bit jealous. You wished you could be this happy by doing something as simple as a gymnastic maneuver.

Vaportrail cheered along with her carrier, excitedly thumping her peds against the surface of the berth. Then she turned to look at you, her optics gleaming with happiness. "I did it! I did a forward roll!"

"Oh, did you?" After your rhetorical question, you languidly returned to your original position, lying with your back plates on the berth and your servos behind your helm. You cheekily turned to Vaportrail and Starlight, a sly, good-natured smile pulling at your dermas; you closed your optics. "I wasn't looking."

"Y/N!"

Both femmes happily laughed at the moping undertones of Vaportrail's voice.

"Just kidding!"

That day was a long time ago, at least it seemed to be; it felt like it. Those words were spoken in the same chamber you slept and resided in. That comical stunt was performed in the berth across from yours. They were not here anymore. Even if you wished they were back together, that deceitful dream would only be achieved by death.

No one can pursue their dreams or be free enough without it. Freedom is for the rich because dreaming costs money.

Starlight wasn't there to hold her youngling and hug you when you needed it. You weren't hearing her voice either, singing lullabies to help you both fall into a much-needed recharge. Her presence was so needed, so sought; in places like this, femmes like her were what one needed to forget about the harsh burden that was the act of being alive. To think that only forty-eight groons before she was still living, she was still here. 

Her memory made you miserable because best friends comprehend you like no other. Starlight was overly protective and brutally honest—as if she ever needed that. You felt so enraged and resentful at not being there to protect her that you feared you might break. 

Although you dug Starlight's grave, blatantly refusing to let the body of your best friend turn into waste parts or scrap metal, a part of you still suppressed the image. One day, you would properly weep for her, but first, you had to accept that she was truly gone. A part of you would never be able to accept that Starlight would never appear, skipping around a corner to tease you for falling for her clever joke.

‘How can she be dead?’

Harsh knocks against your metal door made you jerk from your position on the berth.

"08, are you in there?!" 

The boisterous tone of the mech standing behind your door made you remember that you were still real and breathing inside your crude, undeserving, unworthy existence. Your bubble-turned crystal cocoon inevitably started collapsing at the reminder that life could still go on without Starlight because, after all, no cybertronian knew who Starlight is—was. No cybertronian knew who Starlight was. The world moved on without her.

Without thinking much, you got up from the cold berth, chills flourishing in your metallurgic skin before walking the small distance towards the oxidized door and swinging it open. You would not have considered the thought of opening (being too engrossed in your self-pity and wallowing in grief, you know?) in the first place was it not for the genuine undertones of chipper motivation that were painted over H–01's usually harsh, asperous voice. 

Wait, why was he at your door anyway?

His hulking, rusted frame was as corroded as ever, and it was honestly a little sickening to look at. Despite the awful veil of dust and ash that littered him, the grayish, crimson, and dull turquoise glares of his deteriorated paint job could still be peeked at; his wheels were decaying, and his melancholic optics had lost their love for life— as had everybot else's.

Ancient as a cosmic star and twice as intelligent, with his towering structure and terse personality, H–01 was by far one of the town's most elderly seniors—and, may you add, one of the most cordial. 

You remembered the day you first arrived here, back when you were still an inexperienced femme in life, gullible, back when you dreamed dreams. 

After an accident in your old work establishment,—one of the mech coworkers had stepped over the line with you, resulting in a mining pickaxe protruding from his knee plate and a lot of energon spilled around— you had been sent to Mining Outpost R–02, and H–01 quickly took it upon himself to become a mentor of some sort as you shared letter unit. 

You recalled that he laughed as he had never before when you told him the story of why they had banned you from your previous workplace. Later, you met Starli—

"08?"

You blinked owlishly, and realizing that he was calling out to you, you grounded yourself and met his preoccupied gaze.

"What did you need?"

He frowned at your mediocre attempt at lying. H–01 was by no means stupid, and sadly, you didn’t give enough credit and didn't acknowledge how easily he could pick apart your facade, layer by layer, until your shell was utterly ripped apart.

"Kid, I may be rusty, but I'm shrewd enough to know that you're not well." You became conscious of how absurd you must have seemed in his words. He continued. "I'm sorry about your friend and her sparkling."

There it was again, that funny feeling, that blow to the back of your head. You felt your spark wail painfully, and your limbs tensed up, your optics frantically searching into H–01's face plates for any sign of mockery. You found none. You almost crumbled at his sincere words until your response was unwillingly driven back to your tanks when the piercing siren started blasting across the halls of the chambers.

Instinctively, you covered your audio receptors at the discomfort. At the same time, H–01 merely stared into the speaker device right up against the wall, a bit far away from them. From the corner of his optics, he saw many of the workers exiting their chambers, each of them confused, some of them covering their audial receptors as well, and others staring, irritated and visibly vexed at the gadget that was currently stripping them of their much-needed recharging hours.

The workers of the 8th unit, otherwise known as the H unit, approached the oldest mech from their division, questioning themselves about what was going on. Their optics wilted, and there was a slight lolling to their helms, drunk with weariness after a session of an endless cycle of mining.

"01, what's going on?" One of them asked rather loudly, trying to shout over the siren, coming up to them just as you got used to the loud siren and pulled your servos away from your audial receptors. 

You moved out of the entrance of your chamber to shut the door behind you, joining H–01 by standing beside him. They shared a brief glance, one filled with puzzlement, the other brimming with uncertainty. But before anyone could share their answer or even make a single move, the horrendous blaring of the alarm stopped. 

The speaker against the wall went completely silent, and a single red light started beeping. The Cybertronians looked at each other, baffled.

Someone talked via the speaker.

:: Attention, all workers. You are summoned to the patio at this instant. Once you reach the area, stand in your respective branch line and don't question your current predicament; ignoring this order will result in immediate offlining. I repeat: ignoring this order will result in immediate offlining ::

I need to leave. I need to leave. I need to leave. I need to leave.

That was what you were thinking when you, H–01, and the others walked among the congregation of cybertronians—you would have said mechs were it not for the few femme 'nurses' among the outer lines of the crowds, who as far as you were concerned, were the ones who took care of the workers who suffered minor accidents like infected optics, fractured limbs or something along those lines. 

It was not like they counted anyway. Primus knew what they were actually in this town for and what they did to survive.

The patio, used for Cybertronians during their spare time, was circular, wide of range, and littered with damaged devices and compartment containers, a whole mess of passed-down gear and materials. 

Whenever they got their energon rations and stopped here to rest, H–01 would remark that only the fuel granted to them wasn't recycled—well, that and the smoke. The patio boulders formed a patchwork, with stones obtained as useless scraps and waste from renovations resting together as lovely as crystalline statues from the High-caste buildings. It had artistry to it, as well as smoothness. You and H–01 used to sit there together.

You saw the executives of Mining Outpost R–02, violently shove some of the workers towards their specific department, yelling something at them that you couldn't quite catch. Considering the calm and easy-going attitude of the mistreated miners, you could just tell that they were the prissy, fastidious mechs of the upper divisions, maybe the 1st or the 2nd, where they didn't get punished for slacking off or harassing other workers along with the bosses just for the fun of it.

Your unit quickly got on its respective branches and neatly stood in line. You all exchanged terse nods, mentally preparing yourselves for whatever was about to happen. 

In front of you and the rest of your division were the mechs of the 7th unit, and behind them were the workers of the 9th, and so on. Judging by the others' facial expressions, they, too had no idea of why they'd been called here nor could muster up a word, which only fueled your desire to learn what was going on. The patio got tighter, more claustrophobic as cybertronians arrived.

You were the last number in your unit, meaning that you were placed in the furthest spot from your old friend. You lightly reclined your helm backward to attempt and catch a glimpse of H–01, but to no success, as you saw him and all the other mechs, for that matter, focused on the temporary stage ahead of them. 

It held a podium, a small staircase, and fifteen glass balls with electronic chips on them. One for each unit of the Mining Outpost. A chill went down your spinal plate at the thought.

An overwhelming, ominous silence suddenly governed the patio when a mech no one working here had ever seen before climbed up the staircase. The way he moved caused cybertronians to stare at him in fear. 

The mech was brawny and towering, and the way his helm fell over his lifeless, devoid optics and left shadows smeared on his cheek plates made others shudder. He was directly in front of the plain, pitiful microphone stand. However, an almost charming smile crossed his dermas.

"I suppose you're asking yourselves why were you brought in here."

Because of the microphone, his voice, profound and with a baritone tone, boomed across the patio, making you wince lightly at its loudness. You, of course, were desensitized from loud noises due to the continuous straining sounds of the mining machines around you day after day, as everyone else was. However, his statement caused many cybertronians to look among themselves, clearly disturbed.

"Gentlemechs, my name is Bullway, and I've come all the way here from Kaon to offer you a choice. I intend to give fifteen of you the chance of coming to Kaon with me and becoming gladiators."

Hushed whispers and inaudible sentences started falling from everyone's dermas at Bullway's words and what they implied. From the corner of your optics, you saw most of the mechs look at each other in mute amazement at what they had just been offered.

Their superiors, who were at the base of the set-up podium, quickly took it upon themselves to silence everyone with a loud yell, the absence of sound appearing once again.

"Think about it! Money, power, glory, fame, all laid at your digitprints!" Bullway threw his arms out to emphasize his words. "Join me, and all you have ever dreamed of will come true. A life of nothing but recognition! Isn't that what you deserve?! Isn't that what you dream of as you stare at the ceilings of your measly stations?!"

Dreaming cost money. Dreaming cost money. Dreaming cost money.

Almost as if he had read your mind, H–01 subtly leaned his helm forward to take a peek at the workers of the section he conducted. Most of them remained stoic, and he was very glad to see that, but what worried him the most right now was H–08.

His facial plates morphed into that of slight disturbance because as he peered into your face, he clearly saw what could only be described as contemplation, doubt, and consideration, which both bothered and worried him.

Bullway smiled at how he had you under a forged delusion and continued his speech, "See the crystal globes here? There's one for each unit of your Mining Outpost. They all contain chips with your respective electronic signatures. Each vorn you have worked here, your signature will be entered an additional time. You can figure out the rest, so let us begin!"

Each vorn?

You suddenly realized that the globes were not in order because, in the same minute that you let the circumstances sink in, Bullway had already slipped a servo inside one of the spheres and grabbed one chip from it, reading it aloud so everyone could hear the letter and number clearly.

"G–10!"

All of the divisions started looking among each other, searching for the (not) lucky mech, a pregnant silence following suit as the group in front of them all glared sympathetically at the chosen one, who stood frozen in place, optics blinking several times, wishing to Primus that Bullway had read the designation incorrectly and it wasn't him who was just chosen.

You felt a shiver run down your spinal plate when one of the guards roughly seized his shoulder and made him start walking toward the platform, ignoring the mech's begging and lightly dragging him across the patio as everyone stared in horror. Your intake suddenly went dry when Bullway moved to the next globe, grabbed an electronic chip, moved to the microphone again, and read it aloud.

This time it was from the upper divisions, A–07, you heard.

Just like that, another mech was whisked away from his branch line and thrown across the patio. He then ascended the flight of stairs to stand beside G–10, who apparently was still encapsulated in deep denial, continuously shaking his helm in disbelief. It was tenaciously obvious that Bullway did not concern himself with their worries and imminent fear as he once again moved toward a globe and grabbed another.

You wished cybertronians would step outside their own frames and oversee from the outside what was actually happening at that very instant in Nuna 5PY. Plucked from their workstations like flowers in a garden, sent off to Kaon for the purpose of entertainment for the Upper class with the bombastic excuse of 'MONEY POWER GLORY' behind it.

Prisoners inside their own bodies, trapped to fend off for themselves on a planet where no one cared about them.

Electronic signatures continued rolling off the mech's glossa like energon from a wishing well. The mechs that were chosen always did the exact same thing. They stood completely aghast for a few nanokliks, staring at the soot-stained ground in front of them in absolute shock, their frames deflating like rubber balloons, dermas parting in awe at themselves because they just couldn’t believe it.

F–03.

I–11.

D–04.

E–07.

K–15.

O–02.

When they got prodded by one of the guards, they stared at them, silently begging for compassion, but they found none. Eventually, they were pulled out of their place and shoved towards the staircase on the stage, where Bullway gleefully welcomed all the newcomer 'gladiators' just to grab another electronic chip and call out yet another designation, and so repeating the cycle.

C–01.

M–06.

B–09.

L–01.

J–02.

N–14.

Oh, there was still a globe left. The H unit.

The crowd drew in a collective breath, and then you could hear a pin drop. You were feeling nauseous, your servos clammy, your whole frame tense, your processor hurt, and your spark ached. You longed to see Starlight, you wanted to chase after the train where you sent Vaportrail off to Cyberpolis, and you didn’t know how much H–01 was desperately hoping that it wasn’t you, that it wasn’t you, that it wasn’t you.