The Energon Pub

Mess Hall

"There's still a sensation of evil present in this place. Until the spark of the Fallen is fully extinguished, we're all gonna have to put up with it I suppose. It's the cruel reality I think. Don't down it too fast, Hot Rod. I made that mistake recently and my gas chamber had to recover for a whole Mega-cycle."

“No one senses it like I do, Cliff,” Hot Rod replied as he downed another shot of high grade. The cavalier stared off across the bar not looking at anything or anyone in particular as he remembered his time being possessed by the Fallen. “Being taken over by an evil entity like that fiery demigod was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I mean I’ve done a lot of crazy things in my life. I rush head on into battles without thinking of the consequences of my actions. I’ve thrown myself into various types of dangerous situations that most mechs would shy away from. Hell, I even once tried to take on Megatron head on and got a hole blown through my torso for my troubles. That was fun. Heh. Even through all of that I was never ever afraid, never once. And you know what? I’d do it all over again if I had the chance. But....”

Hot Rod paused as he poured himself yet another glass of energon and held it up to optics level. “...the Fallen was very different. When he was inside me, controlling me, making me hurt my comrades, my friends, all of you, I felt something I never want to feel again.” The cavalier downed the high grade in his hand before slamming the glass back down onto the bar top. “Fear. I felt genuine fear in my spark. And it was that fear that unholy bastard brought out in me which prevented me from fighting back sooner. It kept me at bay inside my own body while you were all getting hurt. I’ll never forgive myself for that. By the time I had found the strength to fight back and help you guys defeat him, many had already lost their sparks or had been badly damaged. Some won’t ever be the same again.”

The flamed-covered Autobot took the bottle of energon in one hand and the shot glass in the other and slipped off the bar stool. “And that’s my fault no matter what anyone tries to say.” Hot Rod then turned away from the bar and towards the table where Cliffjumper, Clocker and now Rosanna were getting ready to play a game of cards. The cavalier walked to the group and took a seat at the table, placing the bottle and glass down to one side. “Deal me in, guys. And don’t worry about me, Cliff. I can handle my high grade better than most.”

Hot Rod then poured another shot as he glanced over at the blue speedster nearby. “Hey, Blurr, get over here and join us. If these three have to hear me sulk and feel sorry for myself for the next few cycles then so do you.”

Mess Hall

Blurr was particularly savoring the influx of energon to his starved systems. He had not quite felt back to one hundred percent until this particular moment. He shoved his empty glass at the barkeeping droid. “Gimmeanother.” It did. Painfully slowly. Horribly slowly. And…and….ugh, he was going to die if he had to wait one more- Oh. There it was. Finally.

Already guzzling down the new glass of energon, he listened passively as the occupants of the room chatted about Hot Rod’s experiences being possessed by the Fallen. To hear Hot Rod describe it, it almost seemed worse than Blurr had imagined it. Almost.

“Hey, Blurr, get over here and join us. If these three have to hear me sulk and feel sorry for myself for the next few cycles then so do you.”

And just like that, Blurr appeared, sitting next to Hot Rod almost as if he’d been there all along. The thing that gave him away was the fact that he had his hand clasped over the top of his glass, the liquid within sloshing wildly in its confined space.

“Hrm, sowhatareweplaying?” Blurr asked, taking another sip of his drink before setting it down onto to the table. “There’s this humangamecalled “slapjack” thatIsaw. Lookedkindainteresting.”

Mess Hall

Brawn strolled into the ship's mess hall, looking around the crowd of bots at the tables and benches. The doctor cleared him for duty, so obviously Brawn's first spot was to get something to wake him up. Slowing down once he reached the bar, he ordered a cube of energon from one of the drones; the aforementioned cube arriving in a few short seconds. Brawn downed the drink instantly, dropping the cube back down on the table before stepping away. There were multiple conversations that he could hear; none of which interested him, anyways.

What did interest the brawler, however, was playing a game of cards. Although all the rules confused him, he wanted to understand it to some degree. He saw Hot Rod, Cliffjumper, Clocker, Rosanna and Blur dealing some cards out to each other. Brawn had been away for a while, so he felt like he needed to reacquaint himself with the rest of the faction. It seemed the closest group to him would be a good place to start, so Brawn walked over. "Hey, fellas. Mind dealing me in?"

Mess Hall:

Pain. That's what Clocker could sense in Hot Rod. The visible and audible sorrow was dripping down his whole body. Clocker could see how much Hot Rod was pained by what happened to him. It was tearing at him. It was unhealthy at best, and traumatic at worst for the cavalier. Clocker could tell that this wasn’t just something that would clear up easily. Healing would take time. Even this young speeder ‘Bot knew that. Hopefully Arcee shows up soon.

“Hrm, sowhatareweplaying? There’s this humangamecalled ‘slapjack' thatIsaw. Lookedkindainteresting.

Clocker perked a bit at the sound of Blurr’s voice. He then saw that Cliffjumper seemed to not care for any energex at the moment. I suppose a sober game of cards can’t hurt.

“I actually had something called ‘Blackjack' in mind, seeing as I have some tokens here. I suppose a new game type couldn’t hurt though, Blurr,” said Cliffjumper with a slight smile as he set the tokens aside, “Let’s be different. What're the rules of this game? I heard it’s playable without currency involved. Would be nice to not have to waste Shanix.”

“Too bad we don’t have Wheeljack here to slap,” said Clocker jokingly before laughing.

Cliffjumper puffed some smoke from his cigar before responding, “You know Jacky would slap you if he were here, right?”

“I would take a slap to poke at him any day, Cliffs. Heh, he’s a ‘jolly’ ‘Bot anyhow,” responded Clocker with a huge smirk on his face. Clocker didn’t care if no-one else found it funny. It was funny to him, and that’s all he cared about.

Rosanna then found herself chuckling at Clocker’s joke. Why did I find that funny? Ahh, oh well. I might as well have some fun once in a while.

Then, a familiar 'Bot walked up to the table.

"Hey, fellas. Mind dealing me in?"

"Brawn!" said Cliffjumper, "Good to see you with us again! Of course, grab a seat!"

Cliffjumper then scooched over to give Brawn some more room. "Cigar?"

Mess Hall

"Brawn!" said Cliffjumper, "Good to see you with us again! Of course, grab a seat!"

Cliffjumper then scooched over to give Brawn some more room. "Cigar?"

Brawn laughed a heart laugh before sitting down beside Cliffjumper. "Sure, I'll take a cigar. Couldn't hurt, anyways." Brawn missed this kind of camaraderie; the sort where everyone was casual and friendly. He puffed the cigar before talking again. "So, what game are we playing, here? There's a human game called Slap-jack that seemed pretty basic, at least basic enough that I can play it. Wanna try it out?"

Mess Hall

“Let’s be different. What're the rules of this game? I heard it’s playable without currency involved. Would be nice to not have to waste Shanix.”

“Well, thebasicidea,” Blurr started before pausing, realizing that he needed to slow down to explain the rules properly. He cleared his vocalizer when Brawn sauntered up to the table. Cliffjumper offered Brawn a Cy-Gar. Nasty thing. He wondered where Cliff got one from. Kup maybe? Looked nasty in any case, but he wasn’t one to judge.

"So, what game are we playing, here? There's a human game called Slap-jack that seemed pretty basic, at least basic enough that I can play it. Wanna try it out?"

“Right, so I’ll explain rules…So essentially…the goal of the game is to slap a certain kindacard. So the dealer deals it out and then the first person to slap it gets the point.” Grabbing a card off of the top of the deck, Blurr dealt it out onto the table. “So say this is the card type we want. Then the first person to slapit,” The card disappeared from the table, reappearing in Blurr’s hand in an instant. “Like that, gets the point! Seem simple enough?”

Medical Bay – Private Room

"Hey! Stay with me here buddy!" said Zeta Prime.

No. Wait. It wasn’t Zeta, but…

“Jazz?” Orion asked, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder as the black and white mech shook him. What was the matter? Where? Wait, how did he get here? Where was here?

"C'mon Prime... Rivets Field; shortly after Sentinel was beaten, we began to form a strike group to combat Megatron's rise."

Optimus Prime frowned beneath his mouthplate, looking down at himself. He was laying down. Why? Oh, that’s right. “I was…injured…” Prime muttered. As he spoke, he saw the open gash on his side, energon leaking from it profusely. An instant later, the pain struck. “Arrghhh!” Prime cried, clutching at his side. The pain escalated, causing Optimus writhe in agony. He lashed out, gripping Jazz’s arm tightly.

Mess Hall:

Cliffjumper lit Brawn's cigar before Blurr made a seemingly judgemental glance at the two. Though, he didn't know whether it was his insecurity getting the best of him, or if Blurr actually thought it a bad habit. Eh, who cares.

It was funny seeing Blurr try to explain rules slowly to understand. It was perfectly coherent, but it was still smirk-worthy.

Cliffjumper frowned after Blurr explained the rules, "Of course you recommended this game, Blurr. You'd win every time. But, I suppose we could try."

Cliff then grabbed a card himself and glanced at it before asking, "What's the object of the game?"

Mess Hall

Brawn listened to the fast-talking speedster explain the rules to the group. Although Brawn wasn't the fastest Autobot, he had a plan. Brawn's strength is almost unrivaled throughout the entire faction, so he could use this to his advantage. If Brawn could make his hand approaching the card look intimidating enough, the others might back off for fear of losing their own hand to his descending one. He doubted that the plan would work, but it was the best he had. Brawn added one thing before the game started:

"In advance, apologies if I break the table by slamming my hand down on it too hard. On another note, apologies if I break anyone's hand with mine."

Mess Hall

Cliffjumper frowned after Blurr explained the rules, "Of course you recommended this game, Blurr. You'd win every time. But, I suppose we could try."

“Hm…” Blurr frowned, rubbing his chin, “Ihadn’tthoughtofthat…”

"In advance, apologies if I break the table by slamming my hand down on it too hard. On another note, apologies if I break anyone's hand with mine."

“Ahh…” Wincing slightly, Blurr held out his hands and shook his head. “Nonono. Nevermind. Maybesomethingelse. I’drather itbe fair. And for no one toget hurt.” Looking to Hot Rod, Blurr nudged the cavalier in the side. “You have asuggestion, Roddy? Youdidsay Ihad tolistento youwhine. Soyou gottapick somethingfunto distractusall.”

Smiling good-naturedly, Blurr took a sip of his energon, relishing the feeling of his circuits being reenergized.

Priority-1 transmission from Kup to Ultra Magnus

>>"Kup to Magnus: D-1-M is aboard the Ark as ordered. I think his prognosis is goin' downhill real fast, though. He's flipped a gasket."<<

Mess Hall

Hot Rod tried to focus on what everyone was saying, but it was very difficult to do so. There was something spoken about Earthen games like Blackjack and Slap-jack, but in all actuality the cavalier didn’t really care what game they played. Brawn eventually joined the group and began conversing with the others. All the while, Hot Rod just tried to remain sane and not have any more delusions. Were they delusions, though? It was hard to tell really.

I’m no delusion, child. I’m inside you and I always will be!

No, you’re just a figment of my imagination! You’re not real! Not anymore!

Are you so sure?

Just then the doors to the mess hall opened and the fiery form of the Fallen entered the room. Growing larger and larger by the astrosecond, the demigod towered over those at the table, his outstretched clawed hands ready to grab one of the many unsuspecting mechs.

No! Leave them alone!

You can’t stop me, child! No one can! Hahahahahahah!!!

This isn’t real! This isn’t real! Hot Rod shut off his optics and lowered his head, grasping the half-full glass of high grade in his right hand. Go away! You aren’t real! Just go away!

I can’t, child. Your spark is now tainted. You are now ME! We are the same! Hahahahahahah!!!

No!

“You have asuggestion, Roddy? Youdidsay Ihad tolistento youwhine. Soyou gottapick somethingfunto distractusall.”

“NO!!” Hot Rod shouted aloud, squeezing his glass so hard that it finally broke apart in his hand. He looked around to all those present who were now staring back at him like he had just lost his mind. Of course, there was no sign of the Fallen anywhere. It was just as he had suspected. It had all been another hallucination. The cavalier turned towards Blurr and realized that the last sentence he heard had been spoken by the speedster. “Um, sorry about that, guys. Just me seeing things again. Heh.”

Hot Rod then realized the mess he had made, noticing the broken glass and high grade spilt across the table near his right arm. The drone bartender immediately came over and cleaned it up, setting a new glass down beside the cavalier. “Thanks,” Hot Rod said as the drone went back to tending the bar and the flame-covered mech returned his attention to the others at the table. “Um, I guess I have a suggestion. We could play cyber poker? I’m not very good at it, though, but it should still be a good enough distraction for all of us. Heh.”

Hopefully.

Mess Hall:

“Nonono. Nevermind. Maybesomethingelse. I’drather itbe fair. And for no one toget hurt. You have asuggestion, Roddy? Youdidsay Ihad tolistento youwhine. Soyou gottapick somethingfunto distractusall.”

Cliffjumper looked at the flamester and agreed, "Yeah man, you should get a say so in-"

“NO!!”

Cliffjumper's eyes widened. Not in anger, but in a startled nature. At this point it was hard to be sure whether or not Roddy was going to pull a gun on them or something. It was hard to say, but at this point Cliff was starting to think Hot Rod may need some more help than just friendly company.

“Um, sorry about that, guys. Just me seeing things again. Heh.”

The red Pontiac stayed silent, which was a rarity for him. Cliffjumper didn't really know what sort of snarky comment to say at this point though. This was just too much.

Cliff then pulled the Cy-Gar (cigar) out of his mouth and set it in an ash plate. He then waved his hand at the bar tender, "Thanks for the clean up. Would like to have a medium grade, myself." Maybe this is a sign that I need a bit of intoxication.

The tender brought over the beverage after a bit of Cliff resting his chin in his palm and pondering what's going on. Cliffjumper wasn't normally worried about, well, anything. This situation was starting to get to him though. He tried to play it cool for a while, but it was not how he felt inside.

The red Minibot then tried to divert attention back to the game choice, "Uh, yeah. Maybe. I am not really wanting to waste shanix right now, but at this point there's not many options."

Cliffjumper then started to deal the cards out when he thought of an Earthen game called "Rummy". He then decided it best not to try and change the game again at this point due to the problems their undecided nature has caused so far.

Mess Hall:

“NO!!”

Brawn blinked and turned his head towards Hot Rod, whose hand was now just above shattered glass and a puddle of high-grade. Brawn almost felt bad for such a fine drink going to waste. What was more concerning, however, was Hot Rod's yell.

Brawn couldn't tell if Roddy was just very vocal about not wanting to pick a game, or something else had happened. After he had explained it as "just seeing things", Brawn let out a quiet sigh of relief. It was best to just let the matter drop. Brawn had a feeling any inquiry would just get Hot Rod worked up. The cavalier answered Blur's question, choosing cyber poker. It was a simple game, and Brawn didn't need the shantix for ammo or weapons. Why not gamble?

Brawn made a mental note that once the event was behind them, he was going to get filled in on Hot Rod's situation by one of the other card players present, or the cavalier himself. He must have missed something BIG if the Autobot's trademark daredevil had such a personality change. He hadn't seen Prime in a while, either. Brawn decided to later go looking for him. He had a lot of catching up to do, now that he thought about it. But all that would have to wait until after he beat the entire group at cyber poker.

Brawn also decided to stop drinking for the rest of the day.

Mess Hall

“NO!!” Hot Rod shouted aloud, squeezing his glass so hard that it finally broke apart in his hand.

“Uhh…” was all Blurr could manage.

Was it something he said? A quick explanation cleared up Blurr’s confusion. Ah, just seeing things again. Not something he said. Phew. Wait. Hm. Roddy might could use some actual help. Like professional help. Wrung was among the best psychologists the Autobots had…but he wasn’t exactly around. Maybe there was someone else though. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, the speedster mulled over it while Hot Rod offered up the suggestion of cyber poker.

“Works forme,” Blurr said, grabbing the cards dealt out to him and pulling them over to him.

Glancing to Hot Rod, Blurr nudged him as an idea struck him. “Youknow, Hot Rod…it mightbe worthwhileto talkto Optimus once he’s feelingbetter. Justan idea.” Blurr remembered that Hot Rod looked up to Prime somewhat – well, who didn’t, really – but more than the average bot. And Prime usually never minded taking the time out to talk to even the lowest of bots. There were other choices, of course, but since the big guy was back…

((OOC: I will be covering Tracer when needed until her player can return.))

Tracer’s Quarters

Smokescreen rounded yet another corner in the labyrinth-like network of corridors that comprised the Guardian, having just bounced back over from the Ark-22. His trek to the other ship was to retrieve a very special item from Wheeljack’s lab, a device that would help Tracer maintain a certain level of control over her mental health issues. The blue scout meant a great deal to the diversion expert and he would do anything he could to assist her. The replicator Wheeljack had built and programmed would provide Tracer with as much synthetic Syk as she required. While the drug was considered an illegal substance, it was the only thing that kept the troubled femme’s condition in check. Of course, real Syk would work the best, but for now the synthetic version would have to suffice.

The red and blue racer approached the locked door to Tracer’s quarters, which was where he had left the tired femme to rest while he journeyed over to the Ark. Initially, they had both been heading to Wheeljack’s lab together, but considering Tracer’s current condition, Smokescreen felt it was better to avoid any unwarranted bouncing for her. Plus, the femme’s own quarters would provide the necessary privacy that she needed away from any unwanted attention her condition might draw. He had promised her that he wouldn’t be too long. Thankfully, Smokey had not encountered any significant delays and made it back in just over a cycle.

Entering the appropriate codes, Smokescreen unlocked the door and watched as it slid open to reveal the hab suite within. The former street racer stepped across the threshold as his optics fixated on the sleeping form of Tracer, who lay motionless on her recharge slab. Her pet turbofox, Razr, lay quietly at her feet, only perking its head up briefly when Smokey entered the room.

The door slid shut behind the diversion expert as he walked over to a nearby table and set the replicator down on top. Smokescreen then turned and made his way over to Tracer’s slab, sitting gently on the edge as he tried to avoid waking her up. The rallybot placed a tender hand on the troubled femme’s shoulder, her head immediately turning in response.

“You’re back,” Tracer said as her optics on-lined and she looked up at him.

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” the red and blue mech apologized.

“No worries. I wasn’t really sleeping anyhow,” Tracer revealed with a deep sigh. “How long were you gone?”

“Not long,” Smokescreen replied, giving her shoulder plate a light squeeze. “Only a few breems. I told you I would return soon.”

“It was longer than that,” Tracer teased with grin. “Did you have any problems?”

“Nope, none at all,” Smokey responded, a warm smile spreading across his faceplate.

“Liar.”

“It’s true!” Smokescreen insisted, reaching down and taking her hand into his own. “Everyone over there seemed busy with other projects. They didn’t even notice me. Even Wheeljack’s lab was empty except for his droid. I found the replicator and brought it back. No issues.” The diversion expert gestured towards the device on the table with his free hand. “See?”

“Yeah,” Tracer said weakly as she slowly sat up and swung her legs over the side of the slab. “But I don’t think the synthetic Syk will be enough. Even with the triple dose I took before I started to feel it wear off while you were gone. I need the real stuff, Smokey.”

“I know,” the rallybot conceded. “But you can’t go back to Oil Slick. I have to find another source. I have a couple of potential options that might pan out, but there are no guarantees. Until I can find the real deal the synthetic Syk will have to do.” Smokescreen said as he leaned in and gave Tracer a kiss on the cheek. “But you can’t keep taking three doses at a time like you did before. It’s going to fry your circuits.”

“But....I already did.”

A surprised Smokescreen looked Tracer directly in the optics. “What do you mean you already did? Already did what?”

Tracer hesitated as she looked away briefly while Razr cuddled up alongside her hip before she returned her gaze to the rallybot. “I already took another three doses while you were gone. Wheeljack had initially given me six vials after we returned from Uluru. I took three back then which caused me to fall into paralysis, but I still had the other three vials. I injected myself with those last three vials just before you got back here from the Ark. I then laid down just in case I went into paralysis again, but I didn’t this time. I guess my body has gotten used to that high a dosage already.” The troubled femme paused for a moment, noticing the disapproving look he was giving her. “I’m sorry, Smokey! I couldn’t take the shaking any longer! I just couldn’t!”

“It’s okay, Tracer. It’s okay,” Smokescreen replied as he quickly pulled her close to him and held her tight. “I don’t blame you. I just wish you had waited until I was here. You’re taking too much synthetic Syk too close together. I’m no chemist, but it can’t be good for you.”

“I don’t have any other choice, it’s this or....” There was a long pause. Too long.

“Or what?” The diversion expert asked as Tracer began to shake in his arms. He quickly pulled back to look at the troubled femme directly in her faceplate as the shaking began to increase rapidly. Her optics had glazed over and her body had become stiff and rigid. “Tracer! Tracer, what’s wrong?!” Razr got up from her side as Tracer began to violently convulse before falling back onto her recharge slab. “Tracer! TRACER!!! Dear Primus, what’s wrong?!”

Tracer began to foam at the mouth as energon started to leak from the corners of her lips. This wasn’t paralysis like before. This was something entirely different. These were convulsions which signified something far more serious. Smokescreen couldn’t handle this on his own. He needed help and he needed it now.

Initially, the rallybot tried to comm Axle, who had assisted with Tracer’s issues in the past. However, after several attempts to reach him, an agitated Smokescreen finally gave up. “Where the frag is he?!” The red and blue mech considered calling for Wheeljack, but knew that he was too far away on a different ship. Smokey needed someone who was closer and could get to them faster. Ratchet was not an option as he would ask far too many questions and easily figure out what was really wrong with Tracer. Then the slag would really fly and their secret would be out.

No. Smokescreen needed to contact a medic whom he could trust, but who? After a few more frantic moments of contemplation, the rallybot opened a new comm line:

>>”Velocity, this is Smokescreen. I’m with Tracer in her personal quarters. I need your help now! Something’s very wrong with Tracer. She’s having violent convulsions and foaming at the mouth. I don’t know what’s wrong with her. Please get here as fast as you can!”<<

With his message sent, Smokescreen returned his attention to the troubled femme as he held on to her with both hands in an attempt to steady her convulsing body. “Hang on, Tracer. Help will be here soon. Just hang on!”

Medical Bay

The work was finally beginning to slow down. The amount of patients lessened slowly, the urgency of their injuries subsided. Velocity was beginning to feel like she could relax. Of course, Veneer was still in critical condition, but he was stable…at least for now. She was a bit surprised that Blindside was not about. He must have gone out on assignment without knowing. Or he did know. Some people had odds ways of coping. As far as she was aware, however, Blindside had not been notified.

With a soft sigh, Velocity leaned against an empty examination slab. A nap on her own recharge slab sounded pretty good right about now. Maybe she’d go do that.

>>”Velocity, this is Smokescreen. I’m with Tracer in her personal quarters. I need your help now! Something’s very wrong with Tracer. She’s having violent convulsions and foaming at the mouth. I don’t know what’s wrong with her. Please get here as fast as you can!”<<

Or not.

Transforming with urgency, Velocity carefully exited the medical bay, then revved off into the ship, hurrying toward her destination.

Tracer’s Quarters

After a few short moments, Velocity had arrived. She reverted back to robot mode, slidding to a stop in front of the door to Tracer’s Quarters. It hissed open at her touch, revealing Smokescreen and the patient within. Tracer was convulsing. Velocity rushed over to her side, examining Tracer with quick yet calm diligence. She looked at Smokescreen.

“What happened?”

Mess Hall:

Rosanna finally got the drink she ordered, and it was lovely. Though, even though it wasn't the strongest thing she'd ever had, it did nicely.

The pink Cassettebot glared at the cards on the table as the other 'Bots at the table were talking about what to do with them. After a while of Rose staying silent while the Minibots and racers chattered together, she began to go unnoticed. Not an entirely uncommon thing for a Cassettebot to deal with because of her small stature, but an annoying thing nonetheless. Rosanna finally decided to speak up.

"This reminds me of a song I worked on a long time ago before the war. Only sung it a few times at some public events, but never was put on an album."

She took her hand and rubbed it on her head as if she was trying to search in her deepest thoughts. She then began to recite.

"I believe it went like, 'From large to small, from tiny to tall, we're the craziest of them all. We fight with cards, we traverse the stars, and forget about all the wars.' Not like we forget the wars we fight or anything but, it's kind of a funny similarity to us."

Rosanna put her hands behind her head and stretched, "Hm, It's weird remembering that I wrote this song shortly before the war started to unfold. Almost like my younger self knew more about now than my current self."

She then took another swig of her drink and said, "I look forward to when this war is over. I just want to get back to my old life. I'm by no means a warrior. I'm an entertainer."

Bridge

"Commander, internal sensors confirm a site to site bounce signal. Target destination was..."

"Acknowledged, and thank you Dyson." Ultra Magnus raised his hand and cut off the operations officer from his report before more details could be revealed. Not that the grander scheme would be detected by a simple transportation between two Autobot vessels, but the Autobot Supreme Commander did not want to take the risk so early in the action. Slowly he allowed his massive palm to come to rest upon the gunmetal gray arm rest of the command chair, signalling the operations officer to retake his position at the controls that regulated internal communications and sensors. "Then that is the signal to begin our own new adventures." He leaned back and shifted his position to optimize comfort as he turned his attention to the view screen, the view of the nights-cape of the Port of Sydney almost transfixing his gaze.

A mesmerizing sight to be hold, a vivid reminder of what exactly was at stake in this long and brutal war... as well as what Ultra Magnus had seen lost. Now, under his own orders, the greatest cause of chaos and calamity in the galaxy's history was on its way to the darkest hole ever constructed. A prison so deep and impenetrable that no light could reach its festering bowels. It was his hope, faint thought it may be, those shining pin pricks of light that dotted the shores of that planet's smallest continent as well as those spread across the rest of this world never learn of its existence.

Shaking off the reverie Ultra Magnus activated a small communication frequency line that linked him with the lower decks. "Engineering... Colt. Status report."

"Engineering here sir... Just in time Commander, I was just about to contact you with our update on the refit progression to the... Sorry sir, I am sure that is not why you contacted me. Ironfist has transferred to the Ark for temporary assignment so I am."

Magnus barely suppressed an amused smile. Colt, one of the Guardian's computer programmers and technicians, was also Ironfist's third in command. Which meant with Wedge on the planet and the weapons designer off fulfilling an even more vital role, the young tech had been thrust into a position of responsibility. A role that Magnus knew the youth never really wanted to begin with... Wasn't that how it almost always started? "Take your time Corporal, this war's been going on for an eternity... we can spare a few astro seconds."

"Sorry... umm. The modifications to the shields and launchers are proceeding ahead of schedule. Ironfist was very specific on how those modifications were to be carried out. Sensor emitters are fully functional. We have full impulse engines, inertial dampeners have been completely restored as well as gravity generators." Colt's voice wavered for a moment. "I've also managed to have teams restore hull integrity to medical core sections, fire damage is now at seventy nine percent repaired."

"Good to know, so we'll survive a quick shake down cruise?"

Colt's voice came over the con as he began acquiring the requisite data from supporting noncoms. The exchange was brief but pointed. "Sir, I wouldn't take her into battle even on her best day... But the Guardian can make it back to space dock without any issues."

"Understood, but no promises. Bridge out." Ultra Magnus deactivated the comm link and leaned forward in the chair. His optics barely darted down towards Navigation and Helm. "You have your previous orders. Confirm course to just inside the first Nickle Planetary Core's orbit around this stellar body."

The navigation officer acknowledged and proceeded to toss a projected course along the planetary chart on the main viewer.

"Ops, transmit flight plan to command Ark 22. Helm, ahead flank speed."

The two officers acknowledged their own orders, and the results were immediately noticeable. The Guardian's decks began to vibrate as the powerful engines flared to life. Intense thrust began to place subtle G-Forces among the inhabitants of the ship, before being ebbed away by the ship's inertial dampeners. "We will be passing the second planet of this solar system in two breem's Commander. Destination in four."

Ultra Magnus simply pressed his fingers together above his breastplate and stared forward at the growing burning sphere of hydrogen. "Acknowledged... steady as she goes."

((OOC-Covering Ratchet for the time being.))

Medical Bay--Private Room

Ratchet had injected some stabilizing fluids into Optimus' systems after he had jerked violently and latched on to Jazz. He did his best for a few moments to assist the special operative in keeping their Prime as close to a state of rest and calm as possible, but it was far from easy. Moreover, Ratchet felt like he was making some progress on analyzing Prime's cranial scans and he wanted to keep his attention there as much as possible.

"Stay with him," Ratchet said to Jazz and Bumblebee. "He needs friendly voices and faces. I'm a lot of things, but I don't think 'friendly' gets tossed to the top of the list, most cycles."

At first, and even second, glance, everything appeared normal. All of Optimus' cranial pulse patterns were well within the realm of what they had always been; after all, he'd submitted himself to countless scans over the vorns. But as Ratchet dug deeper, and deeper, and deeper....he was finally beginning to notice some irregularities. Maybe even just an irregularity that repeated on itself.

He almost strained his neck joints as he looked at the monitor display. Tiny, squiggly lines in the midst of the sea of lines that consisted of Prime's normal laser core patterns.

"I think these are the problem," Ratchet said rhetorically. "But I don't know what the frag they are or how to get them outta there."

Medical Bay – Private Room

Abruptly, Optimus’s grip on Jazz loosened. In fact, his optics dimmed going completely dark as he went deathly still. From where Ratchet stood next to the cranial pulse readouts, something rather peculiar happened. All of Optimus’s patterns went flat save for those tiny, squiggly lines.

The faces before him were torn away. He was moving. At incredible speed. Stars. Planets. Moons. Battles. The fallen. Cities. Galaxies. Spiraling down…Down. Into nothingness.

“We are the harbingers,” Optimus echoed coldly without a trace of its usual warmth.

The cranial diagnostic equipment’s wiring slowly went offline. One by one. Spreading out like a radius. All systems slowly going offline. Until the lights went too. Darkness.

Then footsteps.

Sssszzzrrt!

A hiss in the dark. Energy in the form of an axe, burning red and hot. It swung upwards and then came down on its intended target with sickening speed and power. Ratchet.

Medical Bay – Private Room

Ratchet's optics narrowed as he looked closer and closer at the small, squiggly irregularities on Optimus' laser core scan. It just had to be-

“We are the harbingers,” Optimus said, immediately garnering Ratchet's attention.

"You're the 'what-in-the-frag?" Ratchet grumbled as he turned to look, only to find all the operational systems in the room systematically shutting down.

As the room went dark, Ratchet's optical sensors began to go fuzzy. Oh, wasn't this lovely?

"Prime? If you can hear me, just stay down, we'll get you through this. We-"

Sssszzzrrt!

Ratchet coudln't see anything. But he could hear it. And he could feel the heat radiating off of it. Whatever it was. No, wait, he knew what it was.

Optimus' axe....!

And as the weapon arced downward, blistering through Ratchet's upper shoulder joint, the chief medical officer cried out in pain as he dropped to the floor under the massive momentum of Prime's swing.

Bounce Chamber

“I don’t know about you,” Swerve said to Sidetrack, “But I am parched. Why don’t we take the scenic route over to Perceptor? Stop by the mess hall. Maybe visit with some folks. Scope out spots for Swerve’s!” He gestured in the air, spreading his hands out. “Oh, and I guess we could maybe scope out the med bay too. See if we can swipe some - er – I mean. Check on our dear comrades. Let’s go, c’mon, ‘Track.”

Swerve gestured for Sidetrack to follow and then set out on a merry strut into the Guardian.

Tracer’s Quarters

Smokescreen was in a panic. Tracer was convulsing even more violently now than she had been just a few moments before. The rallybot held her body down with both hands as her pet, Razr, hid underneath her recharge slab. The small turbofox was terrified and rightfully so. Smokey felt the exact same way and he had a far better understanding of what was transpiring than Razr did. “Come on, Tracer, just hang in there. Help is almost here!”

Where the frag is Velocity? She should be here by now! What’s taking so long?! Smokescreen thought inwardly with more than a hint of impatience. In actuality, it hadn’t been that long since he had commed for the medic, less than a breem, in fact. To the diversion expert, though, it felt like several cycles ago.

Finally, the door to Tracer’s hab suite opened and Velocity stepped inside. The purple femme immediately rushed over to Tracer’s side. “What happened?” Velocity asked as she looked over at Smokescreen.

“I....” the rallybot began to say, knowing what the answer was but not knowing what to say. If he told the truth, Tracer’s secret addiction to an illegal drug could be exposed, not to mention how she got the drug in the first place. Everything that had happened recently – the un-authorized trip to Earth, Oil Slick, Smokey’s injuries and new body, Axle and Wheeljack’s involvement – it all could be revealed, as well. The amount of trouble they would all be in was unfathomable.

On the other hand, if Smokescreen didn’t tell the truth, Tracer could very well die due to Velocity not having the full facts and thus not giving the troubled femme the proper treatment. There was tremendous risk to be had either way.

“I’m...not sure, Velocity,” Smokescreen finally responded, having chosen to lie. “She was fine one moment and then the next she just stopped talking to me and her whole body began convulsing. She hasn't been feeling well lately. Apparently, she passed out while I was in a CR chamber down in the med bay earlier. It might have been stress or something. But it was nothing like this! She...” The rallybot paused again, looking down at Tracer as he considered his next words carefully. “....she might have taken something for the stress. I don't know. I wasn't here the whole time with her." Smokey hoped that a partial truth would be enough to save Tracer and keep their secret.

The diversion expert then looked back at Velocity as an energon tear streaked down his cheek. "Please, just help her! Please! I'm begging you!”

Tracer’s Quarters

“I....”

“Don’t hold her down like that,” Velocity ordered, cutting Smokescreen off. She shooed Smokescreen’s hands away from Tracer’s convulsing body, then helped the mech onto her side carefully. This was bad. Dozens of causes raced through Velocity’s mind. These symptoms could belong to a number of them. Without more information though, it was difficult to tell how to proceed. She looked to Smokescreen as he began to explain.

“I’m...not sure, Velocity. She was fine one moment and then the next she just stopped talking to me and her whole body began convulsing. She hasn't been feeling well lately. Apparently, she passed out while I was in a CR chamber down in the med bay earlier. It might have been stress or something. But it was nothing like this! She…she might have taken something for the stress. I don't know. I wasn't here the whole time with her."

Velocity’s optics narrowed. Taken something for the stress? If it had been issued by one of the medical staff, then maybe it had to do with an unknown allergic reaction? But something about Smokescreen’s tone made her skeptical. If she had found and taken something without a medic’s permission that could be rather…bad.

Smokescreen’s hysterics were not helping the situation either. He was leaking energon tears. For Prime’s sake! Velocity whirled on Smokescreen, gripping him firmly by the shoulder. “Smokescreen, I need you to calm down. I am going to do everything I can to help her, but I need your help too. So calm down. For Tracer.”

Releasing Smokescreen, Velocity turned back to the still convulsing Tracer, resting a hand on top of her to steady her and keep her on her side. “How long has she been like this? Since you called me?” Surprisingly calm even to herself, Velocity considered her options. She couldn’t administer medication without the possibility of that going wrong with the ingested substance. So, her best option would be to monitor vitals until convulsions ceased. Or providing that the convulsions did not stop, administer a sedative despite the inherent risk.

Velocity took out her scanner and monitored Tracer’s vitals diligently. “Tracer, if you can hear me, try to relax. Smokescreen and I are right beside you.”