#phobiashield

It started out, as you'd expect, like any other day. It always does. But as expected, this day didn't continue like any other day. One minute Shadowblade is just walking down the halls back to her habsuite, the next she has a feeling someone is watching her as the walls seem to close in on her. Her servo twitches as she tries to keep a straight face, her attention on the area around her. She tenses as she hears claws scraping across the wall and heavy footsteps- like someone with a tank build was walking behind her. She spins around and-

A shadow crept along the edge of his peripheral, bringing Megatron to a halt as he glanced to his left side, wondering and cautious. 

Navigating the long corridors of the Lost Light was generally uneventful, save for the occasional overheard bewildering conversation or overseen activity, and sporadic prank from crew members who were feeling particularly and foolishly bold. Unwilling to be the butt of someone’s joke, Megatron casts his field wide, searching for whoever it was whose shadow he had seen flicker briefly upon the wall beside him. “ I’ve little time and patience for games, ” he warns into the space. “ Show yourself at once. ”

Nothing.

— Not until his field suddenly scrapes against a presence of violent and wrathful hatred so strong, a cold ripple of fear slithers up his spinal strut. Anxious mechanisms behind his red lenses force his optics to dilate as dread burns heavily through his circuitry. 

Slowly, he turns, pulling his field in tight. 

A gasp falls from his intake as he meets what went beyond an elaborate prank and rather seemed to be a monstrosity summoned straight from the Pit itself. The sheer horror of it froze him where he stood, forcing Megatron to gaze upon that what he feared the most: himself. 

— At least, an amalgamation of sorts. Though mangled, twisted, and coated and stinking of blood and rot, the monster boasts his frame. Yet, in the place of its helm was a monitor, as such was the case for many victims of shadowplay and empurata.

The black screen flickers suddenly, illuminating the phrase: I WILL CURE YOU.

Its arm raises, and Megatron steps back, aching for the familiar weight of his cannon as needled fingers extended towards his face. 

His whole body reacts as the monster suddenly advances, taking two steps upon him for the one he took away, and as terror gnaws the edges of his spark, Megatron, in all his might, tears a terminal from the wall, hurling it at the thing before him as he roars.

At first, Smokescreen doesn’t really notice the feeling of the room getting smaller. And he seems uncomfortable as the room starts to turn yellow, but isn’t too bothered.

.But soon, he sees a shadow looming over him. He turns around, and sees Optimus! Optimus is alive again! But he seems odd. His usually peaceful EM field feels unfamiliar to Smokescreen, and he doesn’t have the smile Smokescreen remembers him having.

In fact, his optics look seem to be purple, and he seems to be frowning in disappointment at the elite guardsmech.

The room felt small at one point, sure, but Smokescreen felt smaller, and smaller, under this displeased Optimus. His doorwings drooped, and he tried to give this Optimus a goofy smile, with no real response given for several minutes.

When Optimus does finally speak, Smokescreen is still, completely silent.

“I’ll admit Bumblebee, your request shocked me,” the Council member began, leading Bumblebee down far too familiar corridors. “But it was not unwelcome. I, and the other Council members, appreciate your change of spark.”

Finally, they arrived at the private office. Only once the door was locked behind them did Bumblebee speak.

“I’m not doing this for you or the Council. This is about Cybertron’s survival and aiding the reconstruction efforts. I’ve been across the planet to areas we haven’t even touched yet. Cybertron may be alive again, but the energon veins are still recovering and hard to come by.”

“So you have a solution?”

“I have a proposal.”

That made Metalhawk pause. His optics narrowed and Bumblebee met his gaze. “Enlighten me.”

“I need a promise and to have it in writing before I leave this room.”

“I cannot guarantee anything, but you need to name your price first. What are your demands?”

“Surrender all blackmail material against me from the drugging incident or destroy it in front of me.”

Silence.

Though Metalhawk had been one of the few to protest against the event, that didn’t mean he was willing to lose leverage on a public figure. Most of the damage to Bumblebee’s reputation had been done from the collective few breems of clips that had gone public, but news carried fast and it was quickly becoming a scandal that few cared about or remembered. In the interest of the Council, they needed the other ace up their sleeve: the footage of the spark merge.

Bumblebee knew that and that even now, many bots would view that merge as a perversion. You don’t merge with bots you don’t know or trust. The social repercussions would destroy any and all credibility he had left. He needed it gone.

“And what are you willing to share in exchange?”

“The complete Cybermatter formula.”

This was it, the gamble. No matter how many times Bumblebee ran the scenario through his processor, he couldn’t guarantee a win.

“That’s impossible. We’ve gleaned what we can from the Nemesis’s systems and in all those files, none contained the Cybermatter formula. Even as a trained scout, you couldn’t have found or deciphered the information, let alone know what to look for.”

Ouch. Ok. So they still didn’t understand his role in the war. Helpful.

“Work would be involved fully deciphering and synthesizing it, but I’m not lying. I have the answers and I’m willing to share them if you delete or surrender the footage.”

Dangle the carrot, Bumblebee. Make him want it.

“This is not my decision alone to make. I will have to discuss any actions with the rest of the Council—“

“Then do it. But I’m walking in a joor and I won’t be offering again.”

“You more than anyone know decisions take longer than that.”

“And I know you can hustle when you need to, especially given how fast information travels. What if I went to the datanets with this? I’ve miraculously uncovered a solution to our energon and power shortage, but the Council wouldn’t even hear me out because of things that happened over a year ago. I’ve been building myself back up too. I found more bots displaced by the war in eight months than your services have since reconstruction began. Citizens will listen to me and if I have to play every card in my arsenal to make this work, then I will. I’m offering you the easy way, the one that makes both of us look good.”

Metalhawk was the right choice, more level-headed than most and highly analytical. And even after everything, Bumblebee knew he cared about their planet. But he also cared about the Council’s approval within their society. They needed elected officials to work, they needed to ease tension and recover.

They needed as little bad press as possible.

“One joor, I will make the argument. We will need proof of the information existing before any formal agreements can be made.”

“Once you supply a written contract outlining my request, I’ll give you the information. Every Council member will sign it in front of me and as they do, I’ll supply my documentation and proof.”