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The squishy hostages were a varied group because they’d been randomly taken off a bus. There was nothing special about them, but the fact that they were humans meant that the Autobots valued their lives. None of the Decepticons were actually paying much attention to them, more focused on creating as many cubes as possible in a short amount of time.
Megatron was overseeing the production of the cubes when he received an unexpected comm from Soundwave.
[Suggestion: Observe the humans.]
The hostages in question were being guarded by Astrotrain. The triple-changer was lounging, servos behind his helm, clearly secure in the idea that the squishies were not even going to attempt escape. Then Megatron realized that two of the hostages, the smallest two, who carried cloth sacks on their backs, were both watching the conversation between Blitzwing and Astrotrain with interest.
“I don’t see why we gotta give ’em back,” opinioned Astrotrain. “Let’s just throw ’em off the docking tower.”
The two squishies looked at each other in unmistakable fear. But…surely that was just a coincidence? There was no way they could have understood Astrotrain’s words, because they'd been in Kaonite. A human couldn't understand Kaonite, their brains simply weren't advanced enough...
Were they?
Intrigued, Megatron decided to perform an experiment.
“Astrotrain. Blitzwing. I have changed my mind. We are going to destroy the hostages,” he said.
One of the squishies wailed.
“You do understand us,” said Megatron, suitably impressed. This could be a problem: the Decepticons tended to speak freely in front of humans. Who knew what information they’d already given away? This was all Starscream's fault.
“Please don’t kill us!” cried the other one, the one who hadn’t screamed. “You said we’d be safe if we did what you said!”
“Oh, God,” whimpered the first squishy. “They really are gonna kill us.”
“What the hell did you do?” demanded one of the elder squishies.
“Nothing!”
“You dumb bimbo! You’ve just killed us all! They were going to let us go!”
“Don’t yell at her!” shouted the other squishy.
“You stupid kids! I told you to shut up and sit down!”
“Enough! Humans, I demand to know where you learned our language.”
“In school,” said Squishy Number Two. “Um. In school.”
“You are taught by Autobots?”
“I wish!” said Squishy Number One, the alleged femme.
Megatron had so many questions that he wasn’t certain where to start. Luckily, Squishy Number Two was shockingly perceptive, for a human, and tried to explain further.
“Fifty years—I mean, five decivorns ago, the Autobots taught our government their language, as part of the agreement for letting them stay on Earth. Eventually the government published, uh, crap, I guess you call them datapads?”
“Yes.”
“—datapads. Educational datapads. For the general public.”
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why would you want to learn to speak Iaconian? The Autobots speak your languages.”
“I don’t know. It’s just…cool.” The flesh creature showed its dentae. With most organics this was a threat, but with humans it was a display of friendliness. “Anyway, then they decided to offer it in schools. Nobody wants to take French or Spanish anymore.”
“I see,” lied Megatron. “And how did you learn Kaonite?”
“I don’t know how my species got it from yours. But they teach all the different dialects in school, you can pick whichever...Iaconian and Kaonite are the most popular, though.”
“You have to be able to write both alphabets by midterms,” contributed the other squishy.
“Yeah, and when we get exchange students that don’t speak English, we can still talk to them.”
By this point, all activity had come to a screeching halt. Every Decepticon was now staring at the squishies who supposedly understood, wrote, and possibly even spoke their language.
“Make it say something!” encouraged Astrotrain.
“Oh, come on, my pronunciation is so bad…” the squishy was turning pink. It covered its faceplates with embarrassed servos. The mechs were clearly disappointed. “Okay, okay! Um. Please don’t step on me!”
The Decepticon soldiers had a rather straightforward sense of humor, and they laughed uproariously.
“Can all flesh creatures do that?” someone asked.
“It said they teach it in schools, moron.”
“Do something else!” encouraged Blitzwing.
“I have something,” said the femme. “But you can’t get mad if I screw it up.”
“I must hear this,” said Megatron, half expecting the squishy to break out into Quintesson next.
“Alright.” She cleared her throat. “The mech who wears chains and labors under the whip knows that he is a slave. When he has his chance, he will break his chains and turn on his wardens.”
There was the sound of something smashing: Soundwave had dropped his datapad.
“But the mech who does not wear chains believes that he is free. He is content because he cannot see or feel his shackles. He has been fed assurances of justice and equality. He is willfully blind to evidence of his own imprisonment. He will live and he will die never having known the truth.
“We are the backbone of our world. We are the guardians, the laborers, and the warriors. Without us, Cybertron would crumble. And yet, we are slaves. Some of us wear chains, some of us do not. But there is no difference between the miner and the shopkeeper in the eyes of the Senate. All are equally insignificant.
“We have watched the Senate slowly rot from within. There is no integrity, only subjugation. The elite grow more powerful every cycle that passes. The beggar dies in the street, and the noblemech smiles as he passes.
“This injustice ends here. Our people have been deluded into believing that they are free, and this has kept them in a submissive state for hundreds of vorns. No more. We were sparked slaves to the Quintessons and we won our freedom. It will be won again.
“Peace through tyranny.”
The room was utterly silent. The femme put her hands in her pockets and shifted on her pedes.
“Preface to the Decepticon Manifesto,” she explained for the benefit of the other squishies. “It was my extra credit project sophomore year.”
“I think you broke them,” said the male squishy.