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"Orian Pax. How are the Iacon files going?"

"They go as any set of code should Lord Megatron. Through wires and pixels."

Orian carefully turned his wrist to face downwards, faceplates fixed on the screen. A drop of energon had fallen from said wrist. He subtly stepped on it.

"How much have you finished?"

"I am a bit rusty. After all, I was in stasis."

"Your log history says you breached sensitive information. More specifically information regarding the Autobots."

Orian kept a cool helm. He could feel Megatron's piercing gaze upon him. He concentrated on the code in front of him to keep the instinctual blush to a minimum.

"I needed referencing material."

Well done Orian. Referencing material for a bunch of code. What is this? A geography project?

"I see."

Megatron stared at Orian/Optimus Prime's turned back struts with narrowed optics.

"Well... Keep it up. I don't want to hear the same excuse again. As lame as it was."

Orian blushed profusely. He didn't dare to look behind him until the sound of the automatic doors closing reached his audials. He sighed and lowered his servos.

He winced as the crusted cut reopened. He pressed a digit to it to keep the bleeding to a minimum.

Flipping through his inventory, apart from his emergency tools, he had been slightly surprised, concerned, and reassured to find a pair of blades and blasters (pun unintended)

Of course. His past had wasted no time in giving him a panic attack.

"I'm not leaving you!"
"Idiot! Stick to the plan and run!"
Vega threw another crate at Sentinel. He was at a loss at what to do.
"I'll be ok! Now go-"
Time stopped. There was a blade.
He finally ran.

When his vision finally cleared, he found that he had given into the temptation again.

That... was the real reason he hadn't finished the Iacon data files.

"Frag."

A loud knocking distracted him. He remembered the quick fix for cable cuts that Vega had taught him.

He bite the cable.

To a fresher medic it would look like the wound was cauterised. Only an experienced veteran could discern the non-segmented dentae impression.

His hand lost feeling and began to gray a little. Nevertheless, the bleeding had stopped. Not having a cloth, he had to lick off the spilt energon from his wrist.

When the doors opened, he was back on the screen. His servo lay limp over the keyboard as he used his forearm articulators to subtly control it.

The vehicon stared at him.

Had his panic attack been that loud? Orian turned to look at him.

"What?"

"....Do your job."

The vehicon left. The door clicked closed. Orian sighed.

That was close.

He stared at the monitor, memories slowly trickling in.

If he was going to fulfill the task Primus gave him, he had to win over the trust of the entire Decepticon faction AND somehow get into Megatron's trustworthy books again.