The Energon Pub

Medbay

“Yeah, Remington. There’s been…an incident on Earth.”

She guessed as much. Earth was a place for weird occurences, if anything Beretta had told her of recent assignments was anything to go by. Even so, she could have flinched at how sullenly First Aid said that. He was seriously strung out.

“Ratchet…we’ve had a Pit of a time getting Warpath, Howlstrike and Ricochet stable.”

That was true. Remington had seen the frantic work by the operating table. She had so wanted to help, to do something useful, but her skills were sorely beneath what was required to bring a mech back from the verge of permanent shutdown. She had dared not disturb the two senior medics, instead, she had doubled her efforts to tend to less severe injuries, if for no other reason than to decrease the additional workload that would have gotten dumped on Ratchet and First Aid after they had finished with the three mechs in critical condition.

“There’s a chance one of our own attacked Howlstrike. Ricochet and Warpath…I know for sure two Autobots were involved and another Autobot might be pulling the strings.”

"What?" Remington involuntarily asked, in utter disbelief. The scanner she carried almost fell out of her manual actuator. The probably most painful of all her memories flashed into her mind; being stranded behind enemy lines, injured, with not much else than dear life to hang on to. Her team had wanted to abandon her, and perhaps justifiably so. War is a cruel business where missions come first and casualties only second. Beretta had dragged her out in the end, putting her own life on the line while at it.

But that had been a matter of survival and unforgiving choices, not the intentional, blatant and ruthless betrayal of comrades.

“You know, I hope to the Allspark we don’t see any more of that. It was brutal.”

Remington did not follow First Aid's gaze. She knew exactly what he was looking at and that was enough to give her shudders. She hadn't dared look that way ever since the unfortunate sparks had been brought in the medbay. She would have felt awfully sick if she had, even for a single moment.

"Who could ever do this to their own?" she said, more to distract herself than to get a tangible answer. "And what do we do about them?"

At times like this, Beretta's influence on her came to the fore. She was terrified of the thought of someone in their own ranks capable of inflicting such crippling injuries on their kind but at the same time, her palm began to itch for the grip of her shotgun.

Message from Wheeljack to Axle:

>>”Axle, this is Wheeljack. Ultra Magnus has reassigned me to head up a science team that will be responsible for developing new technologies for our future Autobot base on Earth. As a result, my time will be limited and I won’t be around much to help out our two love-bots. The replicator has been recalibrated to reduce the hallucinogen element and is ready for safe use. Tracer's memories have also been restored thanks in large part to Smokey's tenacity. I’ve already explained my situation to both of them, who are still located in my lab. Of course, how long they will remain there unsupervised is anyone’s guess. I suggest finding something for them to do before they go stir crazy. I’ll be down in the Ark’s science labs if you need me.”<<

Research Lab

Axle stared at the translation for far longer then he’d intended, but he had to determine just what it all meant. His ward was a very intelligent bot but to learn to write in the Primal Vernacular and to print it in perfect clarity, it seemed almost impossible. “How? I just can’t….how?” he mumbled lowly. The field medic sighed before he slowly looked over at Bluestreak. The ‘Bot was babbling something about myths and legends of the past…religious fodder was more like it. “The Apocalypse. Blue, that’s just a myth. There’s no proof that it’s anything more than some Primus forsaken fable.”

The black and green mech turned his optics back on to the screen; silence permeated throughout the lab as he tried to come to terms with what had transpired. He even began to consider the possibility that the age old story of the Cybertronian Apocalypse was actually true. “No!” Axle slammed his hand down on the workbench.

And then it started. Bluestreak opened his mouth and words spilled out…never ending and more annoying than ever. As the gunner droned on about possession and the possibility that Bombshell had something to do with what happened with Hex and the others the medic simply stared at him. Axle let out a low growl before he braced himself and stood up from his chair. Jaw clenched tight the medic looked at the silver and black mech his optics bright. “Just stop, Bluestreak. There’s no possession. There are no cerebro-shells. What there is is a reasonable, medical explanation to what’s happened to Hex and the others.” The field medic’s optics offlined as his tense posture began to relax. “I’m sorry, Blue, but I just don’t believe in things like religion or half-aft prophesies that have no logical explanations.”

Axle rested his left hand on his hip while he ran his right down the length of his face. His optics powered back up, their hue much lower than usual. The ordeal concerning Rodimus and the pain radiating through his abdomen were grating on him mentally and physically. He cast the gunner an apologetic glance before turning back to the terminal and re-reading the translated text. “Maybe a virus. Or possibly some sort of glitch deep within the processor.” He surmised. Axle then ran his right hand over his midsection before grabbing a dataslug from the storage compartment on his hip.

In a swift move he slipped it into the terminal’s port and copied the translation onto it. After securing the data Axle snatched the device out of the port and headed to the door. “I don’t know what’s going on or what any of this means, but we have to let Magnus know about this. Come on, Blue.” The door slid open and the former doctor past through the threshold. “The only thing I do know for sure is I can’t lose him. Not now. Not after all this time.”

Axle didn’t get far when he stopped short. The voice of Wheeljack came through his personal communication link and he groaned. “Damn it. Not now.” His thoughts turned from the three mechs that were possibly possessed or sickened with some kind of virus to the two bots that were staying in the mechanical engineer’s lab. He let out a heavy sigh of relief when the message came through and nothing pressing pertaining to Smokescreen’s and Tracer’s health was mentioned.

The medic quickly opened up a link to Wheeljack and sent him a short response.

>>”Understood, ‘Jack. Unfortunately I am also indisposed at the moment, but I will make every effort to stop by the lab to check on the two of them. They shouldn’t need to use the replicator any time soon. The dose I gave to Tracer should last for approximately five days. As far as finding something for them to do…I’ll need to think on that. Anyway, good luck and if anything comes up I’ll call you.”<<

Med Bay

First Aid looked back at Remington after hearing her initial response. Not only was she surprised by his revelation, but she seemed to be reminded of something that happened far in the past. The Protectobot had forgotten what the technician went through so long ago.

The white and red Autobot carefully reached up and gently removed the scanner from Remington’s hand. He turned his gaze to the floor as he tried to come up with an appropriate answer to her questions. It wasn’t easy so he simply said what came to spark. “I don’t know, Remington. I don’t know.” First Aid laid his hand on the femme’s shoulder and looked up as he tried to continue. “Maybe. Maybe there’s a medical explanation. Hardhead, Hex and even Hot Rod are Autobots…I know they wouldn’t do these heinous acts just because.”

His hand slipped from the technician’s shoulder. “I think what we do, Remy, is help them. We help them any way we can.”

Mess Hall

Sideswipe’s fit of laughter only intensified as the thought of Hoist being avoided by every bot on this ship and the 22 ran through his processor. This would be one of the foremost pranks he had ever come up with. And he needed to see it through.

“OOF!” The kick Sunstreaker laid into his midsection had him curling in on himself and forgetting his previous train of thought. After he recovered from his brother’s sudden attack Sideswipe reached out and punched his twin hard in the shin a deep scowl etched on his face. “Fragger! Keep that up and I’ll replace your wax with tar and then drop a crate of feathers on you!”

The scowl that had set on this visage turned to surprise as the golden mech grabbed him by the arm and hoisted him up onto his feet. He stared intently at his brother while Sunstreaker voiced his concern as to what would be appropriate behavior after performing such a glorious feat that was this particular prank. And of course the lecture was given in a low hiss. Typical Sunny.

As soon as Sunstreaker finished speaking Sideswipe flashed his brother a mock hurt expression. “You wound me, bro, you really do.” The crimson warrior then raised his right hand and placed it gently against the golden ‘Bot’s face. “Dear,dear, Sunshine. This spectacular caper is fool proof. There is no way ‘ol Hoist will believe we’re capable of coming up with something this complex.” He patted Sunstreaker’s cheek lightly. “Don’t you worry that pretty little cranium of yours. Now, let’s go daffodil. We’ve got a mechanic to track!” Sideswipe stepped in front of the other mech and began to lead the way. “I don’t wanna miss a thing!”

Research Lab

Bluestreak was slightly taken aback by Axle’s somewhat hostile reaction to his thoughts and ideas on what might be happening to Hex and the others. Apparently, the field medic did not believe in the supernatural or the Apocalypse. The former doctor only believed in medical facts that could be backed up and proven with actual evidence and not mere superstitious beliefs. “I'm sorry, Axle, I was only trying to help. You know, just because something can’t be explained with science doesn’t mean it can’t be true. Considering the current situation, I would keep as open a mind as possible.”

Realizing that he was fighting a loosing battle with the field medic, the gunner quieted down as Axle went on to suggest that it might be a virus or even a deep glitch of some sort. Bluestreak said nothing at first, allowing Axle to copy the translation onto a data slug. Once that was done, the black and silver mech followed the former doctor into the corridor outside as they made their way to speak with Magnus about what they had discovered thus far. It was when Axle had stopped in his tracks that the chatterbot decided to start talking again.

“You know, Axle, I don’t think it’s a glitch,” Bluestreak interjected, not realizing that the field medic was preoccupied with an internal transmission from Wheeljack. “With Hex and the others, it can’t be a glitch. I mean, I could see that being the case if it was just one of them, but not all three. Now, your virus idea is a more likely alternative. Perhaps that’s what happened to Rodimus back on Cybertron. Maybe he contracted some kind of weird viral infection that’s driven him crazy and now he’s infected both Hex and Hardhead! That has to be it! Of course, there's still the small problem of identifying what kind of virus it is so that a cure can be made. Otherwise, there’s the possibility that more mechs could become infected. Perhaps they left a microbe of the virus behind somewhere and we could obtain a sample and study it. They spent a lot of time in the mess hall, right? Maybe we could start there.”

Bluestreak then stopped for a moment as he considered the ancient Cybertronian language that Hex seemingly learned overnight. “But, the virus still doesn’t explain the message. I’ve never heard of a virus that teaches you to read and write in a dead language, not to mention write it in riddles. I don’t know, Axle, I still feel there’s something more going on here than meets the optic.”

Mess Hall

The thought of finally being able to have some downtime raced through Ingram's central processor. That quite ubiquitous liking she had for big guns and actively doing something in general carried with it inherent difficulties when standing in one place on guard duty.

She had been able to manage it, though. She hadn't fallen into recharge-state, her brain module hadn't frozen from boredom, it had even been fun at a certain point when a crewmech unfortunate enough to lose his ID had tried to get past her into the main engine hub of the Guardian. Obviously, he had not succeeded, and had had to go and find a proper ID.

There were a lot of ways to describe Ingram but the most appropriate were those that likened her to the proverbial immovable object. Or a walking barricade.

Even so, she had deemed that much success enough for one mega-cycle and as soon as her shift ended, she trotted down to the mess hall to get a drink.

Her pedals clanked hard against the floor, announcing her way before she made entry. With a grin of dumb satisfaction on her face, she made her way over to the counter.

"The usual, I presume?" the servicemech asked, a knowing smirk already appearing at the edge of his mouth compartment. Ingram was one of the most frequent visitors to the mess facilities, practically every time she was off shift. Whenever she came in, the mood would begin to climb. After she had a few rounds and got half of the hall singing, that is.

"You bet. Wouldn't get a spark-attack if ya had somethin' with a bit more clout, though, " she said as she leaned - or in her case, crashed - with her arms on the countertop.

"Sorry, but nope. It's against regs," the servicemech shook his cranial unit. The quality and parameters of the energon to be dealt out were under strict control, in order to keep mechs as sober and battle-ready as possible.

Ingram shrugged. "Oh well, just a li'l lubrication will do, then."

The servicemech passed her the can of mid-grade energon. She took it and looked around to find a spot comfortable enough for her sizable frame.

That was when she noticed it. The light blue, sportily slender mech sitting in the opposite end.

"Blurr, hey Blurr," she called out and rumbled noisily over. If someone could appreciate a drink, it was Blurr. He sometimes even dreamt of opening his own bar, if Ingram remembered right.

"What's up, buddy?" she asked as she thudded down next to the mech. The bench beneath her juddered with a painful creak. She opened her can and sipped the drink. "You ain't broodin' over there, are ya?"

Corridors

The communications with Wheeljack was completely before Bluestreak had even finished his concerns about whatever was happening to Hex and the others was more than a simple glitch. And to his surprise what the silver and black mech had to say seemed like a very good explanation. A virus. Axle smiled slightly as he took in what Bluestreak said next. Of course. The trio had been in the mess hall, not to mention one of the labs.

Axle was ready to head over to the mess when Bluestreak brought up something the former doctor had forgotten. Hex’s ability to write in perfect Old Cybertronian. Axle stopped in his tracks, his hands balled into tight fists. “Ugh! Damn it!” The frustration was building and not knowing anything was driving him crazy. He took a deep intake and off-lined his optics. “Okay. So it’s not a glitch…the chances of them all suffering from the exact same one is slim to none.” His optics on-lined as he thought for a moment, “A virus is still a possibility, but like you said, it doesn’t explain Hex’s writing in the Primal Vernacular. No, there’s got to be something more…” Axle wracked his processor for something, anything scientific or medical that could explain the phenomenon. And there was nothing.

His shoulders slumped. Defeat evident in his lax frame. Nothing could explain what had happened to Rodimus, Hardhead and Hex. Nothing except what he considered the impossible. After several quite minutes the black and green field medic raised his head and stared at the ceiling. He accessed several files in his own processor pertaining to Cybertronian theology as well as other cultures. There wasn’t much so anything he found would need to be supplemented through research means. After a few moments Axle looked to Bluestreak and shook his head. “Cross reference Cybertronian theology, specifically anything pertaining to The Fallen and any prophecies associated with him. Now access information referring to the Apocalypse.” He waited before he pressed further. He wanted the gunner on the same page as he was. “According to our own prophecies The Fallen will arrive ahead of his master and gather the first four seals.” While Bluestreak absorbed that bit of information, Axle took out a datapad and inserted the slug that contained the translation.

“Some cultures…religions…on Earth believed in the Apocalypse, but the four seals were not seals instead they were The Four Horsemen. Each one symbolized one aspect of the coming Armageddon. Conquest, War, Pestilence or Plague and Death.” He paused and lifted the pad pointing to the line that mentioned each of the same symbols as the human mythos. “Hex wrote something about there being two more seals…the humans mention something similar.” He handed the pad to Bluestreak as he turned back toward the research lab, entered and sat down at a terminal.

The computer came to life as the field medic began typing in his research parameters. The information pertaining to anything religious was limited at best, and while on Earth he paid little attention to what each culture believed in. A gentle beep told Axle that the computer had found the information he had been searching for. “Humans believe the fifth seal refers to some kind of martyrdom for their God. But Cybertronian Prophecies mention that the fifth seal will be opened when the believers of Chaos create a covenant to its Lord.” He looked up and over his shoulder to see if Bluestreak had followed him back into the lab and was listening.

Axle let out a heavy sigh as he read further. He was silent while he studied the text but began to interpret what he was absorbing. “The sixth seal. The sun will blacken and the moon will hue crimson. The stars will fall great quakes will shake the planet to its core and Chaos will be unleashed.” The former doctor leaned back heavily in his chair while going over the text from both Cybertronian and Earth theology. According to a religious script from the humans there is a seventh seal, but that’s where both cultures differed. The opening of the sixth seal would mark the end of everything on Cybertron…or wherever the Lord of Chaos chose to arrive. “It doesn’t say how Chaos will materialize. Nothing about a physical form or some kind of spiritual-spectral manifestation.”

Axle’s shoulders slumped as he shook his head. “If all of this is true, and we’re actually facing the end of days, how are we going to know what it is we’ll need to fight? It could arrive as anything…a scraplet for all know.”

Corridors / Research Lab

Bluestreak listened as Axle slowly came around to the strong possibility that science would not adequately explain what was going on. A glitch was just not feasible, not with so many Autobots affected. Likewise, a virus couldn’t explain how Hex knew the Primal Vernacular. If he could read and write in ancient Cybertronian then the silver mech could speak it, as well. No virus, no matter how sophisticated, could do something like that. The silver and black mech opened his mouthpiece but surprisingly nothing came out this time. Instead, Blue closed it again and watched as the field medic tried to quietly make sense of it all. It was frustrating to say the very least, but it was especially so for someone like Axle who had always relied on science and medicine to explain everything. Now, something that was seemingly supernatural had appeared with no other real explanation to suggest otherwise.

Axle then looked to Bluestreak and instructed him to access his own files regarding theology and the Apocalypse. The gunner did as he was told, finding the same information that the field medic proceeded to verbally confirm. The black and silver mech remained silent as the former doctor continued on, speaking of the Fallen arriving before his master to gather the first four seals. Axle compared Cybertron’s own legends with those of Earth cultures and found that they shared many of the same aspects, but not all. The seals were actually Four Horsemen or perhaps Four Mechs in Cybertron’s case. But, there were also two more seals.

Bluestreak accepted the datapad from Axle before following him back into the research labs. The field medic accessed another terminal and continued his investigation and subsequent explanation to the gunner. It all sounded very frightening but also intriguing at the same time. Blue had never really given any thought to the validity of the old stories of Primus and Unicron or of the Fallen. Now, he wished he had. Perhaps if more mechs had taken those tales seriously preparations could have been made. Now, things seemed almost hopeless. How, indeed, could they possibly fight something if they didn’t know how it would appear? And, furthermore, even if they figure that part out, how do you fight the Lord of Chaos?

The chatterbot stood behind Axle’s chair and gazed down at the information on the screen. Bluestreak had taken in the plethora of information the field medic had offered. The gunner wished he had more answers for him, but he didn’t, only suppositions. However, there was one possibility that might be the answer to their question. It was a long shot, but it was worth mentioning. “Well, Axle, some legends suggest that Unicron will appear as a giant metal planet capable of devouring other worlds and in the process become stronger. If that’s how he appears, then he’ll be easy to spot, but how to destroy something that massive is another matter. Of course, if I’m not mistaken, when the Chaos Bringer was banished from this realm, he was without physical form. So, I’m not sure how he would obtain a giant body like that.”

Bluestreak quieted for a brief moment as he further contemplated the possibilities. It didn’t last long, of course, and he was off and running at the mouth piece again in no time. “Although, many believe, as do I, that the Matrix-bearer is the embodiment of Primus, himself, or at the very least an extension of Him. Now, continue on from that idea, we already know that the Fallen found himself a vessel in which to attack us in the form of Hot Rod. So, who’s to say that Unicron won’t appear in a similar vessel of his own? I think it may be more believable that the Lord of Chaos would possess a Cybertronian body than appear as a giant planet-eating world. Of course, even if he did start out in a small form, he could always upgrade, I guess. Either way, we’re pretty much screwed because for one we don’t know which Cybertronian Unicron will appear in and two, we don’t have a clue on how to stop him or the Fallen for that matter. I think I read somewhere that the Matrix can defeat Chaos, but we don’t even have that because we never found Prime’s body.”

The black and silver mech grew silent, letting out a heavy sigh of his own. Bluestreak then took a seat next to Axle and looked over at the field medic. “You know, Axle, none of this is your fault and if all of this is true and the Fallen has returned, then it’s not really Hex’s fault, either. We just have to figure something out. I mean, I’m a firm believer that good will always triumph over evil even if the odds seem insurmountable. It’s what keeps me fighting this neverending war. I believe that one day we will beat the Decepticons and finally be at peace. It’s really the only thing that keeps me going. Otherwise, I think I would’ve given up long ago.”

Corridors

"I'll raise you...twenty chits," Eject said adding the specified amount to the growing pile between himself and the lion-former.

Eject kept his optics trained on Steeljaw's face, watching for any minute change in facial expression. Despite his vigilence, his fellow cassettobot could have been a statue for all he was going to reveal. Steeljaw - who had propped up his cards between his paws - shoved forty more chits into the pool.

"I raise forty chits."

Restraining a sigh of air from his intakes, Eject cast his gaze back down to his cards. He had a very good hand. Not great. But not bad at all. Did he want to cut his losses or run the gambit? Taptaptaptaptaptap. Eject was tapping his digit on the side of his leg. There were a few plays and all took some sort of risk. There was no victory without a risk. Eject clenched his fist as he glared at his cards. Finally, he came to his decision.

"I'm all-in."

Folding his arms across his chestplate, Eject impatiently awaited Steeljaw's decision. Steeljaw threw a couple of chits onto the pile and looked at Eject dead in the optics as he played his hand. Eject smacked his hand on the floor to see...that he had lost again.

"Augh! That's the third time in a row I've lost...and you've been dealing the cards!"

"Your point being?" Steeljaw asked with the same neutral expression that had kept Eject baffled. The lion scooped up his winnings with a paw nonchalantly.

"You're a card shark, Steeljaw! Aren't you? Admit it!" Eject exclaimed launching himself to his feet.

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about Eject. Never thought you'd be one to have bad sportsmanship."

The comment made Eject clamp his mouth down to prevent himself from retorting further. No insult was worse to the sports fanatic than to be called a bad sportsman. It was at this point that Steeljaw's carefully manufactured neutrality broke down, revealing a mischievous smile, which Steeljaw had been hiding for quite some time. Eject grumbled and finally applauded his long-time comrade.

"Well done, well done."

"Ah, you make it too easy, Eject. It's hardly any sport to rile you up anymore," Steeljaw said, rising to his feet and stretching. The lion cassette scented the air and tilted his head to one side slightly.

"Who is that?"

"Who's what?"

"Behind you."

Eject turned around to see someone whom he had never thought to see again. A very particular femme whose exploits were well known by someone like Eject.

"Hold. Your. Slag. That's Glock!"

"Who?"

"Glock! The Glock! She was a legend back on Cybertron."

"Oh, it's a sports thing. Here we go..."

Eject trotted over to the towering femme - towering over his tiny frame anyway - with Steeljaw trailing behind disinterestedly. With a huge grin plastered onto his face, Eject waved to the femme, trying to catch her attention.

"Hello there! Glock, yes? I'm Eject. Big fan of your work! Oh, and this is Steeljaw."

"You have an interesting scent," the tracker said by way of greeting.

"Nice to meet you!" Eject said cheerily.

Mess Hall

Blurr had spent much time in the mess hall, sipping at his energon. The synthetic stuff was nothing close to the grade that he had been used to back on Cybertron before the war. Only the best. That had been a different time. A different Blurr. Living life in the fast lane and leaving the people he cared about choking on his exhaust. Blurr shook his head and took another sip of his energon.

Then Optimus - Orien Pax then - had changed everything. Sometimes, Blurr felt that he was too slow in changing his ways. Who knows how many deaths could have been prevented? Why was he reflecting so deeply on the past anyway? Maybe he'd ingested a little too much energon. It was possible, but his systems usually burned away the excess fairly quickly.

Some sort of laughter was coming from the other end of the mess hall, making the speedster note the presence of the twins, one of which was rolling about on the floor. Hm. Maybe he wasn't the only one who had ingested a little too much energon.

Blurr soon turned back to internal musings of the past. The speedster missed Maccadam's Old Oil House back on Cybertron. Maybe he could get something similar going here. He'd have to run it by Magnus though. He was taking another sip of energon when he heard someone call his name. He looked about and saw Ingram ambling over to him.

"Hey there Ingram," the speedster said with a smile as the femme thudded down next to him. "Brooding? Nah, just thinking about the past. And Maccadam's Old Oil House. Now that wasaplace where a bot couldget a good drink. Good company, goodservice. Gotchaawayfrom the war if you could affordadrink. Wish we had a place like that now. Mess halls don't really cut it if you ask me."

Mess Hall

"Brooding? Nah, just thinking about the past. And Maccadam's Old Oil House. Now that wasaplace where a bot couldget a good drink. Good company, goodservice. Gotchaawayfrom the war if you could affordadrink. Wish we had a place like that now. Mess halls don't really cut it if you ask me."

Ingram smiled her best I-knew-it-alright smile. She felt real satisfaction for having successfully recalled something that was important to another mech. A small bit that made a connection with the other individual. In Ingram's plain and simple terms, that brought them closer to being 'buddies'.

"Yeah, I heard what a cool joint that was," she nodded and sipped at her drink. The can was getting empty fast. "Never got around to go there, though. Other side of the planet, an' endless workshifts an' all. But, y'know, it was known in every corner back on Cybes, everybody kept talkin' about it. It must'a been a real bang."

She looked around for a moment. While she could always find good enough company in the mess hall, it certainly couldn't compare to the atmosphere of a place that had been so widely recognized.

Then, a click.

"Hey, wait a sec," she turned back to Blurr, "you sayin' it would be nice to have a place like that here as well, huh? We should'a ask for permission to set it up. Or if nothin' else, revamp this." Ingram made a sweeping flick across the dull, colorless set of the hall with her manual actuator.

Ingram was grinning now. What a quaint plan.

"That would'a be so awesome. An' good for... whassit called... that thing Magnus always says needs to be held high... uh, maintained, yeah... come on... oh, I got it! Morale. Yeah, that's it. It would'a be good for morale too, huh?"


Corridors

Glock always took a long walk after intense training, circling the several mile long corridors of the ship. It helped to recalibrate her systems back to lower output after burning energon rapidly, and ease her mind after long periods of demanding focus.

Though training wasn't really testing her limits. She longed for some real action, a challenge. Ever since they had been recalled from the surface, Glock felt confined, restricted. No speeding, no fights, nothing that would make her use her considerable skills.

And there was the matter of those disciplinary issues and reprimands Beretta had meted out on her. Glock understood why Beretta wasn't too keen on assigning her to field work again. So she used the intermediate time for reflection. As once her very first trainer had told her, every fight started on the inside. And who couldn't conquer themselves, couldn't conquer anyone else, either.

And on that note, she bumped into two bots barely coming up to her knees.

The first one, waving to her and dancing around with overt enthusiasm was making a very good job of getting himself noticed. The other, an animal-former was the exact opposite, skulking around silently with an impassive face.

"Hello there! Glock, yes? I'm Eject. Big fan of your work! Oh, and this is Steeljaw."

It had been a very, very long time since Glock had last been recognized for her past achievements. It felt immensely good, though.

"You have an interesting scent," the one dubbed Steeljaw by his partner sniffed at her. She couldn't quite place the remark but decided she'd take it as a compliment for now.

"Hey, guys," she said coolly, then lifted her right leg and without putting it down again, she made three swift kicks in the air in a head-chest-head combination, as if battering an invisible opponent. One of the moves she had been known for in the ring. It would show that she really was Glock.

"Nice to meet you!" It did. Eject's optics widened, he was incandescent with elation now. However much Glock had been trained to remain humble at times likes this, it did tickle her ego to be held in such regard.

She crouched into a squatting position so that they could talk more evenly.

"The paint job gave me away, right? Funny you remember it, though. My last match was, like, about 48.000 vorns ago, I think?"

Med Bay

Jazz was relieved when Ratchet took -- more like snatched -- the datapad away from him. It was stressful enough knowing that an Autobot nearly murdered a team-mate, but knowing Ratchet's emotional ties to it... Even more stressful. It was then when First Aid walked over and asked him whom the assaulter was.

"It was Hardhead. And don't worry about it; justice will be-" Jazz's low talk was cut off by the arrival of Remington.

She asked what was wrong with the CMO. She was a pretty one. From the creases on her faceplate, she was used to smiling. This was something that put Jazz in a happy disposition towards her. It was a pleasant change. It was times like these that would put one at a paranoid state. Heck, Red Alert seemed to have the right idea.

"Besides himself is rather an understatement. His whole world is being torn apart." Jazz said, shaking his head, "You heard about Howlstrike, right? It's about that."

Taking a brief moment before changing the subject, Jazz turned to Remington.

"You new here? I haven't seen you 'round, and trust me, I would have noticed! Haha!" The special ops director joked jovially with a broad grin.

Mess Hall

Not far away from where Blurr and Ingram were, Hound sat at a table in the mess hall. With his hands clasped together, and his elbow struts resting on the table, Hound had his optic sensors shut off, relaxing in his own thoughts. However, as he sat, he couldn't help but hear the name of Maccadam's Oil House come up. Reactivating his optic sensors, Hound cast a glance towards the group who mentioned the old haunt in reaction. Hound too had fond memories of the place.

Research Labs

The melancholy field medic held his defeated posture as he listened to what Bluestreak had to say. It didn’t really matter. He had sworn to himself that he’d watch out for Hex and he’d failed at that. Miserably. If only he had been more attentive. If only he hadn’t neglected the young mech’s physiological needs then maybe none of this would have happened.

Axle lifted his head back up and locked optics with that of the gunner’s. Unicron showing up as some kind of metal planet…ludicrous, but what was that about Primus? While the silver and black mech chattered on Axle replayed what Blue had said about the Matrix-bearer being the embodiment of Primus.

The black and green medic lowered his gaze from his comrade and stared at nothing in particular. The thought of the Dark God inhabiting the body of a child of Primus was, well…why was that plausible? Sure, why the hell wouldn’t it be? But why did that seem more credible than the whole giant planet thing? Axle let out a heavy sigh as he mulled over both possibilities around in his processor. At the same time he kept one audio open to everything Blue was still babbling on about.

After several more minutes Bluestreak’s ramblings finally died down giving Axle a few moments to consider everything that had taken place, not to mention all of the information that he and Blue had discovered.

“The Chaos Bringer possessing the body of one of Primus’ children…” Axle thought aloud. “Four Horsemen…” Axle placed both elbows on the desktop and set his chin in his cupped hands. “Four Horsemen, Four Seals.” Silence. “Let’s think about this. The two Autobots taken were Hardhead and Hex. The ‘Cons were, who…Drag Strip and Darkride.” More silence. This time it lasted several minutes.

The former doctor raised his head from his hands and turned his gaze on his companion. “Blue, the Horsemen fit some sort of criteria. Think about it…War…out of the four bots Hardhead fits that archetype.” Axle drummed his fingers on the tabletop while he pondered out loud. “Darkride, the guy’s obsessed with pain and death; he’d be the perfect candidate for, well, death. That just leaves plague and conquest.”

“Plague...Drag Strip would be the one to use an underhanded tactic to take advantage of beating someone not at their best. So that brings us to Conquest. Hex. But what would Hex have to do with conquest?” Axle stood up from his chair and began pacing back and forth while speculating on just what Hex had in common with the victory of the Chaos Bringer.

Axle’s optics brightened and his pacing stopped abruptly. He quickly turned on his heel and stared at Bluestreak. Dread flooded his mind as he spoke, “It’s Hex. He’s going to use Hex.” The medic slowly back-stepped until his back hit the far wall and he slid to the floor. “Primus.” He whispered.

“This is my fault. I should have kept trying to change his mind about…”He pulled the young mech’s Autobot insignia from his hip compartment and raised it up to optic level. “…this. About the cause. About Prime…” He turned the symbol over in his hand and stopped. Axle’s head cocked to one side and his optics refocused on something on its back. He pulled the brand closer and studied it carefully. A series of short glyphs were scribed on it in Ancient Cybertronian. He scrambled up to his feet, nearly tripping while he darted back to his chair and began typing in the text. “There’s something on the back! More glyphs.”

The results were returned immediately depicting a series of what seemed to be random numbers. Axle stared at them for a few minutes before he let out a frustrated grunt. He looked up at Bluestreak, blue optics locking with the gunner’s. “They could refer to anything. A code. A combination. Hell, they can be coordinates for all I now!” He looked back at the screen while he spoke to the silver and black mech, his voice low and pleading, “What do you think they are, Blue because I’m all out of ideas.”

Research Labs

Bluestreak watched and listened as Axle continued to ponder all of the clues they had gathered so far as well as the gunner’s wild suggestions regarding Unicron and what form he would ultimately take. A giant metal world or simple possession, it was all too much for just about any mechanoid to handle. Blue, however, was more willing to go on faith alone unlike the former doctor who found it difficult to believe anything that didn’t have the proper evidence to back it up. Still, there was plenty of evidence around if one just knew where to look and what to believe in.

War, Death, Plague and Conquest - the Four Horsemen or seals of the coming Apocalypse. Bluestreak’s mind remained focused on what Axle was saying. As the words poured forth from the field medic’s mouthpiece, it all became very clear. Hardhead was War, Darkride was Death, Drag Strip was Plague and finally Hex was Conquest. However, Hex was much more than that. He was the eventual vessel of Unicron, himself! It all made perfect sense even if there was no medical proof that explained it to Axle’s satisfaction. The black and silver mech was satisfied, however, as a smile spread across his faceplate. “Yes, of course, Hex would be Unicron’s vessel. I mean, why wouldn’t he be? He’s the perfect choice, really, especially considering his history and whatnot.”

Bluestreak’s words were cut short as Axle interrupted him, once again blaming himself for Hex’s downfall. It was quite clear now that nothing the gunner said would make any difference whatsoever. The field medic had decided to place all of the burden of Hex’s actions on his own conscious because of some perceived inaction that had lead to this dire predicament. It was something that no Autobot would be able to change Axle’s mind about no mater how hard they may try.

As Bluestreak gazed down at the former doctor who sat disheartened against a wall, a lot of his own past and how he felt after the destruction of his home city came flooding back to the forefront. The black and silver mech had often suffered from survivor’s guilt of being the only one to live through that horrible day. Why him and no one else? What made a mere merchant so special that he got to live and everyone else perished? There was no real answer to that question and it was something ‘Streak had to come to terms with over time and move on. Of course, he never really moved on, not entirely. Blue just learned to shut out the pain with his overactive vocalizer much to everyone else’s dismay.

Returning to the here and now, Bluestreak was about to kneel down to console the visibly upset field medic when Axle suddenly leapt back up to his feet and quickly returned to the computer terminal, exclaiming that there were more glyphs on the back of Hex’s Auto-badge. The gunner stepped out of the way just in time to avoid getting knocked over. “Really? More glyphs? I don’t remember seeing any, but then again I wasn’t looking on the back. I should really learn to check every place from now on. I guess I was a little freaked out by the way I had found the badge stabbed through the center and mounted on a wall. Pretty disturbing, you know?”

Unfortunately, the computer’s translation only yielded a series of numbers, which served to frustrate Axle even more. He was all out of ideas at this point, so much so that he was willing to risk sending Bluestreak on another verbal tirade by asking him what he thought. The black and silver mech leaned over the field medic’s shoulder plate and took a careful look at the numbers on the view screen. “Hmmm...” Blue uttered as he straightened his posture and rubbed his chin guard with his actuators. “I don’t think they’re random, Axle, not at all. Everything here has a meaning and these numbers are no different. You may very well be on to something regarding the idea that they could be coordinates. However, they don’t appear to be space coordinates of any kind, not that I’m familiar with anyway. No, these look like land coordinates, possibly even longitude and latitude. It’s the geographical system the humans use down on Earth. I did my homework on this planet during the trip here. Of course, I'm no expert, but I’m sure the computer will be able to ascertain an exact location if you set it to those specific parameters.”

Mess Hall

"Hey, wait a sec. You sayin' it would be nice to have a place like that here as well, huh? We should'a ask for permission to set it up. Or if nothin' else, revamp this."

Blurr considered his drink pensively. Chances were pretty slim that Ultra Magnus would allow something like this though. Unless... Glancing around, Blurr could already picture some of the modifications that he could make to this mess hall alone. The speedster began tapping his digits on the table, a grin slowly spreading across this faceplate. Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptap.

"That would'a be so awesome. An' good for... whassit called... that thing Magnus always says needs to be held high... uh, maintained, yeah... come on... oh, I got it! Morale. Yeah, that's it. It would'a be good for morale too, huh?"

"Yeah! That'sit!" Blurr shot up out of his seat as he slammed his fist down onto the table. "Morale! That'llselltheideatoUltraMagnus! Icouldfinallygetmyownbar!" The excited speedster beamed down at Ingram. "Thanks Ingram! I need to go see Magnus now! You coming?"

Already, Blurr was fidgeting by stepping back and forth rapidly, compelled both to stay and wait up for Ingram and bolt on ahead at speed. Now that the opportunity had presented itself, Blurr was going to race for it. Boosting morale. Doing something that mattered instead sitting around on his aft. Blurr hated it whenever he wasn't moving forward.

In the astroseconds that passed while he waited for Ingram's answer, Blurr thought ahead. He could do a lot of the work himself. It just depended on location. And who he had to help. He wanted to get the bar as fast as possible once he got the go-ahead from Magnus. If Ingram came along that would give a little more credence to his request as well...Oh! And Hound was here too! Maybe he could come along too!

Corridors

Eject momentarily experienced a moment of rare euphoria when Glock performed her signature move. It took the sports fanatic a few astroseconds to compose himself. He grinned as she crouched down to talk to the pair of cassettobots.

"48.137 vorns ago to be exact! And how could anyone miss your iconic paint job? It's a shame about the war cutting your career short though. It cut a lot of careers short. I followed pretty much everything I could before the war pulled me away and put me under Blaster's command."

While Eject couldn't be happier while he was talking to Glock, Steeljaw was less enthralled by the femme's presence. He didn't even know what sport these two were going off about. Glock had done some sort of kick...thing and Eject had nearly passed out, so Steeljaw assumed it had something to do with fighting?

"Forgive my ignorance - Eject's more of a sports aficionado than I am - but what was your former profession, miss Glock?

Research Labs

Axle’s optics focused intently on the gunner as Bluestreak turned to face the terminal. The former doctor took in everything his comrade was vocalizing absorbing in whatever logical information he could that would help explain the numbers’ meaning. To his surprise what Blue revealed was his honest belief that the numerals didn’t appear to be in some random order. That there was some sort of definite symmetry to the grouping.

“Coordinates? Here? On Earth?” Axle’s brow furrowed in thought while he studied the screen. The chatterbot was right. He hadn’t even seen it. Probably couldn’t have seen it even if he tried. “That makes perfect sense. Why bother leaving when there is a slew of Cybertronians right on his doorstep to slaughter?” He said while accessing a detailed graphic of Sol 3.

The black and green medic input the string of digits when prompted, hit the appropriate key and waited a moment for the results to appear. But fear oozed into his processor at one specific thought. “We find them. How do we stop them?” Axle’s optics remained glued to the terminal’s screen as he spoke again. “What if the only way to stop them is to...” His question went unfinished and unanswered as the screen finally brought up the location of The Fallen and his four Heralds.

A long crippling silence filled the room as Axle studied the geographical image. He let out a heavy tremulous sigh and addressed Bluestreak once again. “Australia. The Uluru National Park.” A bout of worry washed over the medic while thoughts of what might have to be done to stop the prophecy from coming to pass flooded his thoughts.

Axle stood up and moved away from the terminal and turned to face Bluestreak. A worried expression was etched on his face. “Let’s get this information to Magnus, or whoever the hell is in charge. We have to get to Australia and stop this.” Axle regarded Bluestreak for a brief moment before he set off passed him for the door.

“I want him back. I want them all back. I swore I’d look after him and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna lose him to some crazed zealot who wants to use him as a host for a mythical God that may or may not exist!” His words were cold and cruel, but edged with hard determination as he stalked out and into the hallway beyond.

He trusted that the young gunner would follow along as he exited the research lab. Once out in the corridor he opened a comm link with the command staff. >>“The issue concerning The Fallen is not one to be taken lightly. I’ve come across some vital information and clues as to what’s happening to our ‘Bots and the two ‘Cons. I’ve also located their whereabouts. I’m on my way up to the bridge with everything I’ve found.”<<

Corridors

Glock was quietly touched by Eject's undiminished enthusiasm about her achievements. That many vorns ago, she'd have just taken being cheered on for granted, but that wasn't all too difficult when you were thrust into the spotlight in the middle of a stadium crowded with ecstatic sportsfans.

She doubted many of those who had seen her matches even remembered her name these orns. Or were even alive.

And now this diminutive little mech made her spark shine a little bit brighter.

"Forgive my ignorance - Eject's more of a sports aficionado than I am - but what was your former profession, miss Glock?"

Steeljaw spoke so coolly that if he'd been a ring opponent, Glock would have felt wary around him. An animal-former with unwavering poise, acknowledging people by scents, being gentlemechly polite and using Earthern courtesy titles. Weird. He could put off others with ease. An apt skill for disorientation tactics. It made sense why he was in the Autobot army.

"Ring fighter. I was a ring fighter," Glock said. How good it felt to say it out loud. "Full contact beat'em up. Like gladiators, minus the brutality. With rules and no deathmatches. I won a few titles."

There had been a time when she'd have taken offense at not being recognized immediately. A long time before. Her pride, though still gurgling to the surface too often to Beretta's liking and much to her chagrin, had receded since then and gave room over to military training. It did help her to become more sensible.

"How do you know so much about sports, by the way? Have you been a reporter back then? Or data archivist or some such?" she pointed at Eject as she formed the question. Then, her glance wandered over to Steeljaw again. "And I have absolutely no idea about you. Going by your demeanor... a huntsmech, maybe?"

From her crouching position, Glock sat down on the ground, legs crossed. This conversation was about to turn out a litte more interesting than a simple autograph signing.

Research Labs / Corridor

“Yeah, why leave, indeed,” Bluestreak agreed as Axle worked furiously at the terminal. “Lot’s of ‘Bots and ‘Cons to eradicate on Earth. We’re all like a virtual buffet of victims just waiting for our turn to have our sparks ripped out and meet Primus, himself. Unless, of course, we find a way to stop the Fallen and his heralds in time. But, like you just said, how do we do that? How do we go about stopping a demigod or even Unicron for that matter? Optimus would know, or have an inkling, if only he were here. Perhaps Prime's disappearance and the Fallen’s re-emergence are interconnected somehow. After all, it would be prudent for the Fallen to get rid of the one mech, a child of Primus, that would stand the best chance of defeating him.”

Silence then permeated the lab as the field medic succeeded in his endeavor of deciphering the coordinates and began studying the image of the Fallen’s location. The fiery demigod was in the nation-state of Australia in a place called Uluru National Park. “Seems like an isolated location, Axle, and it’s well out of the way of human intrusion,” Bluestreak commented as the former doctor stood up to address the gunner, telling him that they needed to get this information to Ultra Magnus immediately. Axle’s follow-up comments were born from desperation and emotion as he still blamed himself for what had happened to Hex.

“Agreed. Magnus needs to know what we’ve found and quickly. I fear that the longer we wait to act the harder it will be to bring Hex and Hardhead back to their former selves. I could care less about the two ‘Cons. They can both rust into oblivion as far as I’m concerned. The fewer ‘Cons left alive after all of this is over with the better.” Bluestreak’s banter subsided as he entered the corridor and waited for Axle to finish sending his communique to the higher-ups. Once the field medic was finished speaking, the gunner was more than happy to take over. “Don’t worry, Axle, we’ll get them both back. Although, and I’m sure you already know this, but we can’t just bounce down there and attack without a good battle plan in place first. Hitting them head on is not going to work. They're just too strong. I suggest a more subtle approach. Perhaps we can sneak up on them somehow and take them by surprise before they are able to counter our efforts with their enhanced abilities. Although, their supernatural powers may even allow them to sense our presence, so that may not work, either.”

Bluestreak then paused for a moment to consider other options. Instead, only one grave concern entered his processor, one that the black and silver mech hoped he would not have to eventually face. “My biggest fear is that Magnus will want to join forces with the Decepticons in order to battle the Fallen and his minions. I really don’t think I could fight alongside ‘Cons without feeling the need to blow them all away at the first chance I get. Not to mention that we really can’t trust them. I mean, even if both of our factions are able to put our differences aside long enough to succeed in stopping the Fallen, who’s to say the ‘Cons won’t immediately turn on us? I wouldn’t put it past them, not for one single astrosecond.”

Mess Hall

“Get your hand off of me!” Sunstreaker hissed at Sideswipe, slapping his hand down from his face. He was a little tired of the condescending routine his twin kept putting on, especially considering that he was the one coming up with the dumb schemes that Sunstreaker would have to bail him out of. He’d given the red Autobot the last warning he would get about his little act towards him. Next time, twin or not, Sunstreaker would have to get a bit more serious to make sure he learned his lesson.

Sighing, Sunstreaker reluctantly followed him. “Yeah, he might not suspect anything until he sees you laughing like an idiot at his predicament. Even he can put two and two together. Even assuming you can hold yourself together for even a minute, I don’t want to be in range of this little event when it goes down. I don’t want to be caught in any friendly fire if you get the picture.” He wanted to make sure that message got through to Sideswipe loud and clear. He might get some amusement from this prank but he didn’t want to be close enough to become a victim of it.

“So how do you plan to witness this prank without getting accused of planning it or getting caught up in it? I’m sure you have some sort of half-cocked stupid idea for that, so spill it before we get there.”

Med Bay

As he waited for a response from Ultra Magnus, Ratchet tuned an audio to the Spec Ops Director who was now harassing one of his assistants. The irate CMO grit his teeth and reached out and grabbed a hold of the visored mech by his shoulder and pulled him back and away from Remington. “Either you get your act together or get out.” Ratchet ground out as he stepped in closer to the white and black mech. “There is some serious slag going on here and the last thing we need is for you to get distracted by some shiny new object.”

With a huff the doctor released his hold on Jazz’s shoulder and took a half step back. “Now, why don’t you make yourself useful and find Magnus.” He kept his optics glued on the bot for several moments before turning his attention on to the femme technician. The hard glare he had set on Jazz softened slightly as he let out a heavy sigh. “Remington. I want you to give First Aid a hand with the rest of the wounded.”

His order handed out; Ratchet quickly brushed passed Jazz and made his way for the door where he sent the other doctor a quick nod.

*

The conversation that was happening between Jazz and Ratchet did not go unnoticed by First Aid. He did, however, keep his optics on his work for fear of being caught eavesdropping by his superior.

First Aid did look up when his name was tossed around causing the shy doctor to worry a bit that he had done something to warrant Ratchet speaking about him. He physically relaxed upon hearing that he’d have some help from Remington. He certainly could use it. He had been working on Blades for some time only to find the Protectobot’s rotor assembly was just too much for him to handle alone.

His optics followed Ratchet’s form as the CMO made his way to the door and left, but not before giving him a nod. First Aid returned the gesture. As the door closed he turned his attention back to the femme. “Ahem. Um, hey, Remy? I could really use your help. I mean, if you’ve got the time.”


Corridors

Sideswipe pulled his had away from Sunstreaker’s face when his volatile brother asked all too nicely for him to remove it. The red warrior simply smiled that lopsided grin of his in response. “Pft. You know you love the attention.” He said lowly.

His smile grew ever wider as the golden warrior finally decided to follow him toward their intended target. With a spring in his step Sideswipe moved slightly ahead of his twin. His gait slowed, however, as he thought about what Sunstreaker had said. “Friendly fire. Hmm. I hadn’t thought of that. But you know what…” At first his vocalizations were ponderous, but that changed quickly. Changed just as quickly as the crimson mech’s attention span. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Sunny. This kind of prank isn’t likely to backfire.”

Sideswipe came to a stop at the end of the corridor and pressed his back to the wall. He held out a hand and pressed his palm lightly against his brother’s chestplate keeping the sociopath back and out of sight.

Very carefully Sideswipe took a quick peek down the adjacent hall. With a smile plastered on his face he looked back to Sunstreaker and nodded. “I see him. He’s headed for the 22.” He kept his voice low so only his twin could hear.

He took another look and when the path was clear he rounded the corner and motioned for his gold twin to follow. His ever present smirk remained in place as he considered Sunstreaker’s question. “I’m planning on keeping my distance. I wouldn’t want to be caught downwind of Hoist, if you know what I mean. Ha!” He chuckled to himself. “Anyway, we won’t need to get real close. We’ll know the prank worked when we see everyone heading in the opposite direction of our rotund mechanic. No one will ever know it was us since we don’t even need to be near him.” Sideswipe took a quick glance over his shoulder and offlined one of his optics in a “wink”. “No muss, no fuss. Eh, Sunshine?”

Hound listened to Blurr and Ingram's conversation some more. He couldn't help it. It wasn't as if he was eavesdropping or anything, but Blurr would not only talk faster than most, he could be louder than most- especially when he got excitable.

Hound looked about the mess hall, and listened to the ruckus brewing between the twins, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. If they were getting rowdy, the chances of a peaceful sit down were pretty much over. Blurr's new found sense of purpose sounded interesting, at least for something to do. After all, Hound had been stationed on the Guardian, but it's not like he had been given much in the way of responsibility so there were times he would be pretty idle. Maybe helping Blurr with his project would give him something to do. So, with that in mind, Hound stood from the table he had sat at, then he walked over to the excitable Blurr, who was constantly pacing back and fourth.

"Hey Blurr," Hound began, "if you guys need any kind of help with your project, I'll be more than happy to help out."

Corridors

Mirage had, as of late, sat out most of what was occurring in the Sol System. Prowl's mission to find a new location for an Earthly base of operations was not something for which the spymaster was suited, and he had not accompanied Ultra Magnus and his contingent to Earth, either. Still, he had monitored the data-feeds and knew that the Med-Bay was now full of injured and dead Autobots.

The final reports were far from complete, but Mirage could glean enough from the fragmentary data to see that there were now more variables and unknowns in play than had been a few cycles previous. Initial medical scans showed damage inconsistent with the usual Decepticon weaponry, and at least one casualty as the result of weapons types possessed by one Autobot in particular. I'm no doctor, the spy acknowledged, but I know what a kill-shot looks like, and I know just how rare friendly-fire incidents are. Something strange happened down there.

He strode through the corridors toward the Med-Bay. He had no intention of assisting the medics - he hardly knew how, honestly - or of wasting time with condolences and comforts for the wounded. He was no good at that sort of thing. But he knew that Jazz was there, and he knew that it would only be a matter of time before he was somehow involved in whatever the Autobots would do next.

Over time, Mirage had learned that it was better to seek out his work rather than let it seek him out. One way or another, if there's a rogue Autobot shooting up his former comrades...I'm quite sure I will find myself mired in whatever solution Magnus and the rest devise. It was exactly the sort of thing in which a Transformer like Mirage usually found himself involved. Betrayal. Distrust. Deception.

He turned the corner and stepped through the sliding double doors into Ratchet's Med-Bay.

'Jazz,' he said by way of greeting. 'I suspect we should talk.'

Mess Hall

Blurr was all worked up now. His optics were on fire. That was good. Ingram smirked as she allowed herself to take credit for motivating a comrade. Her mental faculties strayed far from the high-end, true, but she made up for it in sheer energy and cheerfulness. Contagious energy and cheerfulness that even Beretta appreciated every time the going got rough.

"You coming?"

By way of answer, Ingram gulped down the last drops of her drink, then the can cracked and deformed in her grip as she crushed it between her digits. Ultra Magnus was a mech of reason and argument. Arguments needed appropriate weights to be effective. Ingram fell pretty close to the definition of weight, in more than one senses of the word.

"You betcha," she said and stood up, easily towering over Blurr by at least a cranial and a half. She flung the crumpled can into the nearest waste container.

"Hey Blurr, if you guys need any kind of help with your project, I'll be more than happy to help out."

That was another mech wandering over to them. It seemed like the discussion - and the subsequent burst of Blurr's excitement - didn't go unnoticed. Ingram wasn't that familiar with the duty roster of the entire sector, but she did recognize Hound when she saw him.

"That's great! The more, the merrier, huh?" the bulky femme slapped both mechs on the shoulder in a comradely fashion, but utterly forgetting that with her strength she might stagger them. "Hey, you got that... holographic thingy, right? We could'a lay out some interior plans to show big Blue-White-Red, eh?"


Medbay

Remington was still beside herself from the sudden and quite disturbing knowledge of the turns events had taken, even with First Aid's best attempts to offer her some solace.

It seemed Jazz was about to do the same, only with a different approach in mind. Which, in turn, confused Remington even more. Under different circumstances - for instance, with Beretta's gang around and a few rounds of energon already down - she might even had enjoyed being hit on and taken it for a joke. Might even had embarrassed the person with a well-formulated response to peel their overconfidence away, but not right here, not right now, in the middle of an infirmary full of injured, pained mechs who desperately needed attention and treatment.

For all his grumpiness and unpredictable mood swings, Ratchet's timing was as appropriate as ever, storming out of his office and sparing Remington the awkward situation she'd have found herself in had she tried to shake off the spec. ops. officer by doing it himself.

The air froze stiff, as if afraid to arise Ratchet's ire further if it moved. But inwardly, Remington could not help but sigh in relief amidst the stress. The CMO did a great service to her, immediately erasing all past offenses he had ever caused the femme by his harsh and often overly demanding demeanor.

“Remington. I want you to give First Aid a hand with the rest of the wounded.”

"Yes, chief. On it chief," she said, almost completely by reflex, swept away by the CMO's grim determination. Which was, probably, the reason why he was the CMO. Directing work in an environment where life and death stood only microns away left no room for indecision or softness. Doing what needed to be done was paramount.

“Ahem. Um, hey, Remy? I could really use your help. I mean, if you’ve got the time.”

Remington realized she was still frozen into place even though Ratchet had already left the bay. She shook her cranial out of confusion and tried to get back into focus.

'Retta would so slag you right now, she told herself.

"Coming!" Having found her bearings, she hurriedly paced over to where First Aid was struggling to put a severely battered Blades back together. "What do you need?"

Chromedome and Rewind's Hab Suite

He could see it; A shadowy figure with bright green eyes slowly creep closer and closer to him. Chromedome reached for one of his pistols, but when he held it in-front of him, trying to defend himself, it began to rust and just disintegrate into dust as a puff of wind blew. The figure continued to creep closer and closer upon the helpless Autobot. Chromedome frighteningly tried to back away, but he had his back to a wall. Soon the figure began to turn into more of shadowy blob, engulfing everything into a blackened void. Chromedome looked around and saw nothing but darkness all around him. He began to hear a faint noise, it sounded as if someone was calling out his name in a grimly tone.

"Chrooooommmeeeedooommmeeeee" The voice screeched through the void, "Chrooommmeeedooommmeee"

-

Chromedome's optics burst open and he quickly sat up. "It..It was only another nightmare." He said in between gasps of air. "Rewind, I just had another one of those night-" His glance at Rewind's empty recharging slab cut off his train of thought. "Nightmare..." He turned his body and rose slowly from his slab, taking little steps towards Rewind's slab. He stood silently in the duo's suite, trying to ponder where the little archivist could be. He began to stretch out his servos, and walked towards the door.

Corridor

Chromedome slowly exited the suite. He stood outside his door momentarily, looking up and down the emptied hallway. Visions of his latest nightmare continued to flash in the back of his processor. He turned right, heading off to the Mess Hall.

"Perhaps I can drink off this slagging nightmare." He thought out loud to himself. His walking pace was a little slow and he continued rubbing his processor. He continued to walk for about two minutes before he finally reached the ship's mess hall.

Mess Hall

Finally, something to drink.

Chromedome walked past the many tables that were placed all around the large dining area and up to the service counter.

"One cube of Regular-grade,” Chromedome asked the service bot. The bot returned shortly after with his order, and he was quick to drink it. He took a quick gulp of the pink liquid and then looked around the nearly empty mess hall. He saw Blurr , Ingram, and Hound all standing around one table. They seemed to be talking about something, but Chromedome couldn’t hear them clearly from where he was standing. He approached their table, hoping Blurr knew where Rewind could be.

“Blurr! Hey have you seen Rewind anywhere?” Chromedome asked as he slammed back another gulp of his Energon.

Mess Hall

Primus, I’m starving

Tailgate, in search of something to quell the cravings inside, found himself in the mess hall of the ship; if any place could satisfy his desires, it was here. Upon entering the area, Tailgate took notice of Chromedome, Blurr, Ingram, and Hound within the Hall. No one else was in the room, and the group looked to be hosting an engaging conversation, about what was a guess as words were indistinguishable from Tailgate’s position. Curious and eager to join in the discussion about whatever, the minibot hurried to the table after getting a sizable portion of Energon from the service bot.

“Hey, guys! What’s goin’ on, something big?”

Mess Hall

Blurr had to resist the impulse to race out of the room as soon as Ingram got up and tossed the crumpled can into a nearby waste container. It was exponentially more difficult to control his hyperactive tendencies when he got excited. Only a good of self control kept him from zipping away. Blurr beamed at Ingram with all the enthusiasm of a new spark stepping out into the world for the first time.

"ThanksabunchIngram!"

As the speedster turned to leave the mess hall, he noticed Hound making his way over to them. Blurr supposed that he had been making a bit of a spectacle of himself by getting so worked up over the thought of his own bar. However eager he was to get going, Blurr was always happy to see a comrade. Especially someone like Hound.

"HeyHoundole buddy," Blurr said amiably.

"Hey Blurr, if you guys need any kind of help with your project, I'll be more than happy to help out."

"Really? That'dbe gre-" Blurr added cheerily after Hound's offer before he was roughly - yet companionably - slapped on the shoulder by Ingram. The speedster staggered just managing to catch himself. Blurr shook it off easily not minding it - after all, he was friends with Warpath - and perked up when he heard Ingram's latest idea.

"Hey, you got that... holographic thingy, right? We could'a lay out some interior plans to show big Blue-White-Red, eh?"

"Yeah...yeah! Can you dothat, Hound? Iwasthinking of having theactual bar be in thecenter - ovoid or circular depending on room dimensions - with booths along all thewalls and tables interspersed throughout."

Before Hound could respond to the speedster, however, the Autobots' neighborhood mnemosurgeon walked over to them. Blurr knew Chromedome when he saw him; he just didn't really know him personally. He was asking about the whereabouts of Rewind, one of Blaster's cassettobots. Blurr scrapped his brain for anything concerning Rewind.

"Ahhh....uh...He wasn't in Rodimus's group when I was with them...he could havebeen part of the team that was dispatched to getthem back, but...I don't really know what a cassettobot would be doing there without Blaster. That group took a lotof heavy casualties. Warpath...was in real bad shape when I last saw him. Didn'tsee Rewind in there though. Maybe you should try one of the other cassettobots or Blaster? They might know. I'm sure he's somewhere."

Blurr gave Chromedome a reassuring smile and was about to turn back to Hound and Ingram when a minibot that he didn't immediately recognize walked over to them. Primus, they sure had a knack for attracting mechs, didn't they? The speedster didn't really mind. Back on Cybertron, Blurr used to be swarmed with fans and the media. He preferred to be surrounded by comrades instead of countless strangers.

"Hey there, Tail...Tail...pipe? It is Tailpipe? We were just about to head off to pitch the idea of a bar to Ultra Magnus."