Work Text:
“Guess who.”
Orion's small world of data, files, and history disappeared behind a warm black wall that covered his optics, as a soft voice cooed in his audials. A smile stole across his lips and he lowered the datapad he had been about to place on a shelf. Blindly, his servos groped for the small cart he had been pushing around all day, filled with a considerable pile of pads just waiting to be stored in the halls of records between history, the present, and the future.
The smell of metal dust and history lingered in the air, which some had jokingly called the smell of decay, but for Orion it was so much more. More than just knowledge, more than just a source of information. It was a gateway to times far distant from his own. Times that were just waiting to tell their stories to those who were willing to listen. Archives should not be a repository of information stored for the sake of storage; they should be a crossroads between different eras, from which one could learn and gain rich insights. How else could one avoid past mistakes if one locked away the knowledge and did not embrace it? How could a society evolve without the information left behind by previous generations? An archive was more than just a warehouse. It was an exchange of knowledge, lessons, and memories that should all be cherished. For it was impossible to imagine how far a society would fall if this knowledge were lost.
He carefully placed the pad in his cart and turned his head toward the voice that was quietly giggling behind him.
“Meissa,” he whispered. “I assume your rehearsals are finished?
Suddenly, the black wall disappeared from his field of vision and a bot appeared in its place. In the dim light of the high shelves between which they stood, her blue-silver armor sparkled, and although it only reached up to his chest plate, she puffed out her cheeks, glared up at him, and crossed her arms in front of her narrow chest.
“Unfair,” blew the femme with the diamond-shaped faceplates and short antennae on her audials. “Games like this are no fun with you, Orion.” With a turn, the little femme turned away and hoisted herself onto the cart, where she took her place in the middle of the pads. A stack collapsed under her weight, but that didn't stop Meissa from making herself comfortable by rocking her hips back and forth.
Orion smiled gently and reached for the pad he had put down earlier before grabbing the rolling ladder and climbing up the shelf. His fingertips slid over one index card after another that peeked out from the shelf.
I-45.1, I-45.2, I-45.4...
Orion furrowed his brow and corrected the misplacement before sliding the pad into its designated spot. “You still haven't told me how your rehearsals went,” he said, without looking up from his work.
Meissa looked up at him. “Oh, they went wonderfully!”
She clapped her hands and beamed at the sky. “We're currently working on the old Kaonian hymns that gladiators used to recite to their loved ones. It's so romantic.”
Orion chuckled as he slowly climbed down the ladder, stumbling backwards. That darn last step! He always forgot about it on this ladder. A construction flaw that made the distance between the last two rungs greater than it should be. Someone was going to get seriously hurt someday.
With a sullen expression, he grabbed his pad and opened his notes; better to write it down before he forgot. He hummed softly as he did so.
“Energon-soaked warriors standing in their opponents' circuits and singing a poem to their beloved.” His gaze found Meissa's, whose lower lip was protruding. He grinned lopsidedly. “Pure romance.”
Meissa exhaled heavily and pushed him away, which only resulted in her pushing herself away from him in the cart and bumping softly into the shelf. “You're such an insensitive jerk", she snapped. “It wouldn't hurt you to show more empathy.”
“I'm sorry.” Orion smiled as he walked over to her and pushed the cart into the next aisle. “But I find it hard to see the romantic side of the story when I'm constantly confronted with the truth.”
“Well. Maybe I can help with that.” She pushed herself out of the cart and stepped in front of him, her arms crossed behind her back. “Leave your work and come with me to Maccadam's.” Her crystal blue, large round optics sparkled up at him as she turned back and forth. “It's been forever since we were there together, and I miss spending time with my little brother.”
Orion tilted his helmet. “If I remember correctly, I invited you recently and you declined.”
Meissa's optics widened and she puffed out her cheeks. She briskly placed her finger on his chest and a small device detached from her wrist, clattering to the floor,. Orion bent down to pick it up while she continued to rant, “And how many times have I invited you, and you canceled on me, huh? Don't blame me for this now.”
He laughed softly and raised his hands in a gesture of peace as he straightened back to his full height. “Let's agree that we're both to blame.”
“No way!” she retorted, crossing her arms, which always made her look like a little Sparkling who didn’t get the toy they wanted. “You ditch me way more often than I ditch you! You’re more to blame.
“What can I do to make it up to you?” - “Just come with me and pick up the tab!”
Orion shook his helmet and grabbed the next stack of pads in the cart, which he briefly scanned before beginning to sort them. He wouldn't mind spending a night with his sister. He loved her and enjoyed spending time with her. He often liked to just listen to her stories or her latest ideas for adventurous performances and songs that were flying around in her processor. Some would describe her as a book that you opened and colorful ideas flew out, ready to be shared with the world and anyone who was willing to listen.
He admitted that there were times when her boundless imagination was too much even for him, but he often swallowed the pain in his processor and listened to her because he knew how much it meant to her that he was a part of her life and wanted to know, where many bots had shut down after a while.
No one stopped the blossoming life that was Meissa, but she knew that very few people always listened to her escapades and most just pretended to. And even though she never admitted it, Orion knew that it hurt her. She preferred it when people told her she was too much rather than when they pretended it wasn't so.
And as much as he listened to her, she listened to him. She listened when he told stories from the past and sometimes absorbed the knowledge to draw inspiration from it.
In this way, brother and sister complemented each other equally.
They had spent too little time like this together since they had grown up and gone their separate ways, chasing dreams. Meissa in her choir and he buried among old dusty pads from a time long past.
“I'm afraid I have to disappoint you in that regard,” he finally said, lowering the optics as he turned the small, inconspicuous recorder in his servos. One of the most important devices his sister always carried with her, should inspiration strike and she need to record her ideas. A few small stickers were affixed to the case, some new, some older. Some he was seeing for the first time today.
Meissa raised her finger. “See?” she exclaimed, more amused than actually indignant. “You're always the one who stands me up, Orion. Doesn't Alpha Trion have any other clerks? You're not the only one who can work here.”
Her head jerked around and her optics scanned the halls. “Where's the old bot? Give me five Breems and I'll have him wrapped around my finger.” She glanced over her shoulder and fluttered her eyelids. “I'm pretty sure he has a soft spot for me.”
“That's because Alpha Trion has a soft spot for many young bots. He has often admitted that he is glad he doesn't have a child, because otherwise he would spoil them rotten.” He took her hand and placed her recorder in it. “Besides, your seduction skills won't bear fruit, Meissa. I offered to put the pads away. It's an unpleasant task...” His optics darted to the cart, which was still filled to the brim. “...but someone has to do it.”
“And you, selfless knight in shining armor, absolutely have to do the other archivists' work for them, right?” She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly and put her hands on her hips. “You're going to drown me in these stories, Orion. You know there's a world out there, right?”
"How about an offer? I have a few Orns free. Then we'll go to Maccadams together and I'll pick up the tab.“ He smiled warmly at her and she rolled her eyes again, but turned toward the exit and slowly strolled toward it, her head in the clouds, slightly tilted. She fluttered her eyelids and turned her head playfully.
”All right," she sighed plaintively. “Then I'll just go.”
Orion smiled and watched her as she walked toward the brightly lit exit, through which the sun shone into the dim halls. “All alone,” she added; his smile widened.
“Without my brother. Just with my friends.” - “You'll be fine.
“Says you!" Meissa turned back to him just before the exit and clasped her hands in front of her lap. ”I'll strip you bare at our get-together, Orion. As compensation.”
Orion smiled. “Write to me when you get home safely.” - “Overprotective brother.” Meissa rolled her eyes for the third time.
“Dreamy sister,” he replied.
He watched her disappear behind the exit onto the bustling street, and a heavy feeling spread through his tank. Something inside him warned him, told him not to let her go, but she was already gone, and Orion brushed the feeling aside.
~*~*~*~*~
Ultimately, he had spent more time in the archives than he would have preferred. Surrounded by files and documents, he had not noticed how the suns above Cybertron had gradually approached the horizon with each passing Breem, until it was already too late.
A cold breeze whistled through his limbs, causing Orion to look up from his desk, which was always a collection of organized chaos. The small table was barely bigger than himself, and despite the limited space, he had managed to create a system that only he could navigate. His personal pads lay crisscrossed with documents that he still had to code and file away. Somewhere here he also had a to-do list, and he was sure that in the drawers, which were stuffed to the brim with loose pads and memory sticks, were also teaching pads that he looked at from time to time when he came across a rarer case.
Orion straightened his back and groaned slightly as the plating creaked and the joints in his back squeaked. Meissa would scold him for staying in one position too long if she were here.
Speaking of which, Orion opened the comm-link channel to his sister and scrolled with his finger across the small screen in his arm. He passed pictures she had sent him a few days ago, messages she had written to remind him to eat, until he reached the end of the channel.
Arrived at Maccadams! Some of your colleagues are here :)
The message had arrived a few hours ago, and nothing since. Orion glanced at the chrono in his HUD. 10 p.m. Well past his shift. He doubted there was anyone else in the halls but him.
Orion leaned back in his chair and stared at the high, spherical ceiling for a moment before getting up, tidying his desk, and getting ready to go home.
After locking up the archive and putting away all the documents that needed to be locked away, he left the opulent building and stepped out into the cool night air.
Tall buildings and streetlights greeted him, chrome moths dancing in their light. Orion watched the small swarm for a moment, then turned and closed the entrance. The small panel next to the door lit up in the form of a keypad, cheerfully awaiting the security code Orion typed in. One beep. Two beeps and a heavy clack could be heard in the doors as the locking mechanism activated.
Orion went home.
When he arrived there, a neighborhood in Iacon consisting of cheap apartment complexes that stretched into the sky like giant towers and cast cold shadows over the streets, it was almost midnight.
His tank growled as he entered his small, tranquil apartment, where he spent too little time, considering he paid for it. It wasn't much, and although Orion could afford more, he saw no point in getting more when the space he had was perfectly sufficient for him.
A berth room, a small kitchen, and a washroom. The young archivist didn't need anything more and never felt like he was missing anything. He stepped into the dark kitchen and reached into the cool cell for an Energon cube, cracked open a corner, and took a hearty sip. The cool, glowing liquid ran down his throat and landed in his tank, which purred gratefully.
He leaned against the kitchen counter and lit up the small screen in his arm again. Still no message from Meissa. Normally, this wouldn't worry him; it wasn't unusual for his sister to be out for a long time, but he remembered the feeling that had come over him when she left.
He sent her a message before he could think about it.
Are you still having fun or are you on your way home?
He turned off the screen again and drank his Energon, which he held in both hands. His gaze wandered out the window, behind which a flood of streetlights and buildings stretched out. Many windows were still lit, but at least as many were already dark. He heard laughter from the streets and the conversations of the loud neighbors who lived above him. Apparently, they were discussing who would advance to the next rounds in the upcoming gladiator tournaments.
Orion himself usually bet on Megatronus, as the warrior was very strong, but in this tournament, he wasn't sure if he would win. Megatronus had been seen less and less in the arena since he had become more politically active.
That reminded him! He still had to watch the speech the gladiator had given.
Orion tapped the now empty cube in his hands and, with restless fingers and a tapping pede, looked at the screen in his arm again. Still no answer.
Meissa didn't ignore him. Never. She knew how important it was to him that she replied. She knew that otherwise he would go crazy with worry, especially when she was out alone at a time like this.
Maybe he was just driving himself crazy. She was an adult; she often went out. Nothing had ever happened. But he knew that it only took one mistake to regret it.
Should he go to Maccadams? Would that be too intrusive? He was tired and wanted to recharge and rest. Something inside him resisted going out again at this hour and running to a bar where his sister would surely persuade him to stay longer than he wanted to. But he remembered the queasy feeling and threw his reservations to the wind.
He disposed of his empty cube in the trash chute and left his dark apartment with heavy steps.
~*~*~*~*~
Maccadam's old oil house was always a popular and lively place. Fairy lights were attached to the thick posts supporting the canopy, and in front of the brightly lit windows, bots bustled about at tables, engrossed in lively conversation and loud laughter.
Inside, a spacious bar area stretched out with countless round tables and seating areas, where bots of all ages and backgrounds pressed close together and enjoyed themselves. A heavy metallic smell hung in the air from high-grade energon and the quick meals that could be had here. The air was warm and stuffy, and Orion's fans were already running at full speed just a few minutes after he entered. Surely the experience in this establishment would be more pleasant if he were drunk, but that was not the reason for his visit.
In general, he didn't like this place as much as Meissa did. While she blossomed here like a crystal rose at sunrise, Orion often ended up with nothing more than a processor ache and a hangover the next morning, as he wasn't as good at holding his liquor as others in his small circle of friends. This was also something he had mostly to thank Meissa for.
He was sure she was right when she said that one day he would make friends with the datapads in his archive if she didn't regularly put him in contact with other people.
The young archivist squeezed past hot bodies, muttering one apology after another to the guests he bumped into, and ran straight to the seating area that Meissa always claimed for herself because it was acoustically the best place to see and hear the live performances when they happened. Again, nothing unusual in this bar.
But when his gaze finally fell on the seating area, he saw familiar faces, but none of them belonged to his sister.
A young bot from the choir raised his hand when he saw Orion. His turquoise-green armor shimmered in the dim light of the bar.
“Orion!” he called out. “Who would have thought you'd show up here voluntarily. Sit down!” His hand pointed to a seat on the opposite bench, where two other bots, a femme and her boyfriend, promptly moved closer together to make room for the archivist.
Orion raised his hand dismissively. “No need.” He noticed his voice being swallowed up by the loud background noise and leaned over the table, raising his voice.
“Have you seen Meissa?” - “Meissa?”
He nodded affirmatively.
“No idea.” The turquoise bot shook its helmet and its antennae wiggled slightly. “She left two hours ago. Said she had something to do tomorrow morning. Didn't she text you?"
Orion felt the warmth drain from his faceplates. She had left two hours ago, and yet she hadn't replied to any of his messages or written anything herself.
He turned on his heel and practically stormed out of the bar, into the fresh night air. He trotted along the sidewalk with long strides, toward the neighborhood where he knew she lived. He tried calling her countless times, leaving dozens of messages, but none of them led to any answers.
He tried to calm himself down. Maybe she was exhausted and just fell asleep, he thought as he climbed the stairs to her apartment, taking two steps at a time and stumbling once.
Maybe she was with friends or her comm-link was defective. Maybe he was just imagining the worst-case scenario, and it was nothing more than a simple explanation that his panic prevented him from seeing.
But when he punched the code for her apartment into the panel and the door accepted his command, he found nothing but a yawning emptiness. No Meissa, no clue. Just her chaotic mess, which could be found in every corner of her apartment.
Orion tried to calm his ventilation as he leaned against the door and rubbed his optics. He scanned the room, the countless unfinished novel pads she said she would definitely finish, the musical instruments scattered in the corners, depending on which one was her favorite at the moment. The unmade berth in her berth room and the half-eaten Energon cube on the kitchen counter, already stale. A sign of her lack of understanding of time and that she was late.
He looked at her bulletin board, searching for appointments she might have, friends she had promised to meet, but he found nothing, and the feeling in his tanks bubbled up. Fear gripped his body as he dialed her channel again and met only silence.
“Meissa,” he whispered, taking a few minutes to compose himself before leaving her apartment. When he was back on the street, he wondered what he should do next. Alert the guards? Wait? Search?
Orion ultimately decided to do all of the above and began walking quickly along the streets, calling every institution he could think of. He asked medical centers if she had been admitted; perhaps she had injured herself on her way home or felt unwell, but none of them had admitted his sister that night.
He called her friends to ask if she was staying with them, but found no answers there either.
He had often selected the Guard's channel, but didn't dare call them and report her missing. For Orion, it felt like an admission; accepting a fact he wasn't ready for and refused to believe.
So he continued walking along the streets and asked every bot, young or old, female or male, if they had seen a petite femme in blue and silver armor. Had they encountered someone who was always humming? Had they seen the star that lit up his life?
But apart from silent headshakes and denials, he found nothing.
Fear turned to despair, and despair turned to panic as horror scenarios of what might have happened inevitably played out in his processor. Was she hurt? Had there been an accident? Was she alone? Was she afraid?
Orion didn't know if he liked any of the possible answers to some of these questions as he walked down the street with heavy steps, tired optics, and slumped shoulders. In the end, he didn't know how long he had been walking, how many bots he had asked for help, or how many times he had stared at the guards' channel, unable to call them and report his sister—his star—as missing.
Finally, he stopped at an empty intersection in a neighborhood.
His gaze was fixed on the ground and the cold had eaten through his limbs. Helplessly, he wrapped his arms around himself and stared at the ground, where a small puddle had formed in the gutter.
He didn't know what to do. Didn't know where to go or how to proceed. His mind told him what he had to do; it was the most logical decision to report his sister missing, but a deep, primitive instinct paralyzed him. It was as if his Spark and his processor were fighting for control of his body, and Orion was caught in the middle of this tug-of-war.
He couldn't say how long he had stood at that empty intersection, but when his consciousness returned to the here and now, a light seemed to shine into the corner of his optics. A steady, rhythmic flashing of red and blue that he hadn't noticed before.
Orion slowly turned his head to the left, into the small side street, toward the small cluster of onlookers who had gathered around the glow. A crime, he thought, keeping his gaze fixed.
Normally, he was against gawking at acts of violence. A deep instinct within him refused to indulge in the desire for spectacle and the morbid, out of respect for those who suffered from it, but today was different.
He had heard about the cases. Bots that had disappeared. Bots that had been murdered. Why, no one could say. There was no perpetrator. There were no suspects. Only the victims and those who mourned them.
He stepped over to the cluster of bots and peered over their heads, his arms still wrapped around his upper body.
A dilapidated house; the windows were broken and sealed with panels; the walls were covered with graffiti and rust. Next to the staircase that had once led up to the apartments was another, smaller one that led down to the basement. And from this basement staircase emerged two guard bots; between them they carried a heavy stretcher covered with a cloth.
And although the cloth was able to hide the identity of the bot lying beneath it, it was unable to hide the fact that this bot, whose Energon was already staining the fine fabric, was offline.
Orion looked silently out from among the crowd, ignoring the whispers and murmurs about what might have happened here. He ignored the warnings of the guards, who asked those present to move on, and he ignored his instincts, which told him to take to his heels and run as far as he could.
Because an even louder voice inside him said that he had found his sister.
And when he saw a spark of silver and blue peeking out from under the cloth, his world disappeared into darkness.
He felt cold.
~*~*~*~*~
When Optimus awoke from his dream in the darkness of his quarters, he could still feel the cold in his limbs. No thoughts formed in his processor; he felt nothing.
So he stared into the darkness, unable to find rest again, the image of the sheet burned into his processor.