The stars were always a comfort to Megatronus.

The majority of his life had been spent in the suffocating darkness of a mine, completing the same repetitive tasks day-in and day-out. There was no sunlight to suggest the passage of time, no functional chronometer to tell him when he could expect his next energon ration. Each day was one menial routine after another, his systems consistently short on energon and recharge. Miners were always starved of both. They were kept functional enough to work, but the deficit ensured that was all they had the energy for.

Megatronus’ overseer in the mines once said hunger inspired obedience, for hunger could tame even the most defiant spirit. After living with it for centuries, Megatronus grudgingly had to agree.

His life was different now. Better. A gladiator’s duties were simple: fight, put on a good show, and repeat. He trained to keep himself sharp, but apart from that, Megatronus’ schedule was relatively free and unmonitored. “Down-time” was still a novel concept to him, as was the small sum of profits he received from each fight and the overwhelming implication of freedom that particular benefit carried with it. The variety was refreshing.

His first paycheck had gone to a data pad. The tablet was purchased second-hand from a sketchy street hawker who no doubt pilfered the pad from some unsuspecting scholar or Pits patron. The upper-right-hand corner was chipped, the screen was so dim it was utterly useless in bright sunlight, and it flickered on and off in protest if it was used for hours at a time.

Megatronus loved it. [...]