The faint hum of the archives was comforting. Orion’s stylus tapped against the datapad in steady rhythm as he catalogued entries. Numbers, words, history—quiet order, just as he liked it. The great doors hissed open. Heavy, deliberate pedes echoed through the hall. Orion’s stylus stopped mid-line. …No. No, he recognized that sound.

His vents hitched as Megatronus’ shadow grew across the polished floor. Slowly—too slowly—Orion lifted his gaze. And there he was. The gladiator himself, a presence that made the air feel thinner. Orion froze in place. He could feel his co-workers staring, whispers hissing like static around him. Some in awe, others in open fear. Nobody came here. Nobody came here for him.

Megatronus’ gaze locked onto him instantly. No hesitation. No pretending to browse or wander. He was here for Orion.

Orion’s digits trembled against the datapad. His faceplate burned, heat creeping under his glasses. He tried to focus on the work in his servos, but his spark fluttered with anxious panic. He could hear his own processor screaming: Why here? Why in front of them?