Kaon.

The city of chaos.

Megatronus had become a bit of a celebrity there, although his status was considered quite the opposite in the neighboring city of Iacon, Cybertron's capital. He was both loved and feared by many, but mostly revered for his prowess in the Pits. However, he had since traded the gladiatorial arena for the political arena, as the current situation of slavery and unbalanced power in the government bothered him greatly. He'd been lucky to escape that system with his life, but others weren't. And he was going to make whoever was responsible pay dearly for it.

For now, his focus was building his revolutionary platform. Followers from all around Kaon had flocked to him once they heard about his plan to challenge the High Council, but they weren't nearly enough to have his voice heard. He needed to reach the ears of those in power, and it was hard to talk to someone who refused to listen.

Corkscrew's bar was lively that night, just like it had been back in the day. Megatronus used to frequent there after gladiatorial matches, often accompanied by Soundwave. Tonight, however, he decided to go alone, his thoughts too muddled to be in the mood for a conversation. He'd rather lay back and enjoy a drink to himself than hear one more mech spew nonsense from their intake.

Understandably, the former gladiator was given a wide berth as he entered. Most knew by his walk cycle alone that he wasn't in the mood to be messed with and thus made sure to steer clear, not wanting to be reduced to a stain on the floor.

A few moments after sitting down, Megatronus was presented with a tall glass of his favorite high grade.

"Thank you." He acknowledged the server before curling his digits around the glass and taking a sip.

The high grade buzzed pleasantly through his system, easing the tension in his frame. It would take a dozen more drinks for him to even feel its true effect. He'd grown quite tolerant of alcohol, which could be considered both a curse and a blessing.

Megatronus had barely downed half of his drink when someone sat across from him. His optics briefly flicked up from his drink to take a peek before returning to their original position. The mech was similar in size to him with broad shoulders and thick forearms. His color scheme consisted of muddled grays and browns, with a few worn streaks of red on the front of his helm. He looked to be a grounder, considering the large treads behind his shoulders, but the wings that peeked out from his back suggested that he was a flier. Perhaps he was a triple-changer? Megatronus had never seen one in person, though he had heard the stories.

Annoyance festered within his spark. This mech had the audacity to walk to the back of the room (which was forty feet from the front door, mind you) and sit down at his table, all without asking permission.

"If you want to keep your face intact, I suggest you leave." Megatronus rumbled dangerously.

The mech chuckled. "Now, now.. that's no way to greet an old friend." His voice sounded like someone had put his vocal cords through a blender made of sandpaper.

Megatronus lifted a brow. "Old friend? You must be mistaken. Certainly I would remember an old friend if I saw one. You are no friend of mine."

"Allow me to jog your memory, then, D-16."

Something ancient stirred within Megatronus, something he thought he'd buried a long time ago. The conditioning that had been drilled into him still lingered in the dark recesses of his mind. An all too familiar feeling, one that definitely wasn't welcome.

"Keep that designation out of your mouth." Megatronus seethed venomously. He nearly crushed his glass in his servo. "I earned my freedom."

A sleazy grin slid across the mech's face. "You may have earned your freedom from those who imprisoned you, but you are still a prisoner."

"What is this nonsense that you speak of?" Megatronus demanded, growing impatient.

"Use your processor and figure it out! I know you're smart." The mech hissed. "The High Council sits on their throne of lies while we grovel at their feet like insects. Why do you think they keep the wealth in Iacon? So everyone else will have to come crawling to them if they need help. They don't care about equality, they care about holding power over the people."

"Precisely why I am building a movement against them."

"Diplomacy will get you nowhere."

"Diplomacy will get me an audience with the Council."

The mech barked a laugh. "You think they're just going to sit down and listen to you complain about their governing methods? You're more of a fool than I thought."

Megatronus was becoming irritated. While he enjoyed a good debate, this mech was taking it to another level. "What do you propose, then? A full-scale attack on the capital? We want the slaughter to stop, not continue!" He retorted.

"You and I have very different views when it comes to what we want, my friend." The mech took the drink, downed the rest of it in one gulp, and rose from his seat. "It would be wise to rethink your approach. You want to succeed, don't you?"

Megatronus sat there in utter shock before realizing the mech had started to leave. "Wait!" He called to him, and he paused to look over his shoulder. "At least tell me your name."

The mech released a snort and smirked. "It's Styx." He replied before turning and pushing his way out the door.

While this wasn't the strangest encounter he's ever had, it certainly made the top ten. Megatronus stared blankly at his now empty glass, reflecting on Styx's words. Should he rethink his approach? Would diplomacy prevail here when it hasn't in the past? Perhaps he should look at other options in case diplomacy did fail.

But was violence truly an answer?