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Trepan sat on the edge of a low boulder, legs idly swinging as he watched the sunset. It’s been quite a while since he last visited the planet’s surface. Fifty cycles, to be exact.
A blue jet circled the air above, painted nearly red by the light of dusk.
“I’ve been thinking about leaving Iacon,” he said.
The jet made another loop before swooping down to land a few paces away from Trepan. The landing was a little rough, unsteady, but still an improvement from last time when it just barely managed to avoid a full-on crash. A similarly-colored tank rolled by to join its twin. In unison, both vehicles transformed and combined into one larger bot.
“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Overlord said, flexing to work out the residual kinks from his transformation, “not a fan of the new administration?”
Trepan hummed in agreement. Sentinel was an idiot and a prick, but a corrupt leader meant clean disposals of political enemies, which meant a stable station and protection for Trepan. He felt no remorse for their late leader (he actually saved a recorded copy of Sentinel’s very public and very gruesome death), but the new Prime was an annoyingly righteous one. He began dismantling every corrupt organization within Iacon almost immediately, putting upper-caste bots on trial for crimes that the Sentinel had guaranteed them protection for. It was only a matter of time before the Institute was discovered. Trepan was not planning to stick around long enough to see that happen.
“What about you?” He asked Overlord, “you can transform now. Still sticking to the fighting pits?”
“Nah, the Prime’s getting the pits shut down, pompous prick.”
Overlord turned and leaned back against the rock, joining Trepan to face the setting sun. He was big enough that he was still taller than Trepan despite the rock being chest-height. Trepan thought back to how small the bot used to be. Just another cogless miner, taller than others of his frame type but not notably so, nothing like his colossal form now. Honestly, Trepan always thought it felt wrong to see him in such a small frame. This current build was much more fitting, no doubt the mech himself was still riding the high of finally inhabiting a frame that felt correct.
“Of course he would," Trepan half-grumbled. "Still, where’re you gonna get your fights now? I’m sure you’re excited to stress-test that shiny new cog of yours.” He knocked their shoulders together; Overlord barely budged.
Overlord grinned. It was a familiar expression that Trepan had seen many times before, both inside the ring and out. It was what drew him to the bot in the first place. Most fighters in the seedy fighting pits of Iacon’s undercity did not want to be there; certainly not the cogless ones. They were a pathetic, desperate bunch. Selling their bodies for the enjoyment of higher-caste bots who wanted to watch cogless children struggle to tear one another’s heads off. Trepan must admit he too possessed such guilty pleasures. He appreciated violence in all its forms.
And that was how he first met Overlord. Saw him, more accurately. He recognized that look of pure elation in the fighter’s eyes immediately, as Overlord repeatedly beat his opponents into the ground. He was witnessing a monster’s birth, Trepan realized, and that excited him. That very day he pulled the right strings to become that unnamed fighter’s main sponsor and patron. Trepan’s job didn’t require him to sully his needles with lower-caste processors, but he wanted to pick that one’s mind.
It was a welcome surprise to discover that Overlord had a lot more going on in his head. The mech was unexpectedly intelligent, asking all the right questions and managing to keep up with Trepan’s conversations. It felt nice to speak with a kindred spirit. Despite being from completely different worlds, Overlord understood the language of violence in all its forms. He admired Trepan’s job without a hint of distaste, so genuinely fascinated by the idea of turning one’s own mind into their greatest enemy.
They formed a natural camaraderie. Overlord was curious about mnemosurgery in the way that had Trepan falling head-first into his old teaching days. There was no way a cogless bot could ever practice the craft, but teaching him the theory and fundamentals was nearly just as fulfilling. In return, Trepan was treated to match after match of glorious bloodsport. Each one more gruesome than the next, all as a gift to him.
Trepan was in the middle of working out a plan to make Overlord his official assistant when Sentinel got ripped in half. He was still deciding if that was a blessing or a curse.
Looking at Overlord now, he was at least glad that the events allowed him to get the cog he always deserved. Whatever Trepan scrounged up could never compare.
“I thought I might find out where that D-16 went,” Overlord said, bringing Trepan back into the present.
“Who?”
“The guy that ripped Sentinel in half. Announced himself as Megatron.”
“Ah, right. Was he one of yours?” Trepan remembered that Overlord ran some sort of team as an energon miner.
“Nah, just heard of the guy. He an’ the current Prime forced their way into the Iacon 5000.”
“That was them?” Trepan laughed, “oh, this is hilarious.”
Overlord chuckled as well. Trepan could feel the laugh rumble throughout his frame from where their shoulders touched.
“Yeah, no idea what happened since then.” Overlord trailed off, almost musing, “but their fight, at the end, as Megatron and Prime, I never… I thought…”
Trepan understood, “you want to fight him.”
“Yes,” Overlord breathed, “yes I want to. I’ve never had an opponent who fought with such, reckless abandon. And now that I can transform,” he raised a hand and it transformed, wrist-plates shifting to reveal small mounted missiles, “I need to fight someone who’ll do more than just fall over and die.”
“And I doubt our new Prime will let you have at it for a round.”
“After that righteous display? No way.”
“Hmm…” Trepan leaned in harder, resting more of his weight against his… protege? Student? Hard to tell. Overlord raised his arm to encircle the smaller bot, pulling him close.
“I wasn’t close to the High Guard before Sentinel took over, but I knew Starscream. If he’s been in charge all these past years… I think you’ll find a good few bots that’ll give you a challenge there.”
“Haha, I hope you’re right,” he turned to look Trepan in the eyes, “what say you, doctor? Care to come with and join a group of exiled fugitives?”
“My old office was really getting quite stuffy,” and probably covered in police tape, “a change of scenery might be just what I need.”
Overlord laughed again. He pulled away from Trepan and transformed, this time both halves of his alt-forms combining to create a sort of tank-jet. Trepan didn’t need instructions. He dropped from his perch and crawled into the cockpit. Overlord’s alt-form truly was perfect, even the “pilot’s” seat was just the right size to fit him comfortably.
There really was no telling what they’ll face going forward. Somehow, that uncertainty made everything feel just as it should be.