Program: Rewrite

Chapter One

  When I was drafted as a spy, I had no plans, no grand dreams, only orders. I did what I was told, and if I was good at my job, if I didn't get caught, I got to live. Being useful kept me from going offline through the long years of conflict. When it finally became apparent that the Autobots were going to win, I realized I had to start making plans. Once the orders stopped coming, I knew I'd be lost, drifting around, trying to find my place. Being told what to do keeps me grounded.

  I'm naturally stealthy, quiet, and enough of a wallflower that hardly anyone looks twice at me. It's what makes me good at subterfuge - I fade into the background like I'm part of it. And you know what? I like it that way. Let the big shots have all the fame and recognition; it's pressure I could do without. Once people start looking up to you, they start expecting more of you. It's a neverending spiral; the more you perform, the higher the stakes get. Once you slip up though, that's it. All faith in you is destroyed, even your own.

  Unfortunately, it seemed that despite my efforts to avoid it, I gained prestige in my career of espionage. My CO started assigning me more difficult jobs, many life-threatening. The job began to weigh on me, and the pressure to perform started eating away at my performance. The night I nearly blew a critical mission was the night I finally decided enough was enough. When the war was over, I was going to leave everything behind and start fresh.

  Now the war is over, and I'm finding myself unable to walk away. Some part of me still feels obligated to keep serving.

  As I make my way to Commander Prowl's office, I try to reason with that stubborn part of me. If I can't overcome it, all my plans will have been for nothing. I finally reach the commander's office and buzz the intercom. He lets me in and I stand in front of his desk, servos clasped behind my back military-style. Being trained as a spy didn't mean I got to bypass proper military conduct training, courtesy of Ultra Magnus.

  Prowl stands at the single window in his office overlooking the city. He looks imposing with the dying sun casting dramatic shadows behind him. I suppose that's why he chose that position. He turns and walks to his desk, picks up a report from his desk, scans it, frowns, and places it back down. He pulls out his seat and settles into it.

"These are troubling times, Agent. The war may be over but the fighting is not."

  I maintain a respectful silence. Much as I hate to admit it, he's right; bitter enemies don't forget a four-million-year war overnight. There will undoubtedly be further clashes before we can hash out a peace treaty; once the real fighting ends though, the political sparring begins. But I know where this is leading. I can't let him win. I can't let him shame me into service again.

  The Paraxian steeples his digits and studies me over the tips. I force myself to meet his scrutinous gaze, my faceplate a blank, respectful mask. It's going to take a whole lot of my training to get through this.

"Everyone has a vital role to play, particularly those handling the more...delicate matters." He leans forward slightly. "Don't forget, we pulled you off the streets and taught you everything you know."

There it is - the guilt trip. And now the clincher...

"Tell me, Agent, can I count on your support?"

  I allow my optics to drift downwards and a moment of silence to pass. My pedes shift uncomfortably. Then I speak up:

"Sir...I'm afraid my performance as of late has been...unsatisfactory."

"Hmph. If that's what you're concerned about, I can transfer you to a lower division. But I can't let you go; you're too valuable."

"With all due respect, sir, you said yourself these are trying times. A single mistake could plunge us into another war."

"Not if we play it carefully. Shade, you're one of my best. You've made it this far, surely you can make it until this peace is settled into something manageable."

  'Something manageable'. It won't stop there - I know him too well. He'll keep convincing and manipulating until he's guaranteed my service for my entire life cycle. He's backed me into a corner, and I loathe him for it. No matter what objection I raise, he'll shoot it down. I vent inwardly in frustration. I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but I can't say I'm surprised. He never changes.

"Yes, sir."

  Prowl nods in satisfaction. I swear I can see the tiniest amount of smugness on his faceplate. He thinks he's got me. He's not going to be so self-assured soon.

"Good. You're dismissed for now. Stand by for further orders. And Shade..."

  I pause in my departure and give him my full attention.

"I would suggest altering your features somewhat. Your line of work depends on going unnoticed and undetected. Dismissed. " He turns his attention to the myriad of datapads on his desk.

  Hmph. So he heard about my fiasco with the 'Cons the other day. I give him a respectful nod and exit his office, heading for the elevator. I need to clear my head and do some serious thinking.