The Energon Pub

Mess Hall

Chromedome took a seat at the speedy bot's table as he was explaining everything he knew to the mnemosurgeon. As Blurr kept talking, Chromedome began to think about every little thing he was hearing.

Rodimus' Group? Casualties? Primus I've must have been out longer than I thought.

"Maybe you should try one of the other cassettobots or Blaster? They might know. I'm sure he's somewhere." The fast-talking Autobot said just before returning his attention to the other three at the table. Just as Chromedome reached out for his drink, the young minibot,Tailgate, showed up to the table, wondering what everyone was talking about.

Curious as always,Chromedome thought as he finished off his Energon beverage. He slowly stood from the table, and looked over at the young Autobot who just joined in on the conversation.

"Hey Tailgate, you wanna come to the bridge with me and look for Blaster?" the mnemosurgeon asked. "C'mon, it'll be fun." He said, trying to persuade him into going.

Med Bay

Jazz was used to his jokes not flying; and quite frankly, this was one of those times. Remington didn't even smirk or anything; not even out of embarrassment. Ah well, you can't win them all, right? This Jazz mused, but suddenly he was grabbed by his shoulder with a large hand. Ratchet was done with the tape.

"Sure thing, man!" Jazz said quickly, wanting out of the hostile grip of the CMO.

Thankfully, the doctor's look softened and his hold on Jazz's shoulder was released. No sooner did that happen did Jazz give a acknowledging nod to the doctor and his assistants, then began to trod out of the room.

Only to run into Mirage, who was walking in to apparently talk to his director.

"Oh, hey man, I guess you need a bit of a debriefing. Listen, I'm a bit busy... Let's walk and talk." Jazz stated, walking down the hall at an increased pace.

Turning back to see if the spy was following him, the special operations director began his debrief.

"Do you recall Howlstrike? How he was decapitated by someone? Well that someone turned out to be Hardhead, and man the plot keeps getting thicker," Jazz explained as he turned various corners and passed a few worker drones, "The person who sent him to do that was none other than Hot Ro-Rodimus, as he likes to call himself now. No doubt these were the bots who attacked ours down on the surface, judging from what info I've picked up from my stay at Hotel Ratchefornia."

The special operations director paused before he continued, "Thing is, we don't know if there are any... Third parties controlling his actions -- It's happened before, and I don't I need to remind you what happened that time -- and making him an enemy, and a nasty one at that. Remember, if you come across anything at all, you come to Magnus, Red Alert and I. We don't know who else is on this guy's side, but all we can do is be careful for the time being. Right now we just have to find him first."

Waiting a couple of moments, Jazz turned and stepped into the docking ring, where he walked into the ship that Magnus was located on.

It is Tailpipe? We were just about to head off to pitch the idea of a bar to Ultra Magnus.

“Tailgate.” He said with confirmation. He understood Blurr’s circumstance in knowing so many people, but it still hurt the minibot that his name was so easily mismatched with that of hollow parts. “Ooh, that sounds like a great idea, except…this is Magnus we’re talking about. How do you ever hope to pass this off as a good idea to him?”

Before the speedy bot or the fellow autobots at the table could provide him with an answer, Chromedome turned to Tailgate and spoke to him. “Hey Tailgate, you wanna come to the bridge with me and look for Blaster?” The suddenness of the request took Tailgate aback, but was intrigued with the request. Chromedome either genuinely wanted Tailgate’s help….or he was desperate. “C'mon, it'll be fun.” Tailgate couldn’t say no after that plea.

“Sure, Chromedome, I’ll go help you look for Blaster. Just wondering, why do you need to find Blaster?”

Mess Hall

“Sure, Chromedome, I’ll go help you look for Blaster. Just wondering, why do you need to find Blaster?” Tailgate asked in response to Chromedome's proposal.

"Because, he might know where I can find Rewind." Chromedome replied quite cheerfully as he began walking towards the doorway. The energon he had taken might of been a tad stronger he was hoping for. The random flashes of his latest nightmare were gone, but he normally wouldn't be in such a good mood the day after he experienced it. Just as he took a step out the doorway, he turned around and popped his head back inside the mess hall. "Hey thanks for the help guys!" He shouted to Blurr and the other Autobots, "And good luck with that bar proposal!"

Corridor

Chromedome took his steps into the long and winding corridors of the massive Autobot frigate. He had spent a large portion of his time elsewhere aboard The Guardian, and didn't recognize this particular portion of the ship. He looked for some signalization towards the bridge's direction from where he currently was before looking down at the smaller Autobot accompanying him.

"Uh...You got any idea how to get to the bridge from here?"

Corridors

"Ring fighter. I was a ring fighter. Full contact beat'em up. Like gladiators, minus the brutality. With rules and no deathmatches. I won a few titles."

"One of the best fighters out there at the time!" Eject informed Steeljaw cheerfully.

"Ah, I see," Steeljaw said, his cool demeanor diminishing slightly as he stretched out his stiff diodes, "I didn't know you followed ring fighting as well, Eject. Is there any sport you haven't followed religiously?"

"I stayed away from Pit brawls. Mostly," Eject murmured, glancing down at the floor ashamed. He and Rewind had gone to see the early Pit fights, Cybertronians brawling it out to the death. Rewind had just gone once for the Archives. He met someone after that...Dom...Dom..something. He couldn't remember the name. Rewind never talked about him anymore anyway. After that first time, Eject made the trek back to the Pit to watch the fights. More than once.

It wasn't something he was proud of, but it had set a few things into perspective when Megatron the gladiator became Megatron the tyrant. Eject believed that sports could be the best means to end the war. Friendly competition. Rules. Regulations. No more anything goes Pit fighting. No more senseless death.

"How do you know so much about sports, by the way? Have you been a reporter back then? Or data archivist or some such?"

"Huh? Oh, no," Eject replied with a chuckle to Glock, "Rewind's the data archivist. He's got information about...everything to do with almost anything you could want to know about. And a lot about things that nobody cares about too."

"I used to be a commentator back before the war. Small things though. Being my size and social class, you don't tend to get high up any sort of ladder," Eject added, shrugging, "Rewind could tell you a bit more about the details of the rights of the disposable class from back then."

"And I have absolutely no idea about you. Going by your demeanor... a huntsmech, maybe?"

"A tracker," Steeljaw replied, pleased by the accuracy of Glock's guess, "So yes, you are correct. I enjoy it. All of the minutely variable scents...distinguishing them from each other...Apologies, miss Glock. I get carried away," Steeljaw said politely.

"Steeljaw's one of the best trackers on the team. He's always got his olfactory sensors to the ground, scoring points left and right," Eject added.

Corridors, Toward Docking Ring

Mirage walked next to Jazz as the special operations director gave him a quick briefing on the situation. The spy had heard of Howlstrike but did not know him at all well. Still, an Autobot beheadhing another Autobot is more than a little unsettling. It did not unsettle the spy so much that it was Howlstrike that had been beheaded than that it could just as well be him if he managed to locate Hardhead. Headhead was a rough character, to say the least. He was armored and armed far beyond Mirage's own capacity for brute violence. Hot Rod is nothing at which to sniff, either. If Jazz's allegations proved true, Mirage could quite possibly be called upon to deactivate one, two, or even more rogue Autobots. And if there's this...'third party'...well, that just adds to the degree of difficulty.

He continued along with Jazz as they approached the docking ring that led to Ultra Magnus' ship. The spy's rank was sufficient, as was his role, to warrant his attendance at a meeting of the command staff. If nothing else, he could perhaps glean additional information on the situation from the other ranking Autobots.

'I had best hear what the rest of the command staff has to say before I depart,' Mirage told Jazz. 'Better to go in with one optic open than with both closed.'

He followed the special operations director into Magnus' ship.

"Uh...You got any idea how to get to the bridge from here?"

Tailgate pondered the question but for a moment, as in his wanderings towards the Mess Hall he was 70% certain he crossed the bridge....those seemed good numbers, so immediately he began retracing his steps through his mind.

"Yeah, I think we go this way", he said while authoritatively pointing a finger towards the right. "Let's go," Tailgate said to Chromedome, waiting for a sign of approval in his declaration.

Corridor

"Yeah, I think we go this way" The smaller blue Autobot said pointing to the right. Chromedome honestly had no idea which way to go, so he believed him regardless of what he was told.

"Shall we?" he asked as he began walking off in the direction Tailgate had told him about. Chromedome walked at a brisked pace along the corridor. He was talking with Tailgate along the way until he noticed something up ahead, the silhouette of a small Cybertronian. Chromedome stopped in his tracks, trying to decipher the silhouette from afar.

"Is that... Rewind?" He asked, slowly stepping closer to the faded image. "C'mon Tailgate!" He said as he began rushing off in the direction of the the silhouette. As he ran closer and closer to what he believed was the tiny archivist who he befriended, the silhouette began to lose it's sheen and Chromedome could see it wasn't Rewind at all. It was Eject, Rewind's fellow cassettobot. His rushing steps greatly slowed down as the mnemosurgeon walked up to the sports enthusiast, who was accompanied by fellow cassettobot Steeljaw, and Glock. Sure this wasn't who he was expecting to find, but Eject might know where his friend could be.

"Eject! Hey I'm looking for Rewind. Got any idea where he could be?"

Med Bay

First Aid had his hands full trying to get a solid grip on what was Blade’s rotor assembly. From what the doctor could recall down on the planet’s surface, the Protectobot aerialist had taken a hit from a ‘Con flier. Might have been one of the Seekers, but truth be told First Aid could never really tell them apart. A smirk formed under his mask.

He started slightly when he heard Reminigton’s voice travel down to the main medical bay triage area. First Aid shifted his weight in order to provide the femme with enough space to reach in to get her hands dirty.

When Remington did finally arrive by his side Aid offered her a quick nod. “Thanks for the help, Remy.” He jiggled his left elbow slightly indicating that was where he actually needed her. “If you could grab a solid hold of the base of the assembly box, I can squeeze my hand in there and rework some of the wiring.”

While he leveled his grip First Aid waited patiently. That, however, did not last very long. It seemed to the doctor that he was routinely left to work on his own. Ratchet was always engrossed in more important duties, whether they were major surgeries or just the day to day running of the whole facility. And Axle seemed to always be preoccupied with other issues. Having another permanent member of the medical staff would be a great help.

“Um, hey, Remington? Would you be up for becoming an on-call medic?” First Aid’s question was quickly followed by a full on explanation leaving no time for the femme to answer…at least not until the doctor finished what he had to say. “I mean you’re not a doctor by function but with some more training and an apprenticeship you could acquire enough knowledge to be a great asset here.”

First Aid took only a moment’s pause before he pressed further. “As far as an apprenticeship…well, I’m currently under Ratchet, and I’m pretty sure if I wasn’t you’d flat out refuse to work with him. Heh.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Anyway. I’m apprenticing with Ratchet, but I think you could learn a lot from Axle. Besides, if you and he were working together he’d actually be in the med bay more often.”

He gave Remington a slight shrug. “Having you around would really be a big help. You’re a fast learner and you’re thorough. What do ya think?”

Corridors

Sunstreaker recognized Sideswipe’s usual overconfident, making up as he went act. He tried to cover it up by teasing and joking with him, but he could tell that the other Autobot had no real idea what he was doing. It was vintage Sideswipe, and it usually ended with the both of them being reprimanded or worse. It was a situation Sunstreaker found himself in all too often, and he didn’t need Sideswipe’s help in getting into it.

That said he was a bit interested to see how this prank would go down. The trick would be to not take any of the blame or punishment for it when it would inevitably blow up in Sideswipe’s face, as it always did. One option was to simply take the blame with him, but dish out a healthy amount of pay back in rubbing it in his face that he had been right in them getting caught. There was some appeal to that, and Sideswipe did need a bit of a smacking around for his annoyingly jovial attitude towards him lately.

An ideal option would be to do that while his twin took the blame all his own. Nobody would actually believe he had done it by himself, but if they couldn’t tie him to his prank because he split, then all they could do was just suspect Sunstreaker. Since he didn’t care one iota what others thought of him anyway that was no problem. Then he would get to smack around Sideswipe as he endured whatever punishment Prowl could dish out to him. The trick would be staying to see enough of the prank to enjoy it but getting away before he could be accused of anything. He would have to be on his toes.

Sunstreaker glared at Sideswipe as he laid out his plan. “Yes, fine, fine, but if I get caught as part of this I’m never going to let you forget it. And if you call me any more of your stupid nicknames I’m going to shove my foot up your exhaust pipe, got it?”

*

Message to Axle from Kup

>>”Roger that Axle, I’ll meet you on the bridge.”<<

Corridor

Axle hadn’t made it too far into the corridor when he sent out his communique to the command staff. He paused for a moment when he finished when he overheard Bluestreak try to reassure him that they would get Hex and Hardhead back.

The black and green medic turned around to face the young gunner full on, his expression grim. “Blue, I’m not talking about just getting Hardhead and Hex back. We have to get Darkride and Drag Strip away from The Fallen as well.” Axle sighed lowly and gently shook his head. He knew it was something Bluestreak didn’t want to hear, but it was the truth. “We can’t risk just getting our guys back only to have the final two Heralds recapture them again.” Axle placed his hand lightly on the Praxian’s shoulder. “It’s all of them or none of them at all.”

His hand lingered for a moment before he lowered it and offered Bluestreak a half-smile. As much as he hated it what he said was true. They couldn’t chance leaving two of them with Rodimus.

Axle cleared his throat a long lingering silence before he gestured toward the end of the corridor. “I know you’d rather have nothing to do with the ‘Cons, but if siding with them to put a stop to this prophecy is the only way then it’s something well have to…” Axle cut himself off when he received a response from Kup.

When the old mech’s message was cut Axle looked to Bluestreak, a hopeful smile on his face. “That was Kup. He’s going to meet us on the bridge of the 22.” Axle prepared to leave but stopped.

“Pooling our resources together with the ‘Cons would be our best chance, you know that.” The former doctor stepped in closer to the silver and black gunner. “This impending Apocalypse is meant to annihilate our entire race - Neutral, Autobot and Decepticon. The Fallen and Unicron are not going to choose one over the other. We’re all in danger of becoming extinct.” Axle’s voice was low but still firm.

“Come on, kid. Let’s get to the 22.” The field medic nudged his companion lightly on the arm before moving passed him.

Corridors – Following Hoist

There were several incidents where Sideswipe had to halt his brother from proceeding for fear of being caught following too close to their mark. The good thing was if they did happen to lose Hoist they’d easily find him again…he was already getting ripe. A broad smile spread over the crimson twin’s face while he waited down a side hallway.

“Ugh! Come on Sunny. You are such a prissy whiner!” Sideswipe looked over his shoulder at his annoyed twin and smiled. “We’re not gonna get caught. I already told you, no one is gonna believe that we could be the ones capable of something this complex. Now shut up, follow me and enjoy the smell-o-drama!”

Before Sunstreaker could retaliate with something physical, Sideswipe jogged off down the hall following the stench that was now wafting just ahead. The corridor led them right to the junction and the docking ring to the Ark – 22. Slowly the red warrior passed through the ring leading his brother further toward their prey.

Corridors leading to the Docking Ring

Bluestreak let out a heavy sigh as he listened to Axle’s reasoning for why it was necessary to combine their efforts with the Decepticons in order to battle Unicron, the Fallen and his four heralds. As much as the gunner didn’t want to admit it, the threat they now faced was targeting all sides of this endless conflict. Everyone would have to set aside their differences in order to combat a supernatural force that was hellbent on annihilating the entire Cybertronian race. And, in all likelihood, both sides would find common ground and unite against the coming darkness. But what would happen afterwards? That was the question that bothered the black and silver mech. Once the Fallen was defeated, if he was defeated, would the ‘Bots and ‘Cons go back to fighting each other again or would coming together be enough to end the war once and for all?

The war will never end, Bluestreak thought as Axle finished speaking and nudged him towards the other Autobot vessel. The ‘Cons will just use us to help them stop the Apocalypse and then they’ll attack us. They’ll never change their ways. Never. The gunner followed the field medic down the corridor, considering everything that had been said before responding. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, Axle,” Blue relented with a heavy spark. “The enemy of our enemy is our friend, so to speak. However, that doesn’t mean I have to like it or trust them. None of us should completely trust the Decepticons and Magnus, Kup and Prowl need to understand that. Believe me, the ‘Cons are just going to use us to help them survive and then it’ll be the same old thing again. So, I say we use them, as well. Let’s use them to defeat Rodimus and get our people back. If we have to save their mechs in the process then so be it. But make no pretenses that once this is all over with the war will continue, and we have to be ready for that reality no matter how much we think that working together will change things between the factions. Because it won’t. Megatron may be gone but his corrupted ideals for total domination over everything still endure.”

Bluestreak’s words were harsh, but they had to be. Some Autobots might think that uniting together as Cybertronians will mark the beginning of the end to the war, giving hope to everyone that a new age was upon them. That won’t be the case. The gunner knew this and he needed everyone else to know it, as well. Otherwise, the ‘Cons would strike at them the moment the Fallen was expelled from Hot Rod’s body if that was even possible. Of course, all these thoughts of the war continuing or not hinged completely on defeating the demigod to begin with and that was one monumental task to be certain. They might not be able to stop the Apocalypse and then the war really would end. Unfortunately, that outcome would set into motion something far worse then an endless conflict between giant robots.

Rounding another corner, Bluestreak caught sight of the docking ring and followed Axle towards it. Without saying another word, the black and silver mech stepped into the tunnel and made his way across to the Ark-22 where they would meet Kup on the bridge and hopefully find a way out of this mess.

Med Bay

Looking over Blades, Remington felt her whole frame go stiff. She was greeted by an ugly wound, a ripped gash of scorched metal running across the flier's rotor housing. A direct hit from an energy based weapon, probably lance configuration. And most likely the most severe injury Remington had been called to tend to so far.

If you could grab a solid hold of the base of the assembly box, I can squeeze my hand in there and rework some of the wiring.

Remington nodded, too focused on the task to speak, and carefully tapped out the most convenient position to hold the base. She grabbed it and took the weight over from First Aid. The myomer muscles in her arms suddenly tensed. It was heavy. But she held it firm as the apprentice medic began to work.

Um, hey, Remington? Would you be up for becoming an on-call medic? First Aid suddenly asked, completely undistracted by the fact that his manual actuators were buried inside Blades' rotor assembly up to the wrists and performing the very delicate maneuvers of reconnecting and fixing the internal parts. His skills were so well tuned they were mostly reflex.

Remington was simply astounded. For her, just holding the frame section in the appropriate position syphoned all her attention away, but to the apprentice medic, an operation way beyond anything routinely seemed like barely more than digit practice. All the while inviting her to join the med ranks.

True, Remington had remarkable skills of her own but she rarely used them under this much stress. Given a crate of spare parts and a cycle or two, and she'd have an improved and effective gadget or gun added to the inventory. But this field, the medical theatre was something entirely different than what she was used to.

So astounded was she that following what First Aid was saying came with a bit of difficulty.

Having you around would really be a big help. You’re a fast learner and you’re thorough. What do ya think?

'I...,' she began, 'Thanks, Aid. I'm not really sure, though... it's a little scary how easily you're doing this...'

Her optics were still fixed on First Aid's manual actuators as they worked.

'... I'm not certain I could.'

But she couldn't deny being intrigued by the idea, her reservations about her own capabilities aside. Maybe it was about time for a change of pace in utilizing her skills. Besides, even if she wouldn't pass in the end, the experience gained would surely benefit Beretta and the others during missions. They tended to get hurt often, after all.

She looked at First Aid.

'But I'll ask 'Retta if she could grant me leave of the squad for a time, alright?'

Med Bay

The damage Blades had suffered was not unlike any other wound the Protectobot had been privy to in the past. In fact the dirty street-fighting mech was prone to rotor damage quite often. For First Aid this repair was like second nature.

Remington’s lack of a response to his question began to worry First Aid giving him cause to put a halt to his repair in order to regard the femme.

At first he thought she was having some difficulty handling the weight of the assembly but that assumption was proven to be wrong as Remington seemed to have no trouble with the load at all. First Aid’s next concern was that somehow her vocalizer had spontaneously shut down. But that too did not seem to be the case.

First Aid sent a scrutinizing stare at the femme while he carefully began to pull his hands from inside Blades’ inner workings.

When Remington finally did speak, to First Aid’s relief, it was done slowly and in a somewhat bewildered fashion.

The doctor let out a chuckle of amusement, his visor taking on a slight upward curve giving way to a visual confirmation of a grin. A moment later he had returned his full attention to his patient sliding his hands back into the small compartment. “There’s nothing scary about it. Honestly, it just takes a bit of time to get into the swing of things.” He said.

Leaning in hard Aid shoved his hand further into the copter-bot’s rotor box until an audible crunch was heard. “Ah. There we go…” The doctor let out a low grunt as he quickly straightened back up and pulled his hand out. “Shrapnel.” First Aid waved the small metal shard between his forefinger and thumb.

He placed the fragment onto a tray beside Blades’ circuit slab and grabbed a clean rag to wipe his hands off. “You can let it down now.” He laid the towel down and nodded at the Protectobot. “He can be placed in a CR Chamber for a cycle or two.” First Aid directed several drones to take care of Blades so he could get back to work.

With a quick look around the triage area he let his shoulders slump. The place had cleared out leaving only the critical patients in the surgical suite to be attended to. “You may not be a medic or a doctor by function but I know you can do this.” He gave Remington a shrug. “Hopefully Beretta will find it useful for you to acquire a bit of medical training.”

The doctor flashed the femme what could only be a smile as he turned around and headed toward the surgical suite. “Now all I have to do is convince Axle to take on an apprentice.” He mumbled. Convincing Ratchet wouldn’t be a problem, surprisingly. Axle on the other hand…

“Come with me. I have to make my rounds and since you’re here you can help.” First Aid said. He then stopped and looked over his shoulder. “They’re all stable, the Autobots who were attacked. Even though it may not look like it they're all stable. Okay?” His voice was soft but firm.

(OoC: Heads up, Jazz is on the Ark-22. Just so you know.)

Corridors

Pit brawls, eh? Glock mused. She had been to more than a few herself, if she wanted to be honest. Everyone had, at one point or another. It had been to big a spectacle to just ignore.

And if she wanted to stay honest, she had been disgusted by it. All brutality and fuelshed. No skill, no finesse, no class. Ring fighting had a certain prestige to it that even Dragu would grudgingly acknowledge, even with that starch stuck-up attitude she so often displayed.

So it seemed to the former sportsfemme that she and her newfound comrades weren't all that different. Sports, law enforcement, public service, entertainment... all found their way under the Autobot flag.

Steeljaw's manners amused her greatly. Rarely did any mech around Glock behave so politely, though she suspected it lasted only until one got on the animal-former's wrong side. And she had no doubts about him being as excellent a tracker as Eject claimed.

'So you two work with Blaster, right?' she asked Eject. 'What's it like alongside him? I love when he occasionally does that "Goooood Mooornin' Guardiaaaan" broadcast. Retta and the rest of the girls do, too.'


Med Bay

There’s nothing scary about it. Honestly, it just takes a bit of time to get into the swing of things, First Aid said so casually as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Yeah, right. After a couple a hundred vorns, maybe, Remington thought as she tried to play back in her mind the entire process of the operation Aid had just performed, while the med drones hovered over on humming repulsor fields and carried away Blades to the nearest unoccupied CR chamber.

Hopefully Beretta will find it useful for you to acquire a bit of medical training.

Remington was reminded of one of her squad's earlier assignments that had gone almost catastrophically wrong. They had been sent to dispatch a bounty hunter with Decepticon ties and though they had been successful, not one of the squad had come through without serious injuries. Intel had vastly underestimated the target's capabilities. Of course, Beretta had been roughed up the worst, the image of her lying battered in a pool of her own fluid, drinking unrated, low-grade energon as makeshift painkiller so she could bear with field repairs on her frame still vivid in Remington's mind.

She could save her squad leader then, but only by a frighteningly thin thread's breadth.

So there was a definite plus to more medical training.

Come with me. I have to make my rounds and since you’re here you can help.

'Sure,' Remington said. Aid sure wasn't about to let her fiddle around ildly. All for the better, since it would at least take her mind off all the gravely injured ones. The first thing she'd learn, she guessed. How to stay focused with all the emotionally stirring or disturbing stimuli flooding over you.

It was different with guns and gadgets. They never hurried and didn't die on you if you missed something small but eventually significant.

Aid must have sensed her discomfort because he stopped for a moment to assure her everything was alright.

They’re all stable, the Autobots who were attacked. Even though it may not look like it they're all stable. Okay?

Remington nodded as she followed him to the first hoverslab where another patient lay. 'Thanks.'

She thought for a moment.

'You said something about this other med personnel... Axle, was it? Am I to work under him? And... does he have a thing against trainees?'

Surprising as it was, Remington found herself reluctant to be discharged from Ratchet's supervision. Grumpiness and outbursts were one thing, but his spark was definitely in the right place and in his calmer moments, he was a lot more likable. He was passionate to share his knowledge because he genuinely believed it a solid help to the cause his oath as a medic tied him to.

Docking Ring

Axle stopped just at the entrance of the passageway that would take them to the Ark – 22. The concerns Bluestreak was now voicing was not anything the medic had not considered himself. Yes there was a chance the Decepticons would continue the war. It would be an unfortunate conclusion, but stopping potential genocide and getting their people back was more important than worrying about the ‘what ifs’.

The former doctor let out a low sigh and looked over his shoulder at the young gunner. “I understand your concern about the Decepticons. Having gone through what you did, I can’t blame you.” Axle turned around to fully face the black and silver mech…a weary expression on his faceplate. “You lost everything in that attack. I can’t imagine what it was like…how you felt. But the same could well happen again, and this time it won’t be the Decepticons who cause it.” Axle’s shoulders slumped slightly.

“Bluestreak, we’ll lose everything, everyone.” The black and green mech placed a hand on his comrade’s shoulder. “We have a chance to stop that from happening. And whether you think it’ll be a lost cause, the ‘Cons are our best bet to get it done.” Axle gave the gunner’s shoulder plate a light squeeze before dropping his hand and moving through the docking ring.

……Continued on the Ark – 22……

Med Bay

A smiled formed under First Aid’s faceplate when Remington seemed to accept his offer to apprentice under Axle. Of course the whole idea depended on two parties…Remington’s commanding officer, Beretta and Axle who was always preoccupied with just about everything else.

The smile faded as the doctor passed through the doors to the surgical suite where the patients who required frequent monitoring were located.

Lining one wall were several recovery stations. In the center of the large room were three surgical slabs. These were where the lifesaving really took place. Along the far back wall was a brief line of CR Chambers.

First Aid stopped just inside the room and let out a heavy sigh. He took a quick look at the now cleaned up theater sending thanks to Primus that they had the use of medical droids to do the job of sanitizing.

Satisfied that things were well in order, the Protectobot took up a datapad that was magnetized to the wall and gave it a quick glance. The list was small.

First Aid stopped reading and looked over his shoulder at Remington who had asked about his fellow medic. The small mech lowered the pad as he thought about how to answer the femme’s query.

After a brief moment he nodded. “Yes. As I said before, he’ll be the only experienced doctor and surgeon available.” He paused trying to gather his thoughts and respond to her concern about Axle having a “thing against trainees”. He was sure the other mech didn’t.

“Oh no. It’s just…well… Axle has a tendency to be distracted. He’s…umm…” First Aid hummed in thought trying to come up with an answer that wouldn’t make the former doctor seem unworthy of the position. “He makes decisions based on his emotions. Not that that’s a bad thing, mind you. But for a medic it can be very dangerous.” First Aid motioned for Remington to follow as he moved to the first CR Chamber holding the stasis induced form of Ricochet.

He took a look at the readouts and made a quick note. He tilted the pad’s screen in the femme’s direction and then continued the conversation. “I think you two working together would do him some good. He’d get a chance to interact with someone other than his ward. Who happens to be the main source of his distractions.” He smiled and gave the femme a nod.

Corridors

With a nudge from Steeljaw, Eject turned and became aware of Chromedome walking down the corridors toward their congregation. Someone else was with the mnemosurgeon, a little bot that he knew as Tailgate. Knowing his comrade, Steeljaw had probably been aware of them for quite a while and now only decided to alert him because the lion cassette figured they were coming to talk to them. Eject only knew the mnemosurgeon because of Rewind. The two were really close. Always had been since before the war.

"Eject! Hey I'm looking for Rewind. Got any idea where he could be?" said Chromedome.

Not for the first time, Eject was glad to have a faceplate to partially conceal his expressions. Otherwise, the mnemosurgeon would have seen a grimace. Chromedome was probably not going to be happy to find out where Rewind had gone off to. Oh well, the mnemosurgeon deserved to know that much.

"Oh, hey there, Chromedome. You too, Tailgate. Have you met Glock? She was a really amazing ring fighter back before the war broke out. Oh, Glock, this is Chromedome and Tailgate. Chromedome is a mnemosurgeon. He and Rewind are...good friends. Tailgate comes to Rewind's movie night a lot. Ah, sorry Tailgate, I forget your function," Eject admitted sheepishly.

"As for Rewind...he..ah....oh, right! Prowl called him off for some mission while we were transporting Howlstrike's body to the medical bay. Not too sure on the specifics of where, though I know he's down on Earth...somewhere. I'm sure that he's ok."

Steeljaw nodded to Chromedome and Tailgate politely while scenting the air to see if he could smell his fellow cassettobot Rewind anywhere.

"I cannot smell Rewind, so he has probably not returned yet," the autobot tracker added.

Eject's attention returned to Glock as she asked them about Blaster. The sports fanatic grinned beneath his faceplate at his commanding officer's name. Although the grin was partially hidden by his faceplate, Eject's cheer shone through.

"Yeah! Blaster is our commandering officer of sorts. He's a real good mech, real laid back. Really likes this Earth music at lot. Especially rock n' roll. He blasts it all of the time while we're working. Blaster's a bit more down to Cybertron than most think because of his broadcast persona."

"Blaster hasn't done a broadcast in a while actually," Eject continued, "He seems a bit down after Optimus's dea- disappearance a while ago. Understandable really. A lot of mechs are still torn up about it. Things are pretty bleak right now actually. What with Howlstrike's decapitation and the huge influx of wounded into the medical bay earlier. We just gotta get out heads back into the game and blitz for the touchdown. We may be down, but we're not out yet! There's still the ninth inning."

"If I ever find the one who decapitated Howlstrike..." Steeljaw growled with sudden ferocity before composing himself once more, "Well. Nevermind that."

"Unpleasantness aside, Miss Glock," Steeljaw continued, "and to answer your earlier question, working alongside Blaster is inspiring. He knows exactly what to say to lift a mech's spirits. Doing that usually helps to keep his own morale up. We cassettobots are a closely-knit team. Rewind and Eject monitor frequencies while my function is to track down a quarry, and Ramhorn's function is to destroy anything that gets in the way. He has a few anger management issues sadly. I would advise you avoid him, Miss Glock."

"I forget if we got that door that was stuck on his horn off...I think so. Primus, I hope so," Eject muttered.

"I am certain that Blaster would be flattered to know that you and your comrades enjoy his broadcasts, Miss Glock," Steeljaw added, "He was talking about doing another broadcast before he was called away to the Ark-22 for whatever reason."

Med Bay

He makes decisions based on his emotions. Not that that’s a bad thing, mind you. But for a medic it can be very dangerous.

'Can be risky, yeah,' Remington said, 'but I could tell you the story of how 'Retta hauled my aft out of a danger zone on nothing more than her whim that she didn't want to see me dead, so I have little against compassion.'

As First Aid led her on, they arrived in front of a row of CR chambers. The silent hisses of circulatory systems greeted them as the bubbling, gelatinous liquid inside the tanks was being constantly refreshed. Visible to naked optic only at full zoom-in, nanite machines performed the minutiae work of restoring the individuals contained in stasis in each tank to operational condition, rebuilding damaged sections of their frames at a near-molecular level after the majority of surgical work had been completed by the medics. It was a completely automated process, but time-consuming. 'Lying on the convalescent beach', as grunt slang came to call it.

I think you two working together would do him some good. He’d get a chance to interact with someone other than his ward. Who happens to be the main source of his distractions.

Remington spared First Aid a glance of mild bafflement under a raised optic-ridges before turning her attention to the datapad brought up before her optics.

'Source of distraction how?' she asked. This Axle was turning out to be an odd figure. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Anyone who saw Beretta, or Primus help them, Ingram for the first time, wouldn't have thought differently about them.

Something caught Remington's attention on the datapad.

'Aid...,' she said as her optics narrowed. She brought a digit up to point out the line in the data she was looking at. 'Aren't these spark emanation signatures a little faint for someone supposedly nearing full recovery?'


Corridors

'Optimus Prime, huh...,' Glock mused upon the mention of the allegedly greatest mech ever to bear the Autobot crest. It appeared her newfound companions weren't quite willing to even consider the notion of him being permanently lost, though his disappearance was quite factual.

'Never got touched by the guy,' she then said, with a bluntness typical of her regarding matters she didn't really care about. 'I think I may have seen him once, but only from a distance. Beretta's all over him, though. She met her on several occasions.'

Things are pretty bleak right now actually. What with Howlstrike's decapitation and the huge influx of wounded into the medical bay earlier.

Of that, Glock only noticed the increased activity on board the ship. She didn't pay it much mind though, mostly guard duty and training so that she would't go to rust filling her schedule.

The seemingly ever-cool Steeljaw began to growl in upset at the mention of this mech, Howlstrike. Strange. He composed himself quickly.

We cassettobots are a closely-knit team. Rewind and Eject monitor frequencies while my function is to track down a quarry, and Ramhorn's function is to destroy anything that gets in the way. He has a few anger management issues sadly. I would advise you avoid him, Miss Glock.

Glock grunted. 'Reminds me of someone on our own team, only it's not anger management but discipline...' she said, but didn't want to reveal the irony of talking about herself.

I am certain that Blaster would be flattered to know that you and your comrades enjoy his broadcasts, Miss Glock. He was talking about doing another broadcast before he was called away to the Ark-22 for whatever reason.

'That'd be great. Nothing like a little rock 'n' roll to shake things up,' Glock nodded, amused. One of the few things she developed a certain liking to during their undercover time on Earth. That and car races. This latter a main cause for a number of cranial aches for Beretta.

'While he's away, though, care to fill me in on the matter of this fellow... Howlstrike, was it?' she asked. If it was some shipwide rumor, she had heard nothing of it. But seeing how swiftly it shook Steeljaw out of his collected demeanor, it ought to have been something serious.


Mess Hall

Wow. What a commotion. And they hadn't done anything yet. Blurr was already cranial over heel compartments and nothing short of a stungun could make him stop. Ingram just loved that. When things were happening. Just like when she was brawling with someone, someone strong enough to stand up to her blows but they would give in in the end. She could go a tremendously long way before she would be bested. That moment, when push came to shove and she was the one braking the standstill and pushing the opponent.

'A'right gang, let's go,' she said, her vocalizer bursting with enjoyment. She grabbed the nearest mech of the gathered bunch, which incidentally happened to be Blurr and began to nudge him towards the exit. A nudge, of her caliber, usually meant the one on the receiving end needed their balance skills to stay on their feet. Without her realizing or intending any harm, of course.

Mess Hall

Blurr was more than ready to start rolling out before Ingram even said anything. As Ingram grabbed him and pushed him forward with a shove, the speedster recovered in the span of an astrosecond as he raced forward to catch himself and to the door. He managed to check his speed when he had reached the threshold of the mess hall, having put a bit of distance between himself and Ingram.

Waiting for Ingram to catch up before continuing on at a greatly decelerated pace from the speedster's norm, Blurr thought of another way to attract mechs to the bar. Turning to the bulky femme as he walked alongside her, Blurr began to speak his mind.

"Speaking of remodeling, which ship do you think we should make the bar at? Magnus'll get the last call on that, but it wouldn'thurt to haveapreferred ship attheready. The Ark-22 does have more room. Hm...there needs tobe some kindof entertainment aswell. Oh! MaybeBlasterorJazz could figuresomething out!"

Blurr pondered the various possibilities. Although, constant entertainment could take away from the relaxed atmosphere that the blue speedster was trying to create.

"Idunno, what doyou think Ingram? Maybeitshould be only a few cycles every so often..."

There was also the issue of assembling some raw material to rework into usable furnishing for the bar. Couldn't have it looking like a mess hall. A lot of the current tables could be recycled as they were. Blurr also needed to find a way to make the synthetic energon taste better without heaping in a lot of extra chemicals that would send the sturdiest mech to the med bay with one sip.

That task could prove to be the most impossible of all. He was no scientist. Well, he couldn't worry about things out of his control. Blurr imagined screens stationed above the bar in the center of the room, facing outward to all directions, providing everyone with a view from anywhere in the bar. Yeah. That'd work.

----

Corridors

'While he's away, though, care to fill me in on the matter of this fellow... Howlstrike, was it?'

Steeljaw's expression immediately darkened and even Eject's usual cheer managed to fade as they were called upon to explain. Eject tried to think of the best way to phrase it gently. No Autobot would take kindly to hearing this particular bit of news.

"Well...we know that-"

"There is a traitor in our midst," Steeljaw snarled dangerously.

Blunt but to the point, Steeljaw found no other way to say it. There was no softening this disgustingly vile blow. No matter how it was phrased, or how many words were used to pad it. Steeljaw noted Eject's grimace at hearing what the two had been thinking aloud. The truth remained. Steeljaw locked optics with Glock as he continued.

"The traitor," Steeljaw spat the word angrily, "attacked Howlstrike and decapitated him, leaving him for dead in a storage room. Warpath was attacked similarly when he made an unsanctioned bounce down to Earth with a group that Hot Rod - I think he goes by Rodimus now, claiming to be the next Prime - led."

"The entire group suffered casualties. Those that returned anyway. Rodimus, Hex, and Hardhead did not return with the injured and I haven't smelled their scent at all recently, even though Kup - who lead the rescue expedition - has returned. I smell him, although its faint."

"Yeah," Eject said dejectedly, "That's the play-by-play."

"If I ever find that traitor...I will rip him apart myself!" Steeljaw snarled.

Corridors

"Oh, hey there, Chromedome. Have you met Glock? She was a really amazing ring fighter back before the war broke out." Eject said, responding to the mnemosurgeon.

Chromedome waved slightly to the unfamiliar mech talking to the Cassettobots. Normally he would try and strike up a conversation with any new crew members to at least try and get to know them a little bit, but the mnemosurgeon was determined to stay focused and try to find Rewind.

"As for Rewind...he..ah....oh, right! Prowl called him off for some mission while we were transporting Howlstrike's body to the medical bay. Not too sure on the specifics of where, though I know he's down on Earth...somewhere. I'm sure that he's ok"

Chromedome studied Eject's body language, and he could tell by his posture that he was telling the truth. He turned away from the group, trying not to believe what he just heard.

He just left? He thought, He didn't even at least TRY and tell me where he went... Chromedome tried to deny what he had heard, but he just couldn't shake the fact that Rewind had just vanished from the ship without leaving Chromedome any sort of info. No...No he would at least left me a note of some kind...A data slug or something...

"Thanks for your help." Chromedome told the cassettobots as he tried to hold back his emotions, then began trekking off towards the Bridge.

This can't be true...Someone on the bridge ought to know what's going on here.

Mess Hall

Ingram mused on everything Blurr hastily brought up. He sure had a tendency to crank out things faster than Ingram could follow. Whether she was too slow, or the racer bot too fast, she didn't dwell on. She had no desire to maintain the initiative, either. A support presence, that was her, not the leader type, so she just kept tracing the line of thought.

'Blaster'd be great,' she nodded. 'Me an' the gals like the shows he's bein' putting up. A special guest on 'ccasion, say, to celebrate victory or promotion or... well, important stuff.'

She stroked her chin with a digit as they strode on.

'As for where to erect the place... I dunno, but it be no matterin'. These scrapheaps weren't designed with my size in mind.' She laughed as if she had said something real funny. Evidently, explaining the subtleties of a sense of humor to her would be utterly pointless.

'Rest assured, though,' Ingram went on, 'I can carry the stuff needed anywhere you want. In fact, Imma lookin' forward to the exercise.' She circled her shoulders, the motion reminiscent of boulders rolling down the side of a mountain. 'An' Remy could help clobber up some of the set. Audio projectors, holo-screens, glow-tubes, that sorta thing...' Ingram straightened a bit, immensely proud of herself that she knew such words. 'Like a real bar club y'know? With class. Yeah, even Dragu would love that.'


Corridors

The abrupt shift in the mood of both cassettes gave Glock pause. It was without doubt that they had been touched by the transpired events deeply. Also, an explanation was provided why Ratchet had requested Remington as support to the med bay. Hell must have been going on in there.

If I ever find that traitor...I will rip him apart myself!

Glock wasn't a femme to jump at her own shadow. Far from it. She had faced and engaged enemy officers, bounty hunters, and horrid Decepticon war machines without flinching. There was only one occassion that she could recall when she had been close to actually feeling scared and that had been when during a highly risky mission deep into Kaon she had made Beretta so angry she had nearly pulled a gun on her. Glock never knew Beretta could be so out of her usual character. But then and there, the infamous 'Gunslinger' would have halted even that sick bastard Turmoil in his tracks, such had been her fury.

But now, as she was looking Steeljaw directly in the optic, Glock felt a very similar chill crawl up her spinal strut. Even Primus' mercy may not suffice to help anyone who got in the animal-former's way.

'Don't worry,' she finally said, without breaking optic-contact. 'We'll be there with you to make them pay.'

Not too sure on the specifics of where, though I know he's down on Earth...somewhere. I'm sure that he's ok.

Tailgate was lost tracking a fleeting thought that came while following Chromedome, in turn missing most of the conversation taking place in his setting. However, he had enough consciousness to hear this part of the conversation, and was subsequently puzzled. Wouldn't he have let Chromedome know? Wouldn't he have let ANYONE know?

While pondering, Chromedome began moving away from the scene heading to the bridge. Curious as to what the Mnemosurgeon was up to, and worried about Rewind's sudden disappearance, Tailgate followed swiftly within Chromedome's path.

If anyone can find something out about Rewind, Chromedome will. I'll try my best to help; I miss movie night too much not to.

Med Bay

First Aid cringed ever so slightly at Remington’s query regarding Axle’s distractions. Maybe I should learn to keep my vocal synthesizer on mute. He had hoped not to get into the former doctor’s and Hex’s past, but if Remington was going to be working with Axle than perhaps it was for the best she’s prepared for his quirks and mannerisms regarding Hex.

A few moments of silence passed between the two when First Aid lowered his gaze to his hands. He was twiddling his actuators and fidgeting slightly as he searched for the right words. “Well, Hex is…Primus, how can I put this…he’s…”

The Protectobot looked up to the ceiling and then back down to the floor. “I know I shouldn’t say this, and I’m glad Axle’s not here, but Hex is a piece of slag.” First Aid was never one to speak ill of someone, but the scout had a way of working into everyone’s’ seams and irritating them to the Pit.

“From what I know he wasn’t always so…difficult.” He followed Remington’s optics to the datapad she held and was by her side in an instant when she said his name. He gently slid the pad from the femme’s grip and took a closer look at the readings she had pointed out.

First Aid tilted his head slightly before turning his visored optics to the CR Chamber they had just visited. Ricochet. Still silent he made his way to the control panel on the side of the chamber. There he compared both the reading on the pad and the one being generated at that moment. A slight deviation.

He waved Remington over and gave the chamber the once over only to focus back on the controls. Taking one digit First Aid gently tapped the spark signature readout. When the desired effect wasn’t achieved First Aid slammed the palm of his hand down on the console. The small screen fritzed for a moment before lighting back up with the correct read out. “There we go.” He turned around and handed the datapad back over to Remington. “That was a great catch. Nice job, Remy. See, you’re already thinking like a medic.” Aid’s visor brightened indicating the smile that was on his face.

With a light pat of his hand Aid indicated the chamber Ricochet was being held in. “This CR chamber’s one of the older models and, well we have to make do with what we have available.” He gave the device a long look. “We’re low on energon and proper supplies.” His voice was low and distant.

Corridors

The minor altercation between him and Jazz never would have bothered him. In fact Ratchet would have considered it just one part of a normal day in his humdrum existence. Except it did bother him. Not his irritable response to the Spec Ops mech’s behavior, but for the callousness that one of their own would show toward another. And to make matters worse there was not one but three perpetrators.

The CMO stopped once he was well past the Med Bay and any other occupied room. He leaned heavily against the wall and placed his head in his hands. Damn you Prime! Why did you have to vanish? Why couldn’t they handle something like this on their own? What were they supposed to do without their Prime?

Ratchet let out a low keen. So many questions, too few answers.

He slid down the wall until he was sitting against the wall; his knees drawn up loosely to his chest. The surgeon lifted his head and let his optics focus on the Primus-awful orange ceiling…what was it with that color. As he scrutinized the paint choice of the interior of the Guardian, Ratchet placed both arms across his knees.

The sound of his internal communications link coming to like brought him out of his funk and made him rise back to his feet. He opened the channel and was more than happy to receive Magnus’ response to his earlier request.

>>"Magnus to Ratchet, I just received your message from Jazz. I trust you have some positive news regarding our most recent casualties and their status?"<<

“‘Bout fraggin’ time.” He mumbled before setting out toward the docking tube and access to the Ark-22. Ratchet was sure to reign in his temper, if only for the moment, and opened up a line with the Commander.

>>”Positive news? Yeah, they’re not dead! Although that could change at any given moment. For now everyone is stable in their own CR chambers. They’ll make full recoveries, albeit slowly.”<< Ratchet paused a moment, offlined his optics and took in a deep intake.

>>“Howlstrike and Warpath. Both of them had been decapitated, however their cranial units were reattached in time causing no damage to their brain modules. As for the culprit…Hardhead is your mech. And you’re aware of the cause of death of Bidder and Tonton. Magnus, I don’t know what's happening but we have got to get Rodimus, Hex and Hardhead back here so I can check them out. I’m heading over to the 22, is there somewhere where you wanna talk?”<<

Med Bay

That was a great catch. Nice job, Remy. See, you’re already thinking like a medic.

'Thanks,' Remington said, even though she didn't agree. Not fully. She caught the marginal discrepancy not because of its medical nature, but because she was experienced with the workings of machines in general, a field ruled by coefficients, numerical proportions and other fluctuating values. Her optics picked up on deviations often before she even understood what she was looking at.

She had no intention to diminish the compliment, however, so she didn't voice the thoughts. Anxious about the whole stand-in medic business, there was ample space for encouragement.

'Wait a sec,' she said as First Aid's optics shifted across the battered, rust-edged container section of the CR-chamber. The apprentice medic was obviously disheartened by the performance of the equipment.

Well, if it didn't work its best, you just had to improve it.

Flipping a side hatch open, Remington leaned in closer and her digits began the intricate work of pulling cables and flexible parts out of the way, careful not to disconnect or snap them, so that she could examine the construct in more detail.

'Hmm's and 'oh's left the femme's vocalizer unit, some in tones of query, some in tones of realization.

'I got it,' she finally said and closed the open panel back. 'When you discharge Ricochet, let me have a crack at this box. A few adjustments should do a bit in increasing efficiency, if nothing else.'

There. A knack for machinery. Remington felt immediately better.

'So this... Hex... guy is making Axle's life difficult?' Remington turned back to First Aid. The thought of maybe prying too much, too personal here did cross the femme's mind but if lives were to hang in the balance of Axle and her own working relationship, she'd have liked to see clearly.