Broken Allegiance | Transformers Prime [2] (On Hiatus)

𝟎𝟎𝟓

No one read my rights. No one offered me an attorney for my defense. Such laws and customs just didn't apply in these matters. My fate was entirely in the hands of the FBI. Life sure had a way of throwing curveballs. 

I was sitting in a hard wooden chair. The cuffs on my hands were too tight, and my pain receptors were fighting a losing battle to quell the ache. The detective stood before me, eclipsing the light, and didn't look kind or comforting.

"I don't think you realize how serious this charge against you is, Miss Chenkov."

"I know how serious it is. I also know it's ridiculous."

I felt like I was having a 1v1 with this detective, but I wasn't alone. Sitting next to me was a teenage boy who looked to be around my age, if not older. His hair was a shiny black that went down in straight lines, masking his ears. He had sun-kissed skin and eyes that I could've been mistaken for gold if they were shone on a light. The boy had some air of recklessness to him, as well as an air of confidence, and I had to admit—he was the type to be fancied, but I quickly expelled that thought from my mind.

I sat there, my leg bouncing up and down in anticipation as the sudden realization hit me like a ton of bricks. 9301-115. I was sitting beside him.

After all this time...

9301-115 and I used to chat online on this highly encrypted platform that had connections to dozens of sleeper agents around the globe. After sending out a distress call in urgent need of assistance in trying to find ways to kill the Autobots back then, he was the one who reached out and messaged me, shortly after I had gone to bed one night.

Requesting backup.

Requiring assistance.

In need of your services.

Call to arms.

Agent in distress.

Bring reinforcements.

Help.

         SC# 9301-115: Message received, 7920. What's the plan?

I remembered when I had become desperate. When finding ways to end the Autobots had utterly consumed me and led me to my wild search for sleeper agents around the globe who were willing to aid me on my mission even though I knew it was against the law of Espionage and against Vassily's Integrity Code to contact anyone who was outside of my sources. 

Meaning that I wasn't allowed to establish contact with anyone;  I wasn't allowed to have help on my mission. But I did it anyway, and I was glad I did.

9301-115 was here with me now, in this interrogation room after I hadn't seen him since that dead drop we made in Chinatown.

Emerging from the shadows into the broad daylight was a figure, a silhouette with a sleek hard drive in hand. Code name 9301-115 stepped into the light, revealing a face I had only imagined—a guy with sun-kissed tan skin, silky black hair cascading to his ears, and golden brown eyes that bore the weight of shared secrets. In that moment, our hands moved in synchronous motion. He handed me his hard drive, and I reciprocated with mine. Our fingers brushed against each other, the tactile exchange a silent acknowledgment of a partnership forged in the shadows. Our eyes locked,  his smirk spoke volumes, and he walked past me, leaving me standing there, holding the hard drive that held the secrets of our clandestine world. 

9301-115 was a sleeper agent. I was too. We were both in the same room. So that meant we were potentially being tried for the same thing. Treason.

That last tidbit was obvious because I had ultimately failed my mission which caused Vassily's hitmen to come after me. That was an act of retaliation—Vassily's warning to me that there was more in store for my downfall.