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Bridge

The typical din that pervaded the bridge of the Decepticon Battleship Thanatos had been reduced to an eerie quiet that was disturbed only periodically by the warble from the various manned stations alerting their personnel of changes in status or movements of various Earthen debris. Minor variations in the alert tones combined into a tense harmony that only served to enhance the near sense of abandonment that filtered through the few crewmembers that had remained behind under Razorclaw’s direct command. Two rows of consoles that lined the middle segments of the bridge, twelve consoles per side, had few participants in the daily grind of running the powerful Instrument of Destruction that characterized Shockwave’s own personal design. Ten of the normal forty eight stations were presently manned. Helm and Navigation were fused to the responsibilities of a single freshly minted Vehicon that had been pulled from the maintenance staff after its predecessor had met with a rather violent demise during the brief skirmish for the throne. Tactical was at a loss, as most of the batteries had been rerouted to a pair of consoles that fell under the prevue of a nondescript yet surprisingly efficient scout type. The others were monitoring life support and repairs that were still under way since the battle’s conclusion. It was an admirable feet as the downtrodden and at times disrespected minions of the lower castes were able to rise to the challenges.

To most such actions would be a surprise, as they were hardly combat models. Indeed nearly all of the combat type vehicons had been summoned to the arid surface of the backwater world that loomed upon the forward view screen like a blot of corrosive acidic reactions of blue, white and brown that had been cut in half by the edge of a micro precision vibration blade. Individuals stepping beyond their programming, beyond their function, it was the hallmark of the Decepticon credo. It was the original excuse used by Megatron himself in his mad grab for power… at least before it all devolved into a grizzled civil war.

On the elevated island platform that stretched over the columns in the control well, was set a ring of surveillance command interfaces built around the thick and tall backed throne shaped chair. A dozen holographic displays circled around an invisible cone of light embedded at the pinnacle of control arc. Each of the windows was a vast wealth of information being subconsciously transmitted from the surface of the wretched planet below by vehicon soldiers or by the noncombatant laborers who had been dispatched to erect ill advised defenses. As each screen updated a faint haunting glow flickered upon the narrow toothed maw of the command chair’s inhabitant.

Slowly the silhouetted figure pressed his finger tips together forming a large steeple as he leaned back in the symbol of command. He rested his elbows upon the arm rests before absently tapping the two index fingers together, further obscuring his vestige from the dim lights of the changing monitors. Each monitor flickered briefly as line items were absorbed and rendered into visual data… the signals becoming more and more strained. It was an expected development for any battle as each passing moment a number on the lower stationary displays were flashed before going gunmetal gray.

The figure’s dimmed optics absorbed the data almost as rapidly as it changed in accordance to the real time shifts in the paradigm on the battlefield. Each icon on the flat screen tactical display moved about the base of the sandstone monolith the humans called Ayers Rock. Autobots and Decepticons, though there were decidedly more Decepticons than Autobots displayed on the field of battle, those numerical differences were waning on a staggering pace. The Decepticon Air Force alone had suffered catastrophic losses, leaving enough alive to possibly reform two squadrons but by the estimations of the tactical computers even that figure was unlikely. NCO’s of the Vehicon ground forces had been eradicated, most of the survivors were rudderless and being shredded by the advancing energy signals of near unprecedented calibers. One communiqué log that had been transmitted to the bridge had simply labeled the creatures as Rock Lords, a pathetic name to something so primitive yet so effective.

A dart of the left optic forced the holographic display to switch from the tactical maps to more live feeds from various unit scouts that were still functional albeit out of the fight. In rapid succession short feeds were absorbed into the data base showing stills of the Decepticon military succumb to a flawed and poorly devised stratagem. Details were not necessary; the images spoke for themselves as the massive stone creatures lumbered in and out of view of the stationary Vehicons before they too were to join the great All Spark with those who had fallen before. A pair of feeds slowly came into resolution after the twenty seventh sweep of the available frequencies. Their locations were immediately recorded on the tactical display, near the heart of the heaviest fighting that had been registered.

Breaking his position briefly, the right hand reached over to the control panel inset in the arm rest. Immediately the two feeds were set into a single holographic window causing the images to inhabit the split screen. Upon the right screen was a ten second recording of a large lime green construct. Many times larger than its components which were still recognizable in its unrefined design, the construct appeared to be relentless in its offensive prowess as it reached down and plucked a Rock Lord from the ground with both hands and heaved it straight into two more reconsolidating monstrosities. The left screen was a recording of five seconds. Its contents were as interesting as those of the right.

Its footage was brief and damning. Six Autobots had made it to the summit with Ultra Magnus diving into the fight in order to bring the battle to a quick conclusion. The abominations of Springer, Sandstorm and Broadside had narrowly escaped an instantaneous death by the efforts of a fellow soldier. Those were the actions of the foreground. They were the actions that were utterly predictable by the likes of the Autobots. Self sacrifice was a notion of the weak and rudderless. And while the close range barrage of weapons fire towards the engagement’s lone objective was entertaining… it was what was going on in the background that was of the most interest. The Predacon Commander and his would be usurpers were drawing back.

After such heavy losses it was only natural that a commander of an army would withdraw and regroup to save their forces for a future engagement. Tactically it was acceptable, even strategically advisable given their ill advised alliance with their most hated enemies. However, given the recent past and the methods of deceit and mutiny that had given rise to the heights that Razorclaw presently enjoyed… the very act of relinquishing any standing to the Autobots could be viewed as treason… with the appropriate spin on the events and evidence provided to bolster the claims should they arise.

The right index finger tapped a new set of commands into the armrest console. The right image was immediately filtered from all records and all appearances of the green construct were scrubbed. Copies of the data were transferred to subspace computer cores that were not part of the Thanatos’ main computer network. Once that was done a second set of commands was entered and the records of the battle on the surface of Earth as well as a full testimonial of the events that had lead up to the current catastrophe that was evolving on the planet was amended to the data package.

Without Soundwave present to monitor the ship’s communications or hamper his efforts, the entire data package was uploaded into a triple encrypted subspace network. Moments later the monitor flickered gold in acknowledgement that the data had been compressed and successfully uploaded to the transmitter. A third command was entered and the data was copied multiple times and sent to various vaults across the empire. Each data packet was tagged with a quantum detonator protocol, that should his cybermetrics ever cease their continual updates with his private laboratories located throughout the cosmos, the data packages would transmit to every single Decepticon Official, Warlord or Commander in the galaxy. Of course, once things were in place, such a transmission was all the more likely.

The fourth command was entered into the system and eradicated the evidence of the transmission while installing mining programs and worms into the main computer and sub computer cores. Each program branched out and slowly began to infect the historical data banks of each core, harvesting data that pertained to the world below, regardless of sensitivity. Once their harvest was completed, they would transmit their findings to the off network core before they too would eradicate themselves leaving no evidence of their existence. It was time to begin ending this foolish notion that this world held any significance.

He completed his brief task before returning his hand to the steeple. Before him the lone image of Razorclaw ordering the Decepticons to fall back burned brightly. In the ghastly hue of light a narrow grin emerged from behind the fingers as the vestige of Thunderwing leaned forward. “Excellent," was the lone word he would offer as the rest of the scene played out.

Thanatos – Medical lab, inside sealed cupboard.

Mal Practice sat back on his makeshift chair and rubbed his temples. His optics were disengaged and the room was pitch black, but he was free from unwanted distractions like communication screens, medical reports and – most importantly - patients. This made it the perfect place for him to focus his skills and practice the finer points of his surgical art in extreme conditions. He had been aware of a scuffle outside a while ago, but as this was a Decepticon ship and all had been quiet for the last few weeks (...months?) he figured that either it had been sorted out or everyone was dead. Either way as long as it gave him time to study and work he didn't care.
Mind you, Pych hadn't checked in for a while either, maybe he’d better take a quick look at his messages.

You have 52,861 unread messages.

“Ugh. Filter messages by urgency, priority 1 and 2 only, delete all others.”

You have 26, 030 unread messages.

“Hmmm. Scan and select all messages with the following key words: ‘Orders’, ‘Instructions’, ‘Emergency’, ‘Imperative’ (Shockwave loved that one) and ‘Command’ ...Delete all.”

You have 43 unread messages.

That’s better... now let’s see.... Junk, junk, junk, cat pictures? Ugh,Psychout and his dumb earth internet obsession. Ah, here we go, “Where the slagging slag are you, you slagger!!1!”. That’ll be him.

Hmmm. Fallen, Prowl, blah blah blah, Shockwave, Golems, blah blah bah, Landgrab ...oh, and A CONSTRUCTICON OVER A MILLION FEET TALL... Now that changes everything.

Mal Practice dropped the pristine arm he had constructed back on the cases he was using as a table and re-engaged his optics, flooding the room with their blue light, one of the many indications of his faction allegiance prior to his expulsion from the Autobots. He inspected his illuminated work, and (as always!) it was flawless. Even working in absolute darkness by touch alone. I really am that good! Humility never had been his strongest asset.

But now it was time to follow Psych down to that mudball, away from his studies and his peace and quiet to investigate this new colossus and 'Fallen' phenomenon, but first... let’s see what’s been going on in my lab over the last few months. He exited his confinement and found his path blocked by a ton of scrap just strewn around the lab up against the door. Barging it aside, he stepped urgently towards the Medical bays computer array acting as if he had always been there but the lab appeared empty.

>>>Uh, boss, this is Mal... a green and purple giant you say? Well, there’s few flecks of bodywork here and there, but these guys were careful and the medical drones and vidscopes have been wiped, if they were used at all. A few instrument calibrations have anomalous readings and this place definitely smells of Mixmaster, but there’s been a lot going on up here apparently, so we'll get nothing from here.<<<

He double checked his protocols on the complex medical computers, he was still listed as senior medical operative. He pushed his luck and accessed the medical files of the Constructicons. Scrappers was above his authority level, but he could puzzle that one out later, the rest of them were laid bare before him, but no new information on any modifications, interconnectivity, synchronisation routines, neural linkages... these guys had been really careful, but that was expected of a unit like that. He scrolled though the patient records, there were big holes in the data, but there are other ways of finding out the rest of it. The important point is that this, right here, was a great starting block to work from.

He added copies the files to his medical database, along with his teams and a few dozen other faction members records in case his medical skills were actually needed down there and, barely able to hide his excitement, transformed into his boxcar ambulance mode and took off towards the bounce chamber at full pelt.

>>>Right, the Contructicons were definitely working up here, but they were very careful. Whatever they did was off the record, but I’ve got what I can on them as it’ll give us a good start. I’ll be down with you shortly, try and kill ‘em all before I get there this time...<<<

As he hit the bounce chamber, it occurred to him that the whole ship was rather quiet. Surely he should have passed someone on the drive there? What exactly was going on dow-

Bounce Chamber/Medical Bay

As the white light deposited the trio back into the dull violet luminescence of the Decepticon battlecruiser's interior, Flamewar immediately stepped off of the orbital bounce pad and lumbered into the innards of the warship, making a beeline for the medical bay. She opened up communications with the ship itself and requisitioned that several medical drones meet them on their way. Grunting as she readjusted her grip on the phase sixer once more, she continued deeper into the ship.

>>”Sixshot, are you still with me? Before he died, Bitstream spouted off part of your shutdown code. Buzzsaw ripped off his head before he finished,”<< the black operative added, figuring that the knowledge might bring some measure of gratification to the teal titan, >>”With Megatron gone, this means now that Starscream is the only one who knows your code. That's dangerous.”<<

Flamewar paused for a moment before continuing, >>”Do you know your shut down code?”<<

“Knock-Out!” The black and red femme called out as she lumbered into the medical bay with the drones assisting her by supporting the six changer. She spotted an empty medical berth and made haste depositing Sixshot gently onto it. The black operative grunted and stood up tall, rotating her shoulder joints. “There are two injured. Sixshot is in need of immediate medical attention. I'll leave him to you,” she said eying the red and gold mech.

The femme turned toward Warwolf and gestured for him to join her at the nearest unoccupied medical berth. Communicating with the warship even as she prepped her work space, Flamewar sent all available medical drones toward the bounce chamber with the orders handed down by Razorclaw. They hurried out of the medical bay in droves as she looked over to Warwolf.

“I'll work on you. Hop on up. How are your energon levels? Feeling alright?”

Medical Bay

Warwolf had no other option but to follow his former mentor back towards the safe confounds of the Thanatos. Being left with one arm only left him with a limited amounts of options and unfortunately for him none of those could benefit the current situation unfolding down there. The interrogator wrapped his clawed actuators around the cauterized wound where his one of his alternate mode’s heads sat, the sting from Flamewar’s sword still etching away at his pain receptors. If had more time back up there to prepare himself for the quick amputee work, he would have disabled those very receptors but alas…

Flamewar was doing what she could to limp Sixshot into the Medical center while Warwolf followed behind. Figured it was best to stay out of both of their ways. Phase Sixers, even if critically damaged were still highly unpredictable while Flamewar was just… Flamewar.

-

“That should about do it!” Knock-Out exclaimed as he set the power buffer down and examined the smooth polish on his forearm kibble before turning back to a lithe-purple colored Medical drone. “That’s the last time I work anywhere near a fusion-core reactor and you simultaneously.” Raising his arm up into the air to admire his own handy work in the light of the room, a faint grin etched the right side of his faceplate. “Remind me to adjust the lighting in my workshop. It’s starting to look a little grim compared to the contrast the main lab gives-“

”Knock-Out!” Flamewar called out, cutting the red and gold medic’s train of thought off as she stammered into the room carting a heavily damaged Sixshot over her shoulder.

“Primus! Couldn’t you have at least knocked before barging in like that!” The doctor enthusiastically proclaimed as his arms fluttered in the air around him after being startled by the crimson and black femme’s arrival.

”Sixshot is in need of immediate medical attention. I’ll leave him to you.”

“My, how thoughtful of you.” Knock-Out replied, his tone laced full of his own patented brand of sarcasm. “Wait, did you say Sixsho-“ Again, he was cut off by the sight of the Phase Sixer being deposited on an empty medical berth. His hollow black and crimson optics lit up in disbelief as the sight was boggling with his own processor.

“How did he- I mean… What could’ve-…” The doctor was at a loss for words as he stroked his chin strut looking for something of an explanation. “This guy is a P6er… They don’t just crumple like tin foil.” Knock-Out began to study the fracture marks and cracks that decorated the teal and white Decepticon’s nearly indestructible chassis.

“Pheeeeeeewwwww….” The doctor whistled admirably, “This might take a bit… But it could possibly be my finest work if it all pays off.”

-

I’ll work on you. Hop on up. How are your Energon levels? Feeling alright?”

“Gah! Take it easy there, Flamewar!” Warwolf replied as he climbed up onto a medical slab. “You’re sounding a little worried there, didn’t think you actually cared that much.” The interrogator let out a small snicker before it turned back into a hiss of pain. He set his back down onto the berth and rubbed at the wound with his hand again, trying to ease himself from the sting it was withholding. Getting back to the question at hand, Warwolf stared up at the operating light before listing off the information his former mentor requested.

“Energon is at 87%. Thanks to the cauterizing that is… Feeling okay for the moment, just a slight sting where the arm was. You don’t think the Cosmic Rust lingers a bit, do ya?”

Medical Bay

Flamewar, for the most part, completely ignored Knock-Out's insufferable yammering. Most of it was incredulous or indignant babbling, and all of it was entirely predictable. She looked over to the gold and red medic with a rather bored expression on her faceplate. Her crimson optics glanced over to Sixshot's broken form for a moment before directing her glare back toward the medic.

“This guy is a P6er… They don’t just crumple like tin foil."

“That should tell you something, then, shouldn't it?” Flamewar asked rhetorically, her voice laced with subtle undertones of venom. “He challenged the Fallen to a one-mech duel. He lost. But he didn't die. So at least that says something about our phase sixers,” Flamewar explained before turning to her former pupil as he approached the berth.

“Gah! Take it easy there, Flamewar!" Warwolf replied as he climbed up onto a medical slab. “You’re sounding a little worried there, didn’t think you actually cared that much."

Flamewar scowled and folded her arms over her chest plate, tapping her foot lightly on the floor. Waiting expectantly.

“Energon is at 87%. Thanks to the cauterizing that is… Feeling okay for the moment, just a slight sting where the arm was. You don’t think the Cosmic Rust lingers a bit, do ya?"

With her prior question finally answered, Flamewar picked up a laser scalpel and swatting Warwolf's hand away from his stump. “If it did, you'd be dead by now. I mixed a catalyst with that particular sample of cosmic rust. Works fast,” she answered flicking on the laser scalpel and sealing any leaks that her sword had not managed to seal, clamping a hand down on his shoulder so the interrogator would not flinch. Flamewar was just feeling a mite testy and hadn't bothered to disengage his neural sensors there yet.

After a few astroseconds, Flamewar released her patient and set the laser scalpel back down onto the tray. “Alright...now comes the tedious bit...Building you a new arm. And no, you cannot have a fusion cannon.” Setting up a scan of Warwolf, Flamewar walked briskly to a worktable and snatched up a datapad from it. As she made her way back to her former student, she accessed his file and looked at the schematics for his missing appendage.

She glanced back to his injury and scowled at it with narrowed optics as if it were the most vile thing she had ever seen. Snatching up a tool from the tray, she set the datapad down and dug into Warwolf's shoulder with gusto, offlining his neural receptors to his shoulder. “Need to remove this damaged stuff before we can stick a new arm on you,” she said by way of explanation, “Also just double checking for cosmic rust. We can't really take any chances with it...”

Medical Bay

Sixshot remained aware of what was happening around him as Flamewar carried him through the Thanatos with the assistance of some medical drones. He was weak to be sure but still functioning and somewhat coherent. The sound of her transmission brought him out of a momentary daze as she questioned him about his secret shut down code and whether or not he knew it. The phase sixer let out a groan at the mention of Starscream before he opened a private comm line back to the Decepticon femme.

>>”Of course.....I know....the code. I.....have to hear it spoken.....before it puts me....into stasis. I cannot say it....aloud because....I could shut....myself down.”<<

The severely damaged STAG was then placed onto a med berth as Flamewar drew Knock-Out’s attention away from whatever it was he had been doing. Sixshot could hear the conversation and the crimson mechanic’s comments regarding how the sixchanger could have ended up in such a terrible and unusual state. Unusual because it had never happened to the phase sixer before and would hopefully never happen again.

“Oh, it will...pay off, Knock-Out,” Sixshot managed to say as he grabbed ahold of the red mech’s forearm. Even in such a weakened condition, the grasp of a phase sixer still held a bit more strength than an average ‘Con. “Or it will be....you....that crumples....like tin foil. Got it?” The STAG released the mechanic and laid his cranial unit back down onto the med berth.

It sounded like it was coming from across the room, but Sixshot overheard the words of Flamewar as she explained to Knock-Out what had happened to him. Yes, it certainly does say something about a phase sixer's ability that he could survive what the Fallen had done to him. Most mechs would’ve died instantly or at the very least ended up in stasis lock. But not Sixshot. He was too strong, too tough, to end up like that. Now, if only he could rid himself of the shut down code he’d be right as rain.

Bridge

"Now that is interesting." A low gravely voice crept out from the sunken shadows before the myriads of floating displays that cast pale green hews over the command island above the working well. A clawed finger reached up from the shadows and pressed the image yet again and forced it to rewind to only a few moments before. A flick of the digit reactivated the replay sequence, though the audio was low.

On the central monitor the green hulking figure reached out and took hold of a stone giant. It then proceeded to tear it in half and bath in its viscera. The process was inspired genius, perhaps, or the act of a deranged mind relishing its new found liberties. Either way once the construct was coated in the rust red quartz like mineral, it proceeded to dive into the swirling mass of flame, smoke and dust. Was this an act of bravery or stupidity? It was always difficult to discern the differences between the two. Even the resulting act that followed failed to effectively line up in either category.

A pair of seconds ticked away and the spiraling storm began to bulge and billow at the seems. Then, as if an unfathomable force had been unleashed in its center, the storm was torn asunder. Its tornado pillars remained but the obstructing sandstorm and smoke filled walls were sent into rapidly extinguishing shreds. At the center of the image the monitor filled in the gaps as best it could. There the green behemoth of ancient technology reborn stood, its fist buried partially in the heart of a crater of dirt. At the far end of the summit, a large trench had been forged... still smoldering and seething power. At its end the image of the deformed Cybertronian, the cause of these issues and irritations.

The figure reached forth again and this time narrowed the feed to a single point on the Deformed Fallen's position. Another level of magnification was activated to confirm what he had already surmised. "So, they are on par with one another." The figure retracted his hand into the shadows and again ordered the recordings scrubbed of the image of the green war machine. In its place he carefully entered code after code to rewrite history as it unfolded. "A crack in the armor of a mythical being."

He left his codes to continue their work and transmit the original data as well as the modified records to various off system hard sites that he had maintained over the Orns. Pushing himself from the command chair, Thunderwing spun towards the lift and carefully, methodically, made his way off of the command island.

As he made his way to the bottom of the final stair the scientist reached over and gave a cursory scan of recent on board activities. At the bottom of the sensor logs a curious entry piqued his interest. A medical emergency transportation. With a battle so far in hand and emergency aid station had been agreed to by both Razorclaw and Ultra Magnus on board the long range heavy shuttle Longevity... Magnus's personal craft, yet another sign of weakness that Thunderwing noted in his logs. Still the orders had been straight forward to any of the fools who heeded them.

Thunderwing carefully rubbed his chin as he pondered the quick change in policy. It did not take him long to surmise an appropriate answer. Only reason to risk the Predacon's feral wrath would be to ensure certain highly classified pieces of technology, or biology, were to be kept out of Autobot hands. And aside from the fool Duocons... which the Autobots already possessed a superior model, there was only one entity that fell into that category. He closed the logs and entered the turbo lift. As the computer asked for a destination he could only cock a curved smile. "Medical Bay."

Med Bay

Knock-Out struggled to form a sound as the phase-sixer surprisingly was still encased with life, his onyx hand wrapping tightly around the doctor's forearms and causing the red and gold medical officer to drop the tool he had been acquired to begin the operation.

Once Sixshot released Knock-Out from his grip, the red and gold medic looked down to examine his forearm. His freshly waxed armor had minimal scraps and dents tattering down his red finish. A frown etched his faceplate as he stared at the fresh damage, his lower lip hung as a small whimper left his vocalizer.

"I had just...fixed that..."

Warwolf chuckled when Flamewar was looking over the schematics of his new arm. The Crimson and black femme was not one to make such quips on a regular basis, but when she did it always made the lupine interrogator laugh.

"No fusion cannon, eh? Well, guess that means I can cross that off my Pristmas list this cycle. Hehe."

Before the femme could respond to his lighthearted joke, she quickly went to work at removing the rest of the damaged framework from the interrogator's shoulder stump. She wasted no time in offlining the neural receptors located there. His body shot up in a last moment of pain before the receptors went completely cold, his optical visor flashed in intense light as he rapidly say up on the slab.

"GRAAAHHH!!" He howled in pain prior to being left huffing for his breath.

"S-sorry... I uh, I don't know what came over me there..."

Medical Bay

>>”Of course.....I know....the code. I.....have to hear it spoken.....before it puts me....into stasis. I cannot say it....aloud because....I could shut....myself down."<<

So he knew. Good. Flamewar did not turn her attention from Warwolf however. She preferred not to give an indication that she was having a private conversation. She did, however, turn her head slightly when she overheard the wrecked Phase Sixer move on his slab to make threats at Knock-Out. The black operative scowled disapprovingly at the minor show of bravado. That would not expedite his recovery. Fortunately, she was not his doctor, and he reclined back onto the slab. Flamewar turned her full attention back to Warwolf when he shot up, howling in pain.

Flamewar gave the lupine interrogator an interrogatory look. His answer was swiftly forthcoming.

"S-sorry... I uh, I don't know what came over me there..."

“Primus,” Flamewar muttered almost under her breath as she leaned back into his shoulder and tended to the last of the injuries, completing her prep for the attachment of a new arm, “Did you lose your mettle in my absence?” Flamewar gave the slightest hint of a smile beneath her chiding tone. “Howling over a dismembered limb...”

Standing up straight, Flamewar walked about the medical bay, bathering supplies for constructing her former pupil's new appendage. When all the necessary components had been collected, she brought them over to Warwolf's berth and began its construction. Normally, she would have had one of the drones do this task, but they had all been dispatched to the surface, leaving her to do these menial chores. The black operative sighed pensively, her thoughts trailing down to the battle for their survival on the surface and to Megatron. She shook her head to snap herself from her reverie. There was no time to worry about matters beyond her control for the moment.

>>”Sixshot, I'm going to venture a wild guess and say that you'd prefer not to be Starscream's pet. I know part of your code. I would just need you to tell me the last bit. It would make Starscream's knowledge of the code less valuable. And...I might be able to arrange for him to forget it entirely...”<<

>>”What do you say?”<<

Flamewar frowned slightly as a quiet, barely notable noise broke the relative silent of her work. It sounded vaguely like an active turbo lift. But that couldn't be right. Who else would still be on the ship? “Is that...Do you hear that?”

Medical Bay

The automated doors to the medical infirmary slid open pensively, part due to the lack of power that had been authorized to that particular ship and part because of the damage still awaiting repairs after the quantum generator had been destroyed. The whisper of a few grinding gears slowing in their process gave the audio confirmation that the doors were secured in their recesses and most likely would remain until those within its sensor range were clear. It was a trite observation of how things should work, or at least were meant to work. Everything was governed by the basic roles in which they were constructed for. The gears in the door, the sensors that detected when someone desired entry, hydraulic pistons that pulled the doors back, they were all indicative to the grander movement of the moment. And they were all governed by the one who held the firm grasp on their power supply. Such was true for the Decepticon Empire, or so Thunderwing chose to believe.

Thunderwing crossed over the threshold into the medical facility with a slow methodical purpose. He gave brief glances down at the sad few Vehicon soldiers who had been too critical to leave to their well deserved fates upon the battlefield. Perhaps not critical in importance, but in health. He felt sense of pity for each of them as they had been denied a chance to die in glorious battle with the rest of their make. Carefully he brushed aside a drone that had begun to prepare for a rather grueling amputation of a nearly liquefied limb that had since cooled into a massive metal jacket of slag around the vehicon's left torso. Instead Thunderwing reached down and spoke briefly to the wounded soldier, determined to learn the mechanism's identification and function in the debacle of a battle that was being waged down on the surface.

He learned the unit had been among the first wave sent against the Fallen, and it had been totally obliterated within minutes of Razorclaw ordering them to their deaths. Of its personal squadron of twelve, all capable pilots in their own right, only two remained functional... though by the looks of the other it would soon be one. Carefully he administered a sedative from his shell's vast repository of chemicals. As the soldier began to pass into a sedated stasis as he reclaimed the plasma torch from the drone, ordering it to standby and watch.

With the deft hands of a trained surgeon, Thunderwing removed the molten score around the torso of the vehicon soldier. Once done he was able to access the damaged interior of the trooper and began to repair several subsystems that immediately caused the unit's vital line to stabilize. He reconnected damaged energon lines and carefully pulled the remains of its shattered transformation cog, one fragment at a time... at a pace that seemed to cover only moments. With the cog destroyed the Vehicon would require a replacement, as would many who survived this battle... No, Thunderwing corrected himself, this error in Razorclaw's command.

Thunderwing closed the soldier up without replacing the cog, as its body was in no shape to receive such a vital organ so soon after the traumas it had been exposed to. He ordered the drone to place the unit on a continuous energon transfusion until its energon pumps were capable of handing the task on their own. Finally he removed the damaged limb and placed it in the reclamation bin. It would be rendered anew and reassigned back to its original owner, with a few new touches. Vehicons knew their lot in this war, they were shock troops. The foot soldiers of the Empire. But he knew well that they were also vast in number. To bring them into his own would greatly enhance his own standing in the immediate and long term futures... So to would the requisite alliances of more potent members of the Decepticon community.

He turned his attention to a few more critical cases, offering his assistance or most instances forcing his way into the procedures, sparingly. Thunderwing addressed a few who were on the verge of being extinguished, only to pull them back from the brink as if a miracle worker of old. Though he held no fantasy about such trivial beliefs, their designs were basic knowledge with anyone of his background and were built to be interchangeable. So each damaged subsystem could be dealt with in similar fashion and relatively quickly. Albeit drones could do the job themselves, if there were enough to go around, Thunderwing preferred to delve into the personal touch. What better way to endear someone to him than to save their miserable lives.

After the tenth miraculous intervention on the behalf of the wounded or dying, Thunderwing had positioned himself to the primary operation chamber. He stood before the articulated doors and bathed in the crimson glow of the flickering over head lamp that warned of impending surgery. It had been a calculated tour of the wounded, one Megatron had done several times before, good for morale and good to see that their true Emperor cared for their sacrifice. The fact that Thunderwing had made the rounds before the would be usurper, well that simply made a nice little feather in his proverbial political cap. It endeared himself to the troops, and that meant sooner rather than later... well he would allow others in the future to speculate how that would translate.

Instead he found himself pressing in a secured access code into the door's electromagnetic locks. A low hiss came down as the hidden gears began to turn behind the facade of wall panels and armored plates. The doors swung back as the hydraulic rams pushed them forward in their predictably tight arcs as if to greet him with the pomp and respect he deserved.

Thunderwing entered the Operating Chamber after ordering the final orderly to begin preparing a separate set of tables and supplies for those who would soon be arriving from the surface. He stepped passed the arc lines and paused as the doors closed behind them and settled with a muted click of the locks. A harsh orange light flickered before him to indicate where the main surgery table was being put to good and noble use.

With purpose and poise, Thunderwing placed his hands behind his back and made his way into the side chamber where three of the survivors had been brought for treatment. Warwolf, Flame War and the looming threat above all who dared to cross the might of Megatron... Sixshot. He cleared his vocorder to gain the attention of those who were present, including the ship's surgeon of the day Knockout.

"It would appear things," Thunderwing began without preamble, "did not go according to... how shall we say... plan." He pulled up a stool located near the table where Sixshot was being pulled open and pealed apart for repair. Gruesome craters and bent plates lined the S.T.A.G... as if he had gone across the likes of Unicron himself. Of course given the circumstances he may as well had. Still it was a tragic state to find such a warrior who valued at least the basics of Decepticon honor. "It is sad to say that such things were predictable. Particularly for one so mighty as you Sixshot. Forced into a battle against your will out of fear for a single phrase."

He looked out at Flame War and offered a sincere nod of respect... or perhaps there was more. It was not a place to delve further into discussions of what might be... too many variables present. But an act of goodwill, no a singular act could provide greater dividends down the line. Megatron ruled with fear and power. His followers respected that power and feared it completely, well most followers. Thunderwing agreed with many of the initial ideals that the fallen lord had established before his disappearance. He would see them accomplished, he would succeed where the likes of Razorclaw could never hope to. And it all starts here. "Don't mind me, do continue with your repair of your disciple. I am here out of concern for fellow Decepticons and their well being."

He crossed his legs briefly before he looked back at Sixshot. "Of course ensuring a well being without the fear of suddenly shut down and left in a catatonic state..." He stopped wisely. Not that he cared whether or not Knockout or the others truly heard what he had stated. No, they were there in a place that was unavoidable, but like the gears and the hydraulic pistons and rams, they had their parts to play in the coming days. And what grand roles they would hopefully be. Still, he had to keep his words carefully simple. "Perhaps I have pressed too much to your suffering Honorable Sixshot."

Medical Bay - Primary Operating Chamber

Sixshot let out a slight groan at Knock-Out’s vain response to whatever new damage had been done to the mechanic’s precious forearm. “You’ll live, now....get to....work!” The sixchanger’s optics bore virtual holes into the crimson mech’s visage. The STAG did not care about Knock-Out’s finish or how many times he had already fixed it to his own narcissistic liking. The red ‘con would do his job and do it properly or he would pay the ultimate price. Sixshot may be in the worst state of his existence, but the phase sixer was pretty sure he could still snuff out the mechanic’s spark by simply grabbing him by the neck and squeezing. It wouldn’t take much even in the STAG’s current condition.

The sixchanger then received a private comm from Flamewar. She wanted to know the last part of his shutdown code so that she may liberate him from Starscream’s influence or, at the very least, make his hold over the phase sixer dramatically less. There was even the chance of the Seeker Commander forgetting it entirely. Of course, giving Flamewar the whole code would also allow her some control over him, as well. Right now, only Starscream knew it. The last thing Sixshot needed was for others learning it and thus increasing the number of “masters” the STAG had to answer to. After all, what Decepticon with any amount of intelligence would want to free him entirely of the code? A phase sixer unbound was far too dangerous to allow. The code was a leash that kept him in check and while he wanted nothing more than to be free of it, the sixchanger was also under no illusion that anyone would want to rid him of it completely. Like Starscream, they wanted to control him for their own nefarious purposes.

>>”I say I would prefer to be no one’s pet, Flamewar. Telling you the entire code would increase those who can control me by a factor of two. That is what you meant by Starscream’s knowledge of it becoming less valuable, correct? You could then counter his will over me, right? Having the cowardly seeker forget the code is all well and good, but what guarantee can you give me that you won’t just utilize me to your own advantage? I want to be free of it, my dear, not substitute one master for another.”<<

As Sixshot awaited Flamewar’s response to his concerns, Thunderwing entered the chamber and pulled up a stool next to the sixchanger’s med berth. He was a large and imposing warlord, but not as large or imposing as the STAG. Sixshot was somewhat aware of the power struggle that had previously taken place between Thunderwing and Razorclaw, with the Predacon Commander coming out on top. It seemed as though the warlord was not giving up his political ambitions as he attempted to win favor from those who had been injured in battle. Thunderwing mentioned how things had not gone according to plan, citing that it had been predictable.

“That’s....an understatement,” Sixshot responded, glancing over at Thunderwing who was now sounding more and more like a senator running for re-election than a warrior scientist covered in an armored carapace of his own design and making. "Although...nothing predictable...about a...demigod." Of course, before the sixchanger could mutter anything further, the warlord brought up the code. Ah, there it was, yet another mech wanting to supposedly free him of the kill switch. But they all feared the STAG, especially when none of them could control him with one cowardly exception. Naturally, they all wanted to obtain that control and thus take it away from Starscream. Doing so would shift the balance of power in their favor and with Megatron gone power was all that mattered.

However, Sixshot refused to be a pawn in the ongoing fight for the throne. The phase sixer wanted the freedom to choose his own path and pick his own side, whether it be with Razorclaw, Thunderwing or even Shockwave, who was the only mech in the Sol System that could truly do what everyone else was promising Sixshot. Of course, there was also another way, one that was far simpler than rooting around inside the sixchanger’s cerebral cortex.

“You all want....to rid me of....or alter....the code,” Sixshot muttered aloud so that everyone within audio range could hear him. “But none....of you can. If you really....want to...help me....just kill....Starscream.” The STAG paused for a brief moment to let his weakened words sink in. “Problem....solved.”

Sixshot knew that someone going to the extreme of actually killing Starscream was unlikely. His death could potentially throw the seekers into chaos, and their loyalty was just as important as the sixchanger’s. Still, maybe one of those present would really do it. Stranger things had happened. Regardless, the STAG looked forward to everyone’s reactions to his words just the same.

Medical Bay - Maximum Security Wing

Having returned to the Thanatos less than a breem ago, Skywarp entered the medical facility with an unconscious Drag Strip still thrown over one shoulder plate. Oil Slick was likely close behind him with the torturer, Darkride, in tow. However, the teleporter remained duly focused on his own captured herald and quickly make his way into the maximum security wing of the med bay. With vehicon guards at the entrance, reinforced walls and large auto-guns mounted in the ceiling overhead, this area was for wounded enemies that had been captured and required repairs before interrogation. In this case, this place would serve well to keep the two Decepticon heralds from waking up and causing any more trouble.

Placing Drag Strip onto the nearest berth, Skywarp immediately activated the automated restraints, which swiftly snapped into place over the Stunticon’s wrists, ankles, upper arms, thighs and finally his waist. Once the yellow herald was secured, the prankster turned to one of the medical drones, a scowl clearly etched across his faceplate. “You, make sure he stays sedated. We don’t need him waking up any time soon.”

The smaller droid nodded with a series of beeps before following the teleporter’s instructions. Skywarp watched closely as the med drone hooked a tube into a main energon line in Drag Strip’s left arm before administering a sedative that would hopefully continue to work just as well as what the Autobots had previously provided. With that done, ‘Warp let out a slight sigh of relief, knowing that at least one herald was now taken care of. The black and purple seeker then backed away and leaned against a far wall, keeping his optics fixated on the yellow racer to make sure he remained in his current state. Two of the auto-guns overhead also kept their sights trained on Drag Strip's prone form. If the current threat level increased to any great degree, they would open fire.

The prankster’s thoughts quickly shifted to Nightraven, whom he had last seen some time ago in Knock-Out’s lab. Wanting to make sure she was still okay, Skywarp opened a comm line to the seeker femme:

>>”Nightraven, it’s Skywarp. I’m back on board the Thanatos. Where are you now? Are you still in Knock-Out’s lab? I’m in the maximum security wing of the med bay, keeping an optic on one of the Fallen’s unconscious heralds. Don’t worry, everything’s fine here. Just wanted to check in with you.”<<

Medical Bay

Flamewar's open query was soon answered by the arrival of Thunderwing, who did not immediately approach them as the black operative had expected of one so arrogant. He went around to a few vehicons and set about repairing them. Why on Cybertron he would show compassion to the fodder was beyond her comprehension. Why he would show compassion at all to those he clearly thinks are beneath him was astounding in its own right. A very intriguing tactic, but not likely one she would ever implement.

>>”I say I would prefer to be no one’s pet, Flamewar. Telling you the entire code would increase those who can control me by a factor of two. That is what you meant by Starscream’s knowledge of it becoming less valuable, correct? You could then counter his will over me, right? Having the cowardly seeker forget the code is all well and good, but what guarantee can you give me that you won’t just utilize me to your own advantage? I want to be free of it, my dear, not substitute one master for another."<<

Flamewar turned her attention back to the construction of her former pupil's appendage as she thought over her reply to the six phaser. If Thunderwing was going to take his time, then she could continue her work.

>>”You are correct, Sixshot. The more who know the code, the less powerful it is as a tool. However, I can't give you any guarantee that I won't use you other than my word. Contrary to what you might believe, I do not wish to be your master. But you know as well as anyone that you cannot be left unchecked. With Lord Megatron gone, someone needs to know the code – someone who is not Starscream. But maybe...that someone does not need to be a master. Perhaps they could be a friend.”<<

Flamewar fell silent. The arm was nearly complete by the time Thunderwing pulled up a stool beside Sixshot and spoke. He addressed Sixshot primarily. Predictably. It did not surprise her that the scientist still held delusions of grandeur even after being bested by the Predacons. With Sixshot arrived onto the scene, all would want his power on their side.

The warlord offered Flamewar a nod of respect, which she returned. "Don't mind me, do continue with your repair of your disciple. I am here out of concern for fellow Decepticons and their well being." Flamewar turned her head away to hide the smirk that crept its way onto her faceplate. Ha! That was rich. Concern indeed! Flamewar screwed in the last bolt onto Warwolf's newly assembled appendage and held it up for inspection. She then shoved it into its new socket and began soldering the wiring back together while listening to Thunderwing continue to address Sixshot.

Sixshot soon offered a retort. “You all want....to rid me of....or alter....the code," Sixshot muttered aloud so that everyone within audio range could hear him. “But none....of you can. If you really....want to...help me....just kill....Starscream." The STAG paused for a brief moment to let his weakened words sink in. “Problem....solved."

Flamewar clapped Warwolf on his new shoulder, finished with her repair. She whirled about and moved over to Sixshot's berth, noting that Knock-Out had moved off to fiddle with something or other on his workbench. Likely a replacement part for the six-changer. Grabbing a laser scalpel, Flamewar set about poking around in Sixshot's innards, repairing the broken circuity and such within.

“Would solve more than one problem, Sixshot,” Flamewar chuckled, “But if it were that easy, Starscream would be long dead. He has a rather irritating knack of surviving against all odds.” Reaching over to the tray beside the slab, Flamewar plucked an arc-welder from it. “Hold still if you would. This might sting...”

((OOC: Knock-Out moved with permission of MasterSoundBlaster.))

Medical Bay – Maximum Security Wing

Not far behind the black and purple form of Skywarp trailed Oil Slick. In his arms the limp body of the infamous Decepticon interrogator….and sadomasochist.

Thus far neither Drag Strip nor Darkride stirred, which boded well for the occupants of the Thanatos.

As Skywarp relieved himself of his unconscious burden Oil Slick slipped off and did the same with Darkride. Strangely the chemist placed the interrogator down…gently. He stood back up and stared down for a moment.

How odd that he looked so….peaceful. Oil Slick cocked his head slightly before he reached down to move Darkride’s arm into the proper position for the restraints.

He had just barely brushed the tips of his actuators over the top of Darkride’s hand when he felt the interrogator grab his wrist.

The domed Decepticon immediately tried to pull away but was only tugged in closer. Darkride’s claws dug into his metal skin as he leaned down to get better leverage.

“I want to play a game.”

Oil Slick met the other’s optics. “The game is over, Darkride. Now release me.”

Darkride tsked lowly but still held tight. “Up until now you have fought for no one but yourself. Now you find your life on the verge of extinction and so you align yourself with those you only associate with for the right price.” A devilish grin formed on his face. “There is a chance your involvement in this battle will change the tide, but even then you might die in the end.”
Oil Slick narrowed his optics.

“Will you do the noble thing and fight with them even without payment or will you treat this as any other business deal?” Darkride loosened his grip and let his hand fall back to the slab’s cold hard surface.

For several seconds Oil Slick simply stared at that grinning face. Until finally he gave his cold response. “The others are of no consequence to me. If they win I will survive. If your master wins I will survive.”

Oil Slick gave a slight nod when he received a slightly puzzled expression from the Herald.

“I will present you right back to him.”

Darkride chuckled and looked up at the ceiling. “Heheh. Game over then.”

Oil Slick activated the restraints and locked them in place. All the while Darkride remained compliant. From there the chemist moved to inject the interrogator with a dose of sedative. It wasn’t as strong as the one used by the Autobots, but if the Cybertronians lost the battle he’d need Darkride ready for transport.

When the drug was finally pushed Darkride turned to look at the chemist a smile plastered on his face. It faded slightly as his optics flickered and he finally fell offline.

-----------------

>>"Nightraven, it’s Skywarp. I’m back on board the Thanatos. Where are you now? Are you still in Knock-Out’s lab? I’m in the maximum security wing of the med bay, keeping an optic on one of the Fallen’s unconscious heralds. Don’t worry, everything’s fine here. Just wanted to check in with you."<<

Nightraven breathed a sigh of relief. She was worried about what was happening planetside but she wasn’t able to get any information. The communique directly from Skywarp was heaven sent. And to make things even better he was contacting her from right here on the ship.

Seconds after she got the message from Skywarp she was out of Knockout’s lab and on her way to the maximum security wing of the medical bay.

Nightraven slipped through the doors and headed toward the maximum security wing.

Several halls and a couple of doors later and she was standing outside the ward. The femme took in a deep breath and entered the room. She looked around and finally caught sight of a black and purple winged form.

“Skywarp?” She breathed.

In a Quiet Corridor


Vertigo smiled a suspicions smile at his data pad then looked over at his very bored colleague. "Hey Lock On..." he said in a slightly taunting tone. "Guess who should be on his way back soon....."

"Lemme guess, Starscream?" Lock On responded sarcastically. The two were currently in a rarely used corridor, passing time. Vertigo needing to be somewhere quiet as he was reprogramming his drones (for what Lock On felt was the 5 millionth time this cycle) and he was throwing bolts at the bulkhead.

"Oh you could seem a little more excited to see our boss, you know." Vertigo scolded his friend.

"Well, if he's coming up because he's dead, then we have a problem." The warrior seeker said flatly. "If he's coming up because he single handedly defeated the Fallen and saved our race, then I will sound very excited."

Vertigo frowned, his friend's lack of enthusiasm for anything but beating the scrap out of Autobots irritated him, though Lock On was irritated by Vertigo's lack of enthusiasm for anything that wasn't involving spying on others. "Seems the Bot's turned the tide, but the Fallen was defeated." Vertigo said looking over his data pad with the news. "Starscream appears to be alive."

"Cools..." Lock On said aiming one of his bolts at Vertigo and hitting the little geek on the head. "When's the boss bouncing back up?"

"No one's bouncing...." Vertigo answered. "Odd... seems something is wrong with the bounce here on the ship and they're going to be hitching a ride on Astrotrain. That will be one uncomfortable ride..."

"I'll go get the confetti." Lock On said flatly.

Vertigo slipped away his data pad and just sort of glared at Lock On. "You've been cooped up on this ship too long, my friend. It's playing with your head." He said. "Not that you were ever right in the head... give Seekers a bad name."

Lock On snorted. "Yeah, like you give Seekers a good name, Go." He said. "You're about as neurotic as they come."

Medical Bay - Maximum Security Wing

Skywarp continued to watch the unconscious form of Drag Strip, who was securely strapped down to the med berth a short distance from where he stood. Even though auto-guns in the ceiling were trained directly on the Stunticon herald, the teleporter was taking no chances. One false move and ‘Warp would add his own laser fire to that of the automated weapons overhead. It might not be necessary, but it couldn’t hurt.

Speaking of pain, Skywarp could still feel a slight tingling in his head from the hit Darkride had given him when the interrogator knocked him out for a time down in Australia. It had been a humiliating experience but at least he was not dead or badly damaged. The prankster could handle some cranial discomfort until his internal repair systems finished their work. He was a warrior, an elite seeker. He was trained to endure pain even from a herald, one that he had despised just as much before Darkride had turned against them and now even more.

Glancing over to a nearby medical slab, Skywarp saw that Oil Slick had already placed his quarry down and was about to secure him in much the same way the teleporter had done to Drag Strip. However, unlike the yellow mech, Darkride quickly woke up and grabbed the chemical specialist’s wrist. The herald then spoke quietly to Oil Slick. This scary turn of events caused ‘Warp to flinch in shock and point one of his arm mounted guns towards the scene as the interrogator kept a tight grip on Oil Slick’s arm. The prankster reframed from firing as the gangly green and yellow con seemed to have the situation under control. Skywarp couldn’t exactly hear what they were whispering about but it appeared to be nothing good based on their facial expressions.

Finally, Darkride let go and Oil Slick activated the restraints, administering a new sedative to the interrogator who then fell back into unconsciousness. Skywarp let out a deep sigh of relief and lowered his arm gun. The teleporter looked back at Drag Strip to make sure nothing had changed there before returning his attention to the chemist. The prankster was about to ask Oil Slick what he had discussed with Darkride, but was cut off by the arrival of Nightraven.

“Nighty!” Skywarp said aloud, trying to stifle his excitement at seeing the seeker femme again. The teleporter didn’t want to come across as a love-struck con in front of Oil Slick, after all. He did have a reputation to uphold. ‘Warp then walked towards Nightraven, a slight smile crossing his visage. “It’s good to see you. How do you feel? Any better than before? I hope Knock-Out wasn't too much of a pain. Was he?”

Medical Bay – Maximum Security Wing

Try as she might Nightraven still had a difficult time holding back a smile when she saw and heard Skywarp. With a relieved sigh the femme quickened her pace until she was standing before the black and purple air warrior.

“It’s good to see you. How do you feel? Any better than before? I hope Knock-Out wasn't too much of a pain. Was he?"

Nightraven’s smile faltered for a moment as she raised her hand to her neck and ran her finger over the repair work Knock Out had done. It was probably unsightly, but it worked.

“Oh, I’m doing….better.” She shrugged slightly. “At least it doesn’t hurt much."

She let a small smile creep onto her faceplate as she looked back toward the way she had come. “Oh no, he was delightful.” When she turned her optics back onto Skywarp she leaned in closer lowering her vocalizer. “After he finished his repair I made sure he didn’t lay another hand on me. Told him I’d tear it off and stick it….well, you get the idea.”

The femme giggled while she pulled away, her hand running lightly over Skywarp’s. She quickly pulled her hand away, and stepped back slightly. Clearing her throat she motioned over Skywarp’s shoulder.

“Umm…what do you suppose will happen with them?” She said referring to the two former heralds.

-------------

As Darkride slipped back into unconsciousness, Oil Slick removed the syringe and placed it on the tray beside the circuit slab. He paused for a brief moment before he picked up a medical scanner and ran over the interrogator’s body.

Satisfied with the readings he returned the device to the tray. The chemist then glanced in the direction of Skywarp and his female companion. They were busy and probably would be for the time being.

Oil Slick was sure to keep his optics on the two Seekers while he removed an empty syringe from the storage compartment on his hip. The domed chemist carefully turned Darkride’s head away from him exposing the ‘Con’s main energon line. Extracting a sample and analyzing it would perhaps give Oil Slick some insight on whether or not the Fallen had changed Darkride’s internal fluids’ makeup making it possible to somehow control him. If it turned out that the Fallen did then perhaps Oil Slick could replicate it.

He drew out the needle and took a quick glance at the liquid. Slightly off color. Perhaps there was something there. He quickly pocketed the syringe and took a glance back at the two Seekers.

Medical Bay - Maximum Security Wing

Skywarp was happy to hear that Nightraven was feeling better than when he last saw her. He was even more pleased to hear about the threat she had made against Knock-Out if he tried to touch her again. “Hahaha! Yeah, I get the idea! Right up his aft section. Heh. You should’ve done that anyway just for kicks.” Ah, there was the old ‘Warp, ever the prankster deep down. Shoving a mech’s hand up his tailpipe was definitely something he would do in a spark beat. Unfortunately, he let that side of him slip out right in front of Nighty. Maybe she wouldn’t notice.

“Um, anyway,” Skywarp continued, trying to change the subject as he felt the seeker femme’s actuators gently touch his hand before she cleared her throat and pulled away. She then gestured over to the two heralds, asking what he thought would happen to them. “Well, I’m sure a bunch of tests will be run on them to make sure they’re back to normal.” The teleporter glanced at Darkride before his gaze fell on Drag Strip. Both of them were in deep sedation now, but that didn’t mean they were necessarily free from the Fallen’s influence.

“If they’re fine I guess they’re be released. Darkride will go back to being a sadistic torturer and general pain in my aft while Drag, well,” Skywarp let a smirk escape his visage. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t want to be him for all of the high grade energon in the universe. I mean, Motormaster is going to beat the living slag out of him for sure. And only then will the real pain start. Ol' Motorhead isn't known for being kind or understanding.” Skywarp then returned his attention to Nightraven. “It should make for a good show though. Heh.”

Corridors

With the drones reprogrammed, Vertigo was inclined to get moving to make sure everything was in order for Starscream's arrival. Of the pair, Vertigo was the Starscream fanboy, believing the Air Commander could do no wrong. Lock On was just along for the ride, he was loyal, but did not worship Starscream as Vertigo did, meaning his efforts were always considerably half hearted next to the recon specialist's.

As Vertigo yammered on about having the med bay adequately prepared, extra security brought in, and 'only the highest grade of energon available for the esteemed Air Commander'; Lock On twirled his shot gun around absently, extremely bored with what he called 'the party plans' and, well, being his normal careless self.
He lost his grip on the shot gun, and in the attempt to recover it, hit the trigger sending of shot at Vertigo.

Fortunately, the majority of the blast hit the bulk head. Unfortunately that was only the majority and some of the blast ripped through Vertigo's wing and the drone attached to it.

Vertigo howled in pain, quickly got the damage report from his diagnostics that the drone was damaged, and grabbed for Lock On, "You spawn of a glitch!" He snarled through the pain.

Lock On deftly avoided his friend's grasp with a smirk. "Sorry...." He said trying hard not to laugh at the situation. He felt bad, but it was an accident after all.He looked at Vertigo's wing and drone, knowing the seeker would do well not to carry the drone's weight. "Okay, drop Reaper and let's get you and him to med bay." He prepared the catch the drone.

Vertigo glared at Lock On, then begrudgingly triggered the release on the drone, letting it drop into his friend's arms. He couldn't speak without letting loose a tirade of insults and swear words, so he did nothing but follow Lock On with a scowl on his faceplate.

Med Bay

The two Seekers stepped into the med bay and immediately stopped in their tracks.

"Eh, is that Thunderwing?" Lock On asked seeing the gathering of Decepticons around Sixshot.

"Appears..." Vertigo answered.

"Who's flying the ship?" Lock On asked.

"Really, Lock On?" Vertigo said with much sarcasm. "Thunderwing doesn’t actually fly the ship, he just gives everyone orders and looks way important. Plus, we're not really flying as much as orbiting. I'm certain even he doesn’t feel the need to micromanage orbiting."

"That probably came out more sarcastic than you meant it." Lock On remarked.

Vertigo considered what his friend said. "Yeah, yeah, that's it." He muttered and started into motion again. "Whatever, I just want to get rid of this pain, and this wound as well the pain that is you."

Medical Bay

The damage that was littered across the S.T.A.G.'s chassis was extensive. Extensive was a word the Decepticon medical officer was widely known for, almost infamously for the amount of detail he put in his own paint scheme and finish, but when referring to the mass of teal and purple colored Phase-sixer, it was a whole 'nother story.

Knock-Out rolled his optics as he returned to Sixshot's side and noticed that not only had Thunderwing stolen his workplace stool to begin sitting about and comment on Sixshot's conflict with the Fallen, but Flamewar had moved from Warwolf's slab to work on Sixshot's repairs as well. Was Knock-Out not good enough to handle things on his own? Miss Priss has to step on in and lend a hand? Knock-out has removed the deepest of scratches and hollowest of dents from his own armor, he could definitely handle a hulking mass like Sixshot.

"Well, that's all I can do for the moment." Knock-out finally spoke up as he finished fastening the last rivet into a sheet of metal that was used to patch up a decent sized crevice the Fallen had carved into Sixshot's chest. "The rest of your repair process is going to require a dip in a CR chamber to get into the smaller nooks and crannies. That and your internal repair systems should be able to handle whatever the CR doesn't get." Knock-Out then raised the slab so that the six-former was sitting upright, a position that'll help ease him up and off the worktable. "C'mon Sixxy, there's a fresh tube in the back with your name pasted on it."

As medical officer of Crimson and gold was about to assist the phase sixer to his designated CR chamber, the arrival of two seekers in the medical ward drew his attention away from the injured Sixshot.

"What in the name of Aston Martin happened to you?" Knock-Out inquired following a long and drawn out whistle as he noted the head injury of the Decepticon bearing a similar visage to Starscream, only now with a headsculpt that was littered with shrapnel and shotgun pellets. As the duo murmured something to one another while walking in, the automobile enthusiast turned doctor began to note how over crowded the medical bay was beginning to get. Especially since most mechs here were just tagging alongside someone else.

"Hey! Bullet-brain!" Knock-Out barked toward the freshly injured seeker. "Find a slab already and set yourself down. As for the rest of you not stationed to work in a med bay; I've got a phase-sixer to move and a medical ward to prep for those who challenged a Demi-god. If your internals can handle the repairs, vacate the premise!"

-

Warwolf rose up from his slab at the sound of a disgruntled medical officer issuing commands. Sitting upright he gazed over to see that Thunderwing had graciously made his presence in the med bay well known while Flamewar had spun around to assist the red and gold doctor with revitalizing a heavily damaged Sixshot. He stared down to the skeletal armature that had replaced the space where his former arm would have rested. He brought the newly constructed limb and began testing out its servos and Pistons as he rapidly open and close each individual actuator in a wave-like manner. He pivoted his wrist around several times before beginning to flex the elbow piston's range, curling his arm up towards him then back down to the table.

"Gotta admire your handy work there." Warwolf commented towards his mentor before looking up once again and noticing Flamewar was still busy with Sixshot. "Han-... Yeah that was terrible..."

Med Bay

"Hey! Bullet-brain!" Knock-Out barked toward the freshly injured seeker. "Find a slab already and set yourself down.

Vertigo's faceplate slipped into an angry scowl at Knockout's less than flattering name for him. "Did he just.... Bullet-brain!" He stammered out.

But if he was expecting sympathy from Lock On, he would be disappointed. Lock On had broken down into a fit of laughter as soon as Knockout spoke the words that he didn’t hear his friend insulted response. "Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Bullet-brain! New nickname!" He managed to get out between laughs. "I like this guy, we should have him join 'the team'."

"We don’t have 'a team'." Vertigo grumble as he found an open slab as far away from the rank and file as he could. He didn't like being around 'peasants' which for him was everyone as he considered pretty much everyone beneath him, no matter what their size or importance.

"Yeah we do, me and you, and the drones since you think to seem they are sentient, we hang ou-" Lock On began as he followed, only to be cut off by Vertigo.

"We are not a 'team'." The injured seeker said. "We have the same commander which makes us part of a team, but we are not a merry band of misfits having adventures."

"And drinking... we go to the bar a lot." Lock On cheerfully added on.

"Yes..." Vertigo muttered. He looked over to Knockout, who was busy in his own right, not that Vertigo cared. "Doctor!" He called out motioning to set the drone down on the slab. "How competent are you with repairing technology? Reaper...." He motioned to the surveillance drone Lock On was gently (as gently as Grimlock stomping through the battlefield) placing on the slab. "Careful you scrapheap!" He hissed at his friend before turning his attention back to the mechanic. "Reaper is much more important than repairing my damage..." He looked down at the drone. "Nevermind.... I'm sure you are not compet-" before he could insult Knockout, he stopped himself, realizing if he wanted to be repaired himself he would need to stay in the Doctor's graces. "Completely thrilled with me adding additional work to your already overwhelming load."

Lock On, who was not nearly as dim witted as he normally presented himself to be, chuckled, knowing Vertigo was in the process of being his usual insulting self. "Good call." He said looking over to the next slab which had a vehicon laid out on it. "Eh, you look fine." He grumbled to it and shoved the lowly soldier off the slab and shoved Vertigo on to the now vacant spot. "Shut up before you get thrown out of an airlock." He cautioned his friend. "And you've kept me tagging along with you for over 4 million years, I think we can call ourselves a 'team'." He whispered softly. Vertigo didn't answer, though. He usually didn’t, at least not in front of others.

Medical Bay

Thunderwing smiled beneath his synthetic organic shell, his expression not reflecting on the exterior surface. Oh the inevitable request whether it was sarcasm or true desire. The death of the craven opportunistic and overly ambitious commander of the Decepticon Air Forces in the Sol System. Oh how many desired such a fate for Starscream. Time and again the Seeker Squadron Commander had attempted to usurp the throne of Megatron, and almost always was forced back into a subservient place under the Emperor's heel. And though it would garner great favors to agree to that particular stipulation, there were other factors that needed to be put into play that required Starscream and his ambitions. Provided they were properly focused and refined they would prove very valuable in the times to come.

"I would tend to agree with your friend's worried glance. The elimination of Starscream does not resolve issues on a grander scale. Indeed it would complicate factors greatly, as you are probably and most likely painfully aware." He spoke slowly and with purpose. There was no need to deliver false hope to the six changing Decepticon warrior. It would do Sixshot no good.

He allowed his glance to slowly sweep over towards Flareup and Warwolf as she proceeded to patch her wayward ward. His optics narrowed behind the carapace as he quietly brought up profiles for each. The female was a noted Megatron loyalist, almost as fanatical as the likes of Soundwave himself... but without the obnoxious parasites. The scientist reluctantly admitted to himself that a handful of those small deployers had their value, but they offered varying opinions in their own right that made such a potential ally... difficult to read. The very fact that Flamewar was not swayed by little voices in her head, meant that if she could be swayed to his particular claims, others would see that his was the only legitimate path. As for her protege, his file was shorter and no less insightful. Warwolf, the victim of a defect that constructed two separate personalities in his processor. The one that was dominate was only just holding on... The details were still not known as to how the present state came about during Warwolf's construction, but... it was correctable if one had the knowledge or at least creativity to cross various technological thresholds.

He returned his vision back towards Sixshot. "There are other methods to obtain your freedom Sixshot... It is a challenge I would happily invest some of my valuable expertise into investigating, provided there is true desire in my assistance," He spoke with his exposed vestige displaying every nuance on his sincerity. He offered a sideways glance to Warwolf. "The same can be said for your particular affliction. Such a dreadful terror that gnaws at your very essence..."

Medical Bay

Sixshot remained still on the med berth as he listened to Flamewar’s response over his private comm line. Her words were not entirely unexpected, and her apparent sincerity was refreshing. The femme could make him no guarantees, of course, but she did promise that becoming master over him was not her endgame here. Still, he begrudgingly understood why he could not be left unchecked even though he didn’t like it. The sixchanger wanted his freedom, but with that freedom came the fear in others that an unbound phase sixer could pose a clear and present danger to the entirety of the empire. He had power unlike most and that power needed to have reigns to keep it from spiraling out of control. The STAG needed a leash just like a wild cyber-beast required one. It was just a matter of who held that leash now. Would it be a cowardly seeker like Starscream or would it be....a friend?

That last word seemed almost alien to him. Sixshot had no friends, not now, not ever. The majority within the Decepticon ranks were too afraid of the sixchanger to get close enough to become his friend. Even the other phase sixers out there were not included in that distinction. The STAG was a weapon of mass destruction to be yielded as such when Megatron saw fit to do so. But, the slagmaker was now gone, missing or perhaps even dead. What did that make Sixshot now? Was he still a WMD that both sides feared? Could he, in fact, be someone’s friend now? This femme seemed to indicate that friendship was what she sought from him, or was it just another form of persuasion to get him to side with her?

It was difficult to tell, but Flamewar’s tone and demeanor seemed to indicate a genuine desire to help him. Could she be trusted? Would she ultimately stab him in the back if the code was given to her? Would she be his friend and not a master? All were possibilities and all were certainly better options than remaining under the control of the power-hungry seeker. That much was obvious.

>>”So, you wish to be my friend, Flamewar? I find that to be...intriguing. No one has ever wanted to be my friend before. They were all too scared, but not you. No, you don’t seem to share that fear of me. I wonder....why is that, my dear? Why do I not cause panic within your frame? Hmmmmm?”<<

The femme, having finished her work on Warwolf, moved back over to Sixshot’s side and began rooting around inside the STAG’s innards with a laser scalpel. As she repaired broken circuitry, Flamewar commented aloud that killing Starscream was easier said than done. “Indeed,” the phase-sixer replied as the femme then grabbed an arc-welder and told him to remain still and that he might feel a sting. “I’m a phase-sixer. I can handle a mere sting.”

It was then that Thunderwing spoke up again, interjecting his own two energon chips into the conversation. Eliminating Starscream would not only be difficult to do it would also complicate matters greatly. “Yes, I am aware of that Thunderwing,” Sixshot responded as he turned his head towards the warlord. “Still it’s a nice thought.” The carapace-laced mech continued to talk, offering a possible solution to the problem of granting Sixshot his freedom by utilizing the scientist’s own expertise.

“You say freedom, but I kinda think you mean....the other thing.” Sixshot was no fool. He knew all too well that the scientist didn’t want to help him out of the kindness of his spark, but out of the necessity of needing the phase sixer on his side when Thunderwing made another play for the throne. “And I’m sure you’ll require my shut down code in order to ‘free me’....no?”

At least, Flamewar had been honest enough to admit that the “leash” would be passed from Starscream to someone else, presumably her. She did not pander to the sixchanger, making promises she had no intention of keeping. Thunderwing, on the other hand, promised complete freedom, but no one would make a promise like that if they didn’t want something in return.

Before the warlord could answer, Knock-Out returned to the sixchanger’s side. The STAG’s attention switched to the crimson mechanic as he attached a large piece of sheet metal over the sizable crater in the phase sixer’s chest plate. With that in place, Knock-Out revealed that he had done all that he could and the rest of Sixshot’s repairs would be completed by a combination of his own internal systems and a stay in a CR chamber.

“A CR chamber?” Sixshot growled as his optics bore virtual holes in Knock-Out’s visage. “I haven’t been in one of those in, well....I can’t even remember!” In all actuality, the sixchanger hadn’t required any kind of extensive repairs such as these since well before his endoskeleton had undergone the ununtrium process like the other phase-sixers. Having to enter a CR unit now was not only degrading to him, but also embarrassing.

“Fine,” Sixshot grumbled under his breath as Knock-Out raised the med slab so that the STAG was sitting upright. “But I do not require your help, Knock-Out. I can get to a CR chamber on my own,” the sixchanger grumbled as he leaned forward only to be met with a sharp, intense pain throughout his abdominal region and lower back area. His internals were still in the process of self repair from the surge of dark energies they had absorbed earlier. That and from being impaled on the tip of the fiery demigod’s unholy spear. The sixchanger took a deep intake of air as he tried to maintain whatever dignity he had left. He was beginning to feel a little better and had regained some of his strength, but the STAG still had a long way to go before he was at full operating capacity.

Glancing over at the femme once more, Sixshot opened another private channel to her:

>>”So, Flamewar, tell me again why I should trust you over Thunderwing here? He promises me freedom while you only promise friendship. Should I believe him or should I believe you? Tick tock, my dear, tick tock. I have a date with a CR chamber.”<<

Medical Bay

"I would tend to agree with your friend's worried glance. The elimination of Starscream does not resolve issues on a grander scale. Indeed it would complicate factors greatly, as you are probably and most likely painfully aware." Thunderwing had replied to the six changer. Flamewar chuckled internally. Friends already, huh? Did Thunderwing see them that way? How fascinating. And how diplomatic an answer.

"Gotta admire your handy work there." Warwolf commented towards his mentor before looking up once again and noticing Flamewar was still busy with Sixshot. "Han-... Yeah that was terrible..."

The black operative turned her head to look at her subordinate with a bit of a crooked smile on her faceplate. “Not half bad actually. I'll hand that much to you,” she replied before going back to work.

>>”So, you wish to be my friend, Flamewar? I find that to be...intriguing. No one has ever wanted to be my friend before. They were all too scared, but not you. No, you don’t seem to share that fear of me. I wonder....why is that, my dear? Why do I not cause panic within your frame? Hmmmmm?"<<

>>”The others feared your ability to kill. I do not fear death. I fear what would happen if you turned on the Decepticons.”<< Flamewar answered curtly, >>”Your position isolates you. As does mine. Our usual companion is death. Maybe it's worth something for it to be something...someone else.”<<

Noting the return of Knock-Out, she backed away from Sixshot as he took the floor once more, listening to Thunderwing as he spoke to Sixshot. "There are other methods to obtain your freedom Sixshot... It is a challenge I would happily invest some of my valuable expertise into investigating, provided there is true desire in my assistance." The black operative's faceplate became unreadable. She fought the urge to glance over to Warwolf as the warlord addressed her subordinate. He was obviously recruiting...but so blatantly ignoring her. How interesting that he should risk alienating her in his quest for power.

At least Sixshot would not be so easily duped into believing Thunderwing. She felt some kind of...pride, she supposed, at that. Though she wasn't really sure why, nor did she have time to introspect on the matter. Sixshot's reaction to the news that he would have to spend time in the CR chamber was a sight to see. Flamewar suppressed a crooked smile. The hint of it was still present on her faceplate when he glanced over to her.

>>”So, Flamewar, tell me again why I should trust you over Thunderwing here? He promises me freedom while you only promise friendship. Should I believe him or should I believe you? Tick tock, my dear, tick tock. I have a date with a CR chamber."<<

>>”Because the freedom he promises comes with strings attached. He wants to rule the Decepticons, Sixshot. And he's going to use you in some way to do help him do it. I don't want to rule. That'll only create more infighting, which we don't need. I want the code to prevent others from abusing you to serve their own needs. And...I want...to be able to trust you. As a friend. So that one day...I won't be afraid to think what might happen if I helped you get the freedom you crave.”<<

Flamewar glanced over in the direction of the CR chambers.

>>”Why don't you sleep on it? What is this? Your first CR nap in a thousand orns? Best go before I have to carry you there as well,”<< Flamewar finished as she returned the phase sixer's look with a slight smile.

Medical Bay

"...The same could be said for your particular affliction. Such a dreadful terror that gnaws at your very essence..."

Warwolf's audio receptors perked up at the Thunderwing's statement. The wolf-former turned his gaze from his new skeletal limb to face the Decepticon mech of science.

"And what would you know about my... condition?" The interrogator inquired as his visor narrowed to a scowl. The skeletal frame of Warwolf's new hand clenched to a tight ball as he gazed across the empty slab Sixshot once occupied and towards the white and green Decepticon that sat idly by. "What happened? You couldn't get one beast to follow you so you go off and try to control another?"

Easy Wolfy... You're getting worked up. You let your guard down now and all your training's gonna be for nothing. He's trying to provoke you... Don't let him get that satisfaction... Just watch and listen...

Warwolf's fist soon eased from its clenched form as he rested it back to his side. The interrogator let out a small huff of carbonized air as he sat himself over the edge of the slab.

Just watch and listen.

-

"And let's just hope the slag maker's not so grumpy after his nap." Knock-Out muttered after the sixchanger shrugged off the need for help and made his way towards the awaiting CR Chamber. The Crimson and gold medical officer then looked over his medical tray and isolated a few tools he'd need to repair the Seeker who stumbled in with some processor damage. Sharp, pointed actuators gently scooped up the required tools before the doctor gracefully pivoted on his heel to face the two lugnuts.

"Doctor! How competent are you with repairing technology? Reaper.... Reaper is much more important than repairing my damage... Nevermind.... I'm sure you are not compet-Completely thrilled with me adding additional work to your already overwhelming load."

Knock-Out's brow rose at Vertigo's inquiry/request. Seemed rather odd that a mech would care so much for something that couldn't stand to pass the Ambus Test. Then again, one could easily look to Soundwave and see a similar reaction, even if he Cassetticons were a little more on the "sentient" side of the spectrum.

"I uh..." Knock-Out hesitantly mumbled as he reached out to examine the drone Vertigo referred to as 'Reaper'. "Well the damage isn't too bad, per-say. It's just as a medical official my talents are typically more reserved for those with a little more 'spark'." The doctor coated in Crimson and gold held the drone up higher into the light to further examine the shrapnel damage littering Reaper's frame. "So we'll clean you up first and I'll see if I have time to spruce up the chinks in your 'friend' here." Knock-Out then passed Vertigo's drone unit back into its owner's hands before patting the nearby medical berth.

"Up and at'im."

As Knockout's brow raised at Vertigo's request, Lock On stifled a laugh but, as he was standing behind Vertigo, he did make a circular motion with an actuator near his cranium and mouthed the words 'coo coo' for the doctor's benefit.

"He's calling me coo coo again , isn't he?" Vertigo grumbled more to Lock On than Knockout.

Lock On further continued to stifle laughter at his friend's expense.

"Well the damage isn't too bad, per-say. It's just as a medical official my talents are typically more reserved for those with a little more 'spark'."

Vertigo stiffened at the comment, though was wise enough to let a moment pass before making a biting remark, and thankfully Lock On used that moment to try defuse his friend."Don't be too hard on the Doctor, Go." He said. "He doesn't know you..."

"So we'll clean you up first and I'll see if I have time to spruce up the chinks in your 'friend' here." Knock-Out then passed Vertigo's drone unit back into its owner's hands before patting the nearby medical berth.

"Up and at'im."

Vertigo passed the drone over to Lock On, affectionately brushing his hand over the equipment as he did. Lock On dropped it a bit unceremoniously on to the next berth. Then the recon specialist slid up on berth Knockout indicated, seething a bit at the Doctor's words. "Doctor, that is a highly sophisticated surveillance drone. It's technology is extremely sensitive and almost as advanced as our own systems." He said as he shifted in to place with an indignant aire. "It's not like the disposable systems most recon mechs use..."

"Which means he's had the drones since he rolled off the assembly line." Lock On added flippantly.

"I did not 'roll off the assembly line'." Vertigo said with a wounded sniffle.

"Yeah, you whined and complained about the conditions and had to be 'escorted' off." Lock On snipped getting tired of Vertigo's attitide.

Vertigo dismissed Lock On's insult with a wave of his hand, absently, and turned his attention to Knockout. "Reaper has to be precisely calibrated and who knows what that slag brained idiot did when he shot me." Vertigo continued. "The drones are sensitive enough to pick up the mutterings and whispers over there..." He waved a hand towards the going ons on the other side of the med bay where other patients were going about their things. "Without upping the mic sensitivity, he can pin point a spec of dust over on that berth..." He motioned to an empty berth on the far side of the med bay. "Without switching lenses in his camera..."

Lock On interrupted again, only with a lowered voice to the Doctor. "We always found it best to just get to work on him while he's busy making himself look important, that way he doesn't complain about what you do to him... because he will complain... no matter how great you do." He said. "Trust me...nothing's ever good enough..."

"So while you may think the drones are beneath you-" Vertigo was once again cut off by Lock On.

"You were told not to insult medical professionals, remember...?" Lock On warned.

Vertigo sighed. "While they may be drones, they are very important equipment and the Sky Commander-"

"Would probably never notice..." Lock On muttered as if he had heard this speech a thousand times before, because he had.

"Would be very displeased it was ruined by a brutish thug with the attention span of a scraplet." Vertigo finished with a glare at Lock On.