- Motto: "I'm not psycho...I just like psychotic things."
All of the fidgeting, the incessant finger tapping on the armrests of the chair, the heavy, uneven intakes, did not go unnoticed by the psychiatrist. Everything was noted, if not in writing then it was recorded and stored within Rung’s own processor for later examination.
Armor Aid was still hurting. He hadn’t made it past the mourning stage of his loss. In order for him to move on to the following stages he was going to have to accept that he was not responsible for the death of Lancet.
Rung sat patiently, quietly, legs crossed hands gently folded and set lightly on his knee as he watched the medic go through the motions of not wanting to face the truth. Armor Aid had found a surrogate to acceptance of his loss…an addiction. The cygar – 8’s were his crutch, and another way to hold onto Lancet for just a little longer. In hindsight, they were just as much the problem as his mentor’s death.
It was the sudden outburst that finally got Rung to move from his position. The accusation that he was somehow unable to cope with the loss of other mechs was difficult to fathom, however, the psychiatrist recovered and replaced his surprised expression with one of understanding. "Armor Aid, I know you don’t mean any of that."
Rung placed both elbows on his knees and leaned down so he could catch the doctor’s optics with his own. “Aid, you do have a problem. You’re using the cygar – 8s as a crutch. As a way to hold on to Lancet for just a little longer and as a result you’ve become dependent on them, not only as a way to keep your thoughts straight, but as a way to keep your mentor close to you."
A soft sigh escaped Rung as he looked at his newest patient. “I want to help you move on to the next stage. You’re stuck, Aid, you’re stuck in the mourning stage and you have to move on to the acceptance stage of your loss." Rung’s lips curled up into a small smile as he reached out slowly and placed his hand lightly on Armor Aid’s knee. “Let me help you. Let me help you move on. Let me help you regain control of your life so you can beat this addiction. So you can reclaim your existence and prove to yourself that you’re every bit as good as Lancet. Let me help you see that your mentor made the right decision in choosing you as his successor."
Rung removed his hand from his patient’s knee and leaned back in his chair. He watched the mech for a moment before he pressed a bit further. “Let me ask you something. If you were not here or if you had never met Lancet, do you think the attack on him would have still happened?" He asked the question to see how Armor Aid felt about his own existence. Armor Aid needed to understand that even if he was not around there was still a chance that Lancet would have made the attempt to see Fortress Maximus and he would have still been attacked and killed. If Rung could get his patient to see that no matter what he did or didn’t do the outcome would still have been the same, then maybe Armor Aid would accept Lancet’s death for what it was…a tragic undertaking made possible by a few corrupt individuals.
Southern Wing – Level 4 – Cell Block C
There had been silence between the two mechs for quite some time. It suited Kronus fine. He was used to the quiet. Of course it was a bit strange for the young guard to be so tightlipped. With a mental sigh Kronus decided to keep his “friendship” up by striking up a nice conversation. “Shanix for your thoughts."
“Huh?" The light sound of Streamlight’s youthful voice floated into the thief’s cell and settled into his audios. “I said a shanix for your thoughts. You’re usually a bit more…well, you know, talkative." Kronus shifted onto his side as he focused on the door. “Something wrong?"
There wasn’t an answer; instead the only sound that drifted into the cell was a soft sigh. Curiosity piqued, Kronus slowly sat up on his cot and cocked his head to one side. He waited a moment more but still no vocal response. The lithe mech stood from his resting place and made his way to the cell door. He lifted up on the balls of his feet and cast his gaze around the area. “I get it. It’s about me, isn’t it? You really do think I’m glitched."
“No. That’s not it." The voice wasn’t coming from the desk instead it was off to the side and out of view from the Decepticon. Kronus strained his neck in an attempt to see the young guard, but when the tension on the cables became too intense he gave up and lowered back down onto his heels. “Okay, so what is it? Can’t help you if you don’t let me in ya know."
Another sigh, this one heavier than the previous one. “It’s Rung." The guard said as he finally stepped into view. Kronus raised an optic ridge as he took in Streamlight’s worried expression. “What about him? Is this because he wants to meet with you?" Kronus’ voice was low but still filed with faux concern.
Streamlight shrugged and slowly made his way to the desk. He plopped down in the chair and placed his elbows on the surface. With a snort Streamlight rested his chin in his hands. “He thinks we’re becoming too close. But it’s not like I’m leaking codes or anything like that." There was a light chuckle from behind the cell door. “Heh. You don’t happen to know any do you?" Streamlight’s head shot up as he looked into the crimson pinpricks shining out through the door’s window. “Of course not! I’m just a guard!"
Another chuckle, this one a bit louder and longer. “Don’t get your lugnuts in a twist. I was just foolin’ around." Kronus said before he let out a heavy sigh. “Look, kid, Rung’s okay…well, he’s okay for a spindly little cretin, but he’s okay. Just go in there and let him know how you feel. That’s what he’s there for…or what they pay him for…or whatever." A few shuffling steps and Kronus was back on his cot. Streamlight grumbled something quietly before the two mechs grew silent once more. “Kronus?" The young mech questioned after some time.
The thief lifted his head slightly and set his optics on the bright ice blue color of Streamlight’s optics piercing the dark of his cell. “Yeah?" A moment of silence filled the room as the ‘Con watched the young guard’s optics offline. “You don’t think I’m glitched, do you?"
Kronus stared for a moment, a hidden, toothy grin plastered on his face beneath his face restraint before he laid his head back down. “Nah. You’re not glitched. You’re just trusting. But that’s a good thing." For me. Kronus’ smile broadened.