The Energon Pub

Medical Bay

“Damn.” Okay. So that was wall number two that he ‘accidentally’ walked into. Thankfully he’d made it to his intended destination in one piece. Who knew that the trek from the Longevity to the Guardian’s med bay would be so long…and so full of obstacles…people, walls, things...and other things. Man, they were everywhere.

As the doors slide apart Trailbreaker let out a low sigh of relief. He carefully stepped through the threshold and stopped so he could give the room one good long visual sweep. He stopped, wobbled a bit, and smiled when he spotted just the mech he wanted to see.

A huge grin plastered on his face and with a slight thrust forward to give himself the momentum to move, Trailbreaker was on his way towards Wheeljack.

“Oi! Jack!” He slowed his pace slightly so as not to overshoot his target, and waved. “How’s it goin’, Jack? Boy, am I glad to see you." He chuckled. "I’ve got a bit of a…well, it’s my…HEY! When did we get a kitty?!”

Trailbreaker cut himself off as he noticed a small creature sitting directly beside Tracer’s med berth. The forcefield specialist crouched down and began trying to coax the animal over. “Geeze, no one tells me anything. I’m always the last to know.” He looked up at Wheeljack and smiled. “So when’d we get ‘im? What’s his name? Why is the room spinning?”

Deck 4 - Section 14: Barracks

Nova Strike's fingers rested on the edges of a large chest located at the foot of the recharging slab to which he had been assigned for the duration of his tour on board the Medical Frigate Guardian. Carefully he slid his right hand down the edge towards the bottom edge of the chest's lid. Pausing only briefly he forced his index finger into the security lock that sealed the contents off from the rest of the barrack's prying optics. Silently the lock scanner began its work, reading the various key motes upon the digit that was unique only to him, a sort of finger print if one could dare use the analog. An invisible signal confirmed his identity and the muted click of the lock's release indicated that the process had concluded.

The Ranger withdrew his hand and placed it opposite the left on the edge of the lid, and pushed the silver slab upwards. It slowly rose on its hinge before locking into place up at a steep seventy five degree angle, supported by strong Cybertonium hydraulics. Carefully he reached behind him and drew up a three legged stool and sat down.

After a moment spent on positioning himself for optimal comfort, Nova reached into the chest. He pushed passed various trinkets and mementos from achievements gone by... a stack of Decepticon Symbols collected off of confirmed kills, grizzly trophies of war which only served to remind him of how much battle had cost them all. Various citations and awards for achievement or valor, some of which Nova suspected were only given to him because of the dark work he had done during the missions and were thus assigned with the condition of him remaining silent. Many of his missions were still considered... off the books, given the numerous operations he had taken behind enemy lines or even neutral lines to root out Decepticon cancers and remove them. It was an unenviable responsibility he bore, one he knowingly accepted when he agreed to the reformation to his current position.

Nova Strike pulled a few of the citations from the trunk and set them on his assigned recharge slab. Care as to not bend the edges of the translucent aluminum plates; he arrayed them into chronological order before he returned them to a neat stack. Once satisfied he returned to his rummaging. A few more trinkets were pulled from the footlocker. A tiny three pronged dagger caught his attention as a pair of semi charred symbols toppled from the pile. He replaced them whence they came and withdrew the weapon. He held it between his thumb and forefinger and cracked a small smile as the memory it invoked flooded his processor. It was made of tempered steel from a far outer rim planet, the identification number he could not rightly remember though the locals called it ‘I’Quortn’. The central blade was thin in depth though broad; approximately a foot in length and three inches in width, its top was a diamond shape that ended in a head meant for thrusting and cleaving at close quarters. Along its hilt there were two smaller blades that split from the main weapon, pointed and thick enough to take a large impact and not fracture… a specific design of the blade to catch an opponent’s strike and hold onto their weapon while a parry or other disarming maneuver was initiated. It was a ceremonial weapon, at least so far as he had been told, but Nova had found the trinket an amusing reminder of his times on that distant world.

A second passed by though it felt as though it had been hours, and Nova broke his trip into the past. The battle of Cova Del S’Quortn, the capital city of the planet, had been a chaotic engagement, but by its conclusion and the ultimate repulsion of the Decepticon Invasion, Nova Strike had earned the small dagger he now held. “Chu’za…” he whispered to himself as he turned the weapon in his fingers. The small platinum inlays barely catching the light provided by the over head lamination strips. The intricate design of the military conclave to which his fallen friend commanded turned to multicolored hues before fading back into the steel. He slid the dagger into a compartment on his wrist near the trio of plasma torch burners.

Once the panel on his wrist closed tightly, the ranger spotted the object he had initially sought. Nova extracted a single data slug from the bottom of his footlocker and examined it closely. A small Autobot symbol decorated its exterior, colored ghostly blue. Below the symbol were two identification numerals, the meanings of which were only known to Nova himself, well himself and those who knew him best… and there were precious few left who knew him well enough to understand the significance behind them. Flipping the slug in his hand once more Nova Strike plugged it into an access port in the helm of his forehead armor. He felt the effects immediately. Powerful scripts exploded into his meta processor and quantum core, their formless tendrils invaded his memory. Each script latched onto recently formed memory algorithms and data with lightning speed and began to pry into those codes. As soon as they latched upon the data files, the invasive scripts began copying the relative information within and drawing the copies back into the data slug.

The process lasted nearly a minute before he could feel the last piece of recently acquired information was processed and copied back to the data slug. A pale golden green symbol flashed over his heads up display on his left optic indicating the copy process was completed and the slug was immediately ejected into his waiting palm. Nova Strike raised the slug back to optic level and allowed the symbol on the face of the device to flash from a ghostly blue to a vibrant red before fading back to its original state, indicating the files were secured and completely encrypted.

With care, he placed the slug back into the bottom of the footlocker, and covered it by a pair of Decepticon Symbols carved from some unknown vehicon troopers on some distant core world. He then returned his citations to specified portions of the chest before placing the rest of his war trophies were seeded among the various niches and crannies of the trunk. Once the removed contents were freshly restored, Nova Strike closed the chest lid and secured the locks to make sure that his personnel effects would not be bothered while he was away on assignment.

Med Bay

So far the surgery was progressing smoothly and to his relief Hot Rod was stable and Axle was nearly complete, thanks to the medical droid giving him a hand. But of course he should have known that it wouldn’t last. Just as expected one of the thin lines ruptured and began to fill the cavalier’s chest cavity with energon. Axle let out a series of low curses as he struggled to pinch the line closed and simultaneously reach for a clamp. Sensing the former surgeon’s hurried action the droid tried to step in but was quickly shoved aside.

The clamp he’d been reaching for was suddenly placed in his palm causing Axle to look up. Expecting to see the medical droid he was surprised to come face to face with Brakeline. The medic smiled up at him and nodded.

“Thanks.” Axle mumbled before diving back into his work. Brakeline’s smile grew wider as he stepped around the slab and stopped beside Axle.

“Oh, hey, no trouble at all. I saw you struggling and thought…”

Brakeline was suddenly stopped by a low growl, “Is there something you needed, Brakeline, because as you can see I’m rather busy.”

The medic, for his part, took Axle’s curtness as nothing more than stress due to current circumstances.

“Me? Oh no! I’m here to help, is all!” He peered in closer to the former doctor’s work.

Axle bristled slightly but kept his annoyance in check. When he was ready he answered. “Actually, Brakeline, I’ve got things handled here.” He contorted his shoulder so he could reach deeper into the cavity and to block out the other medic’s view. “Why don’t you go and check with the other medics. I’m sure you’ll find someone who could use a hand.”

Brakeline’s smile melted as he looked and then just over the larger mech’s shoulder. “You know, the sooner you can finish with Hot Rod the sooner you can check up on Hex.” He gestured with a slight chin lift towards Axle’s bedridden ward.

The black and green mech paused in his work so he could follow Brakeline’s gesture. Axle watched while Hex stared in his direction, but his optics were fixated on Hot Rod rather than him.

Axle slowly returned his gaze to the now smiling Brakeline. Reluctantly he looked down and restarted his work. “Grab that bonding compound and the ultra violet wand.”

Almost giddily Brakeline dove into action. “Don’t you worry, sir! We’ll have Hot Rod up and running in no time! Especially since it’s you that’s working on him.”

Axle groaned lowly. If he were capable the former doctor would have rolled his eyes.

Medical Bay – Private Room

Prowl arrived in the med bay, barely waiting for the doors to part before entering. Once inside, the military strategist took stock of his surroundings. The primary medical facility of the Protectobot frigate was filled with medics working busily on a variety of patients that had been damaged to differing degrees in the recent battle against the Fallen. To say that it was more crowded than normal would be a huge understatement, but none of that concerned the black and white at this moment in time. Only one patient concerned him and that was Optimus Prime.

Not immediately spotting the Prime, Prowl made his way through the crowd until he came upon one of the private rooms where several Autobots, both medics and even some of the patients with minor injuries, where beginning to crowd around to get a view of who was inside. The prick-bot approached the scene and quickly pushed his way past the mechs who were blocking the entrance. “All right, everyone, out of the way,” Prowl said with more than a hint of annoyance. “This is a private room. No admittance. Everybody go back to what you were doing.”

With that said, Prowl abruptly shut the door before turning around to face the medical berth that contained the motionless body of Optimus Prime. Both Ratchet and Pharma were present. Although, the black and white was unaware that Pharma had arrived in system, his presence was a welcome sight. Being that the jet-former was last stationed at Cas Coller, he likely came here aboard the Trion but that mattered little now. Two of the best doctors the Autobots had to offer were going to administer whatever medical treatment Optimus required. If anyone could get the Autobot leader back on his feet it was the two of them.

“What’s his status?” Prowl asked calmly as he approached Prime’s med berth, looking to both Ratchet and then Pharma before returning his attention fully to Optimus’ prone form. The military strategist knew that his presence would surely annoy Ratchet, but he didn’t care. Everyone and everything seemed to annoy the resident CMO. Prowl wanted to know his old friend’s condition and he wasn’t going to leave until he got an answer and was also satisfied with it.

Medical Bay – Secluded Area

Behind the privacy curtain, Wheeljack remained vigil by Tracer’s side, monitoring her vitals as paralysis continued to grip the troubled femme. Perhaps three vials of the synthetic Syk had been too much for her, but if it ultimately worked better for her in the long run than maybe a short period of paralysis would be worth it. Hopefully, it would be a short period, but by the looks of things at the present time her condition was about to extend beyond what was considered to be short.

“Come on, Tracer, wake up,” Wheeljack whispered into her audio receptors before letting out a deep sigh. Even though he barely knew this femme he still cared a great deal for her wellbeing. And it wasn’t just because her Syk addiction could get both him and Smokescreen into trouble if it was discovered. No, ‘Jack genuinely cared about all of his fellow Autobots no matter the circumstances. Not to mention she meant a great deal to the diversion expert, who was a close friend to the engineer. If something bad happened to her it would, without a doubt, affect the rallybot emotionally, which could possibly reignite an old addiction of Smokey’s to help him cope – gambling.

That’s not going to happen on my watch, Wheeljack thought inwardly. I won’t let him go back down that dark path again. The inventor was well aware of Smokescreen’s past in the Iaconian casinos where his gambling had gotten out of hand before the war. One time, he literally gambled away most of his earnings from street racing, leaving him in deep debt. That lead to him getting into trouble with various loan mechs and even the local crime syndicates. And Smokey’s habit of cheating didn’t help him much, either. That little trait worked okay for awhile, but it was eventually discovered and got him thrown out of several establishments, which lead to even more trouble, this time with the law. Between illegal street racing and cheating, the rallybot had been a nice sharp thorn in Prowl’s side back then. Of course, that could be considered an unintentional positive thing to come out of getting arrested by the prick-bot.

Thankfully, when the war broke out, it had helped suppress Smokescreen’s gambling habits as there were no longer any casinos or other places to gamble in. If the war had done one thing good it was getting the rallybot on the straight and narrow, putting his natural talents to better use and for a good cause. Unfortunately, even though Cybertron no longer had casinos, there were still alien establishments out there like Monacus where gambling and all sorts of trouble awaited.

Wheeljack was then awoken from his musings by the sound of Prowl's grating vocals coming across his comm line. Apparently, scans of Sixshot were taken during the battle with the Fallen and now the prick-bot had the brilliant idea of making his very own Phase Sixer and he wanted 'Jack and Perceptor to begin analyzing the data immediately. The mad scientist sent back a non-verbal reply as he received the data in question.

Wow, Wheeljack thought, shaking his cranium as he transferred the information into a datapad. Hasn't even been a cycle since losing the spark extractor and already thinking about the next super weapon he can build. Unbelievable.

The inventor was once again shaken from his thoughts by the sound of his name being called out. The mechanical engineer turned around in his chair to see Trailbreaker stumble through the privacy curtain and wave at him. The defensive strategist was about to say something before his attention was drawn away by the turbofox who had also remained vigil by the femme’s side just as ‘Jack had done. “Oh, hey, ‘Breaker! Yeah, that’s just Razr, Tracer’s pet turbofox. He’s harmless...I think. Anyway, he’s been here with her the entire time apparently. She just keeps him out of sight and, more importantly, out of trouble.”

The white mech then reached out towards Trailbreaker and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “The room’s not spinning, buddy. I think your head is. Heh. Have you been drinking a little too much high grade again?”

Main Science Lab

Jetfire listen carefully to all what was said. It doesn't sound like they have found the one key thing which makes gestalts work but they have covered a lot of different options and reasons what could work. He pressed a couple of buttons and another screen popped up with all of the ideas and options up on the screen.

"By the sounds of it, many factors could contribute in the gestalt process but we have yet to find the key. It seems we have stumble upon some options though for who we can choose when we are ready. The trick will be figuring out the combo which will work for us. It might be time to do a very general scan of possible candidates and maybe something will show up we are not thinking of at this moment. More information would do us well as long as we don't go overboard."

Observation Lounge

Ultra Magnus nodded briefly as he considered Swerve's recommendations. To be honest they were not entirely unexpected, as that was what most believed a military officer wanted to hear. But in truth, if the Trion required larger forms of armament, then the engineers at Cas Collier would have modified the initial design to incorporate it. Still, they were items to consider and perhaps... if the situation demanded the flexibility, could be revisited later and modified. Perhaps in addition to the anti bounce shell that he desired to implement around the planet, and the micro spy and defense satellite system to defend it, some form of larger anti ship defensive system could be developed.

"I thank you for your... recommendations Swerve. I will take them under advisement during the Trion's next major refit. In the interim... I will be honest, I should have been a touch more specific in what I was looking for. But that is irrelevant for the time being." Magnus leaned back in his chair at the head of the obsidian glass table and interlaced his digits across his broad chest. He allowed his mind to mentally review the last known military service record for the Metallurgist. Silently his on board computer linked with the new encrypted network of the Trion and immediately downloaded the relevant data.

An immediate red flag erupted in the files, Swerve's recent weapon's proficiency test scores were... less than ideal. The attached medical record for the testing proxy did little to inspire Magnus's confidence in the capabilities of Swerve to operate as a front line engineer or repair specialist like Huffer or his brother Pipes. Still other scores and reviews were satisfactory that allowed Magnus to decide on a more appropriate assignment for the wayward engineer.

"Now then, I believe I have decided on a reasonable assignment for you... as you have unwittingly found yourself newly assigned to this theater of the war. Swerve, I want you to take command of a small Construction Platoon of Auto Troopers from the Trion. Once that team is set, you are to report to Autobot City and straight to Kup for orders. Work with Huffer and Kup as best you can... I also want you to evaluate the situation of morale and disposition of those currently inhabiting the site. These past events have been trying and decidedly difficult on many of our Autobot Brethren. After those evaluations are completed, consult with Kup about possible remedies to those Morale issues..."

Ultra Magnus reached down to a small panel at the side of his chair and extracted a data slate. He entered a few official text commands giving Kup cart blanch to the development of extra curricular activities or additions to the city plan based on the observations of himself, Bluestreak, and Swerve. Magnus also left explicit instructions to take Huffer's opinions with a major grain of Tungsten... as the minibot engineer seemed to love seeing the universe through sludge covered windshields.

He slid Swerve the slate once he was finished and installed the security codes necessary to prevent outside review. "Good luck with your new assignment Swerve, it won't be easy... but I am sure you'll manage... Dismissed."

Medical Bay – Secluded Area

“Oh, hey, ‘Breaker! Yeah, that’s just Razr, Tracer’s pet turbofox. He’s harmless...I think. Anyway, he’s been here with her the entire time apparently. She just keeps him out of sight and, more importantly, out of trouble.”

The force field specialist flashed Wheeljack a goofy grin as he stared at the little turbofox lying next to Tracer’s slab. “A turbofox. Okay, makes sense.” He wobbled once more but was steadied when the mechanical engineer placed a hand on his shoulder.

Trailbreaker reached out and gripped his friend’s upper arm while raising his free hand to his forehead.

“The room’s not spinning, buddy. I think your head is. Heh. Have you been drinking a little too much high grade again?”

He pulled his had away from his forehead and waved it in front of Wheeljack. “Pfft! High grade energon?!” He chuckled heartily, “Never touch the stuff!” Trailbreaker then leaned in and whispered into Wheeljack’s audio. “No several shots of a good vintage Old Corroder, now you’re talkin’”

The larger mech gave a wink and lifted up to his full height, again looking just beyond Wheeljack to the slab. “S’kinda cute.”

“Oh!” He transitioned from one subject right into another. “I was throwing some shapes earlier and I noticed that…” He looked at both his hands as though trying to choose between the two. “Uhh, this one…” he offered his right hand and then quickly retracted it, “No! It was this one! Yeah, I think my generator’s on the fritz.”

Trailbreaker pointed to his palm and looked up at Wheeljack. “Must’ve happened down on the planet. May’ve over exerted it, you know?”

He shoved his hand forward, “Think you can take a look?”

Medical Bay – Private Room

“There’s some imbedded shrapnel in several locations. Looks old.” Pharma magnified his eyepiece further to get a better view inside the wound he was evaluating. “Also several other wounds that seemed to have been fixed rudimentarily.” The doctor looked up at Ratchet who kept his optics glued to the wound he was tending.

“Battlefield repairs. Sometimes there just isn’t time to go all out.” The CMO offered by way of an explanation. “If it holds you’re good to get back in the fight.” This time he looked up and frowned. “He tended to abstain from receiving proper repairs until his men got them.”

Pharma held Ratchet’s gaze for several moments before he hummed lowly and went back to work. Both doctors remained quiet for several moments each one fixated on his work, when Ratchet finally spoke up.

“The last time we spoke I had heard you were being transferred. “ Pharma dug his hand around Optimus’ open leg wound and nodded as he spoke. “That’s right. I was sent to Cas Coller to serve as CMO aboard the Trion.” He pulled a small piece of metal from a delicate piston. “And I recall we didn’t really talk so much as argue.”

Ratchet grumbled under his breath, “He’s got a fractured hip joint…”

“And there you go…again.” The flier slammed the forceps down on the table while he glared at his medical partner.

Slowly Ratchet’s head rose and he met Pharma’s glare with a heated one of his own. “Not now, Pharma. After we’re done, but not now.”

“What’s his status?”

Before Pharma could react Prowl had stepped into the room. Perfect. Pharma broke off his deadly gaze from Ratchet and picked up his forceps digging right back into his work.

Angered by their argument, Ratchet grunted a low curse before finally offering up his response. “He’s got a fractured hip joint…dislocated shoulder…embedded shrapnel in several locations and quite a few other injuries that were repaired on the battlefield."

Pharma cut Ratchet off before the white and red mech could go on. “And those are just his physical injuries. If what I was told is correct about his disappearance then there are possibly psychological issues that will need to be addressed as well.”

For that Pharma received a throaty growl and a fiery glare from the CMO.

With his optics still glued on Pharma Ratchet added on, “We’ll do everything we can for him physically, but you might want to bring in Rung from Garrus 9 for a psych eval.”

Observation Lounge

"I thank you for your... recommendations Swerve. I will take them under advisement during the Trion's next major refit. In the interim... I will be honest, I should have been a touch more specific in what I was looking for. But that is irrelevant for the time being."

“No problem! Really. Ring me up any time. I’ll have a lot more ideas!” Swerve chimed agreeably. More were already beginning to formulate in the red minibot’s mind. Giant pinchy claws. Death rays. Other things like that. Swerve rubbed his chin. He should really check out the human’s material. He’d heard they had some pretty good stuff on Cas Collar.

Swerve looked back up at Magnus as the Duly Appoint Officer of the Tyrest Accord spoke up again. Oh, and supreme commander of the Autobots now too, Swerve guessed. Or…acting supreme commander of the Autobots? Man, that was a mouthful. Mags sure had a bunch of longwinded titles. Wasn’t long before Magnus slid him a slate. He tapped it and fiddled with the security code inputs. Didn’t look like his clearance was good enough. Swerve frowned. Oh well. Must not be for him, but Kup. Bummer.

"Good luck with your new assignment Swerve, it won't be easy... but I am sure you'll manage... Dismissed."

“Alright, see ya, Mags!” Swerve said, hopping down from his seat and trotting off, out of the observation lounge toward the bounce chamber.

Outside the Vessel

A small lightspeed ship appeared outside the hull of the Guardian. It looked like it had been bouncing asteroids, like a huge form of pinball. However the case, the small craft was not in good condition. Holes and puncture marks covered the hull.

Inside was just as bad as out. The white bot the piloted the ship was desperately trying to get some sort of control over her vessel. However, she had not engineering and very little piloting experience.

The bot tried the only reliable system that worked, the comm system. Hoping the vessel she'd ended up by was Autobot, the mech said, "This is Pinpoint of the Autobot Alliance requesting immediate assistance! I, um, ran into a Decepticon patrol. Maybe. I think. Anyhow, I could use any help that could be offered if anyone over there can hear me."

With that, she sat back in her chair and waited for a response, either good or bad.

Medical Bay – Secluded Area

Wheeljack held on to Trailbreaker firmly as the defensive strategist laughed at the inventor’s high grade remark, claiming that he would never touch the stuff. ‘Breaker then leaned in close and informed ‘Jack that it had been several shots of corroder. “Oh, sorry, my mistake,” the mechanical engineer said with a chuckle as Trailbreaker commented that Tracer looked kinda cute. Wheeljack glanced over at the troubled femme’s prone form on the nearby medical berth before returning his attention back to the black mech. “Yeah, well, she’s spoken for already, big guy. Smokescreen and her go back a long way it seems. They’re quite fond of each other.”

Before Wheeljack could say anything more, Trailbreaker had abruptly changed the subject, extending one hand out to the mad scientist before withdrawing it and showing him the other. Apparently, ‘Breaker thought that his force shield was on the fritz, possibly overexerted during the battle with the Fallen. Made sense especially considering that Trailbreaker played an important role in helping to expel the fiery demigod from Hot Rod’s body.

“On the fritz, huh?” Wheeljack replied, looking down at Trailbreaker’s left hand, which had been practically shoved into his chest plate. The shield emitter in the center of the palm appeared a bit burnt out around the edges which was consistent with over usage. “Yeah, it looks damaged from what I can see. Why don’t you have a seat right over here and I’ll have a closer look at it? Okay?” The inventor then carefully guided the drunken defensive strategist over to the nearest chair and sat him down. “There we go. Wait right here an astrosecond. I gotta get my toolkit.”

Removing his hand from Trailbreaker’s shoulder, Wheeljack quickly moved away and retrieved his toolkit before bringing it over to where his new patient was waiting. He then set it down on the floor next to the black mech’s chair and opened it. ‘Jack quickly pulled out a scanner and began examining Trailbreaker’s left palm. As expected, the results confirmed what the engineer had already ascertained visually.

“Yeah, your left hand emitter has suffered some damage to the circuitry near the outer edges, some of the connections have been severed, which is why it’s not working properly. It’s not extensive, though. I should be able to repair it without much of an issue,” Wheeljack explained, not expecting Trailbreaker to understand much of it in his drunken state. “While I’m at it, let me check your right hand, as well,” the inventor said as he moved the scanner over to the opposite appendage. After a few moments, the results came back in the green. “Well, that’s good. The emitter on your right hand appears to be fine. It’s just the left we have to concern ourselves with.”

Wheeljack then placed the scanner back into his toolkit before pulling out a soldering device. “Okay, now try and hold still, ‘Breaker. I don’t want to inadvertently solder the wrong thing. Heh.” With that said, the mad scientist took hold of Trailbreaker’s left wrist as he ignited the soldering tool and lowered it towards the palm of the defensive strategist’s open hand. Carefully, he made contact with the damaged force shield emitter and slowly went about re-establishing the appropriate connections.

Medical Bay – Private Room

Prowl remained standing with his arms crossed over his chest plate near the bottom of Optimus Prime’s med berth as both Ratchet and Pharma answered the black and white’s question. Ratchet focused on the physical injuries such as a broken hip joint, dislocated shoulder, embedded shrapnel among other injuries already repaired on the battlefield. Pharma, on the other hand, focused on the possible psychological issues that Prime might suffer from once he is awake, going as far as to suggest bringing in Rung from Garrus-9 for a psych evaluation.

“I see,” Prowl replied plainly as he lowered his arms down to both sides. “Well, from what you have both told me there is nothing to suggest that Optimus won’t survive. Therefore, I will leave you both to do what you do best. I have a mission to lead on the surface. Once I’m done I’ll check back on his progress. Ultra Magnus has already mentioned potential psychological trauma, so I’m sure he’ll be open to a psych eval on his brother. I’m sure getting either Rung here or someone else equally qualified won’t be a problem.”

The military strategist paused for a brief moment as he laid a single hand on Prime’s shinguard. “He’ll pull through. He always does. He’s too stubborn not to.” With an ever so slight half smile on his faceplate, Prowl remained fixated on the inert form of Optimus Prime for an astrosecond longer before removing his hand from the Autobot leader’s shinguard. He then turned and headed back out into the Med Bay proper where the black and white made sure that the private room’s door was locked and properly secured. Once that was completed, Prowl began walking away but immediately stopped again when he noticed that the partial blast shield surrounding the Security Isolation Ward had been activated.

“That’s strange. Why is this on?” Prowl questioned to no one in particular at first but his gaze quickly settled on Jazz who stood not far away. The blast shield was normally only activated when a dangerous prisoner or other potential threat was being treated. It wasn’t Hot Rod as Prowl had already seen him being tended to in another part of the facility by Axle, and it wasn’t Hardhead as he, too, was currently being treated. Perhaps it was Hex. That young ‘bot had been a problem even before becoming a herald. However, with the Fallen defeated it was unlikely that any of those mechs posed the kind of threat that would warrant treatment in the isolation ward. Whatever the situation, the prick-bot would get to the bottom of it momentarily.

Medical Bay – Security Isolation Ward

Stepping around the barrier, the military strategist crossed the threshold into the isolation ward where the sight of none other than Megatron, himself, lying unconscious and strapped down on a recovery slab, greeted him. “What the frag is this!?!” Prowl exclaimed as he instinctively reached for his weapon, but relaxed a bit when he noticed the stasis claw attached to the slagmaker’s back along with the numerous restraints. The prick-bot then spun around and glared at the Special Operations Director.

“Jazz, explain this!” Prowl shouted as he took hold of the white mech’s arm and pulled him behind the security barrier where it was more private. “What the hell is Megatron doing here?” The military strategist demanded as he lowered his tone. “Better yet, how the hell is he here? Was he with Prime? What’s his condition? And why the slag are there no guards posted here?!”

As he waited for answers, Prowl looked back over at the slagmaker lying motionless on the slab. Yes, he was secure for the time being but how long would that last? If he escaped somehow he would wreck certain havoc on the medical frigate. Many lives could be lost. Prowl wanted to end Megatron’s existence right then and there, but he knew that as a prisoner of war even the Decepticon leader was granted certain rights. Still, if ignoring those rights meant that countless Autobot lives would be saved then why not just shoot Megatron in the cranial unit and deal with the repercussions later? No, that would not do. Prowl would end up in one of the Garrus prisons and he would be of no use to the war effort there. Another way had to be found. Prowl just needed to figure it out. But, until then, perhaps vital information could be gleaned from Megatron. Even if he won’t talk, and that was almost a certainty, there was always Chromedome. The mnemosurgeon could pull whatever data was needed right out of the slagmaker’s processor. That was definitely a viable option whether anyone else thought so or not.

Prowl turned his attention back to Jazz. “Does Ultra Magnus know about Megatron? Cause he failed to mention this minor little tidbit during our recent briefing.”

Medical Bay - Security Isolation Ward

Jazz sat back in the shadows of the operating room and waited to hear more about Prime's condition. There was so much he wanted to ask, but he knew full well that it was best to let the two medical professionals handle the situation without any interruptions. That was to say until Prowl stepped in and gave his "evaluation".

After a moment of studying, the prick-bot made his exit while the special operations director continued to watch the good-doctors do their magic and bringing the big boy himself back from whatever hell hole he was dropped in.

"Jazz, explain this!" Prowl lowly exclaimed as his white hand reached out and pulled the black and white Porsche into the same room as him. "What the hell is Megatron doing here? Better yet, how the hell is he here? Was he with Prime? What’s his condition? And why the slag are there no guards posted here?!”

"Whooooa let's take it down a notch for a second, big guy." The special operations director threw his hands up ever so-slightly above his chest plate to allow himself to explain his side of the story while the tactical officer continued to tack on the questions. "He was an unexpected recovery while we were sent down to pick up Prime. I'm working on getting more guards here now, so Scoop and I are acting security detail until I can get ahold of-"

"Does Ultra Magnus know about Megatron? Cause he failed to mention this minor little tidbit during our recent briefing.”

"He gave the order to bring him aboard secured." Jazz replied with a low tone as to not draw attention to this meeting. "I'm sure he saw it best not to openly inform anyone of this as to not draw fear and panic to everyone aboard the ship. Especially now, considering we have Grimlock and his trigger-happy, motley crew back aboard."

Main Science Lab

"Do you know a way to meld minds together so that they can... un-meld and be who they were before?" Skids inquired to the mnemosurgeon before shifting his attention to Jetfire to address the theory of physical combination.

"Well..." Chromedome began as he pivoted on his heel spur to begin slowly pacing the lab floor. "Melding minds won't be too hard a process to set up, theoretically. It's getting each individual brain module to deposit its data into a single cohesive unit that might be tricky." He slowed his pace and looked down at his hand, the single mnemosurgery needle still jutting out from his index digit. "In mnemosurgery, you're essentially linking processors to examine the patients' memories, which in most part can be painful for both parties as well as exhibit major side-effects post-operation. But the baseline of the procedure is linking two-brains." The needle retracted back into his finger in time for him to start tapping against his mouthplate in contemplation. "But what if..."

"Well, not that it hasn't been fun discussing egghead science with all of you fine mechs," Getaway interjected as he rose from leaning against one of the desks and slowly strolled over to the doorway, "but it appears I'm needed elsewhere very soon so I must bid you all a fine farewell. Good luck in your research... or something like that."

Getaway then gave a slight salute to the scientists all huddled in the room before disappearing down the corridor. Chromedome's optics followed the escape artist's exit before he looked back over towards the holographic image of Devastator to continue on with his previous thought.

"What if we were to shrink the process down to a smaller scale?" Chromedome asked no one in particular and paused for effect. "Linking a large number of processor modules might cause a data overload. Mnemosurgery is bad enough with two heads, imagine having four others swimming around in such a limited space! So what if we find something that links individuals together on a metaphorical scale. A shared memory, a common goal, distinctive trait or something, then we wire a patch into their procession to only transmit that data during the cerebral link! It would be less strain on the processor units and won't destroy the brain module from a data-overload!"

Chromedome halted in his pacing and turned to face each Autobot assembled fro this project, his idea-slash-theory-slash-proposal hanging in the air and awaiting for anyone else to hop in and snowball off his thought.

Bounce Chamber

Tracks was nearly taken back when Ironhide gruffly scalded him for simply nudging the security officer after a small quip. Usually Ironhide was quick with a old-timer's comeback that would give Kup a run for his shannix. But today he was just... something else entirely

Wonder who put crude oil in his high-grade, this morning...

"Well Pipes, if it's a bounce chamber operator you're in search for, then you're in luck because this fine set of wheels can get you planet side in just an astrocycle." Tracks replied to the minibot with his usual boast of vanity as he gestured towards himself. "Little ol' Tailgate and I were answering Kup's invitation to join him down on Earth. I take it that's where you two are headed as well? If so I'll just leave the coordinates set and all you two gotta do is press this big green- actually I'd say that's more of a soft teal than green, button here. And that should take you down planetside."

"Wait, what now?" Tailgate questioned as he snapped back into reality. "What's this about a button? Ooo! Can I press it?!"

"Yeah... Sure, knock yourself out." Tracks coldly answered the minibot scout as he brushed him a cold shoulder to go stand on the bounce pad.

Grinning behind his mouthplate, the small white and blue scout slammed his little palm against the activation button and kicking scuttled over onto the bounce pad before he and tracks disappeared in a bright flash of light.



((OOC: Tailgate and Tracks moved to Peru))

Main Science Lab

Jetfire being deep in thought barely noticed Getaway leave. Chromedome was tossing out some interesting ideas and solutions for very likely problems. His possible fix may also help in selecting the options for candidates.


"Interesting idea, Chromedome, and you might have lent to even more possible evidence on who we could select. Your idea lends itself to the time factor of the future selected group to be chosen as well. Having a separate module would be nice but the problem would be if it ever got damaged what would happen to the gestalt. This enigma of why the process works with some but not others is still yet to be figured out but we are working on other problems as we speak and hopefully we'll find several answers to head off those problems. I don't know brain modules as well as you nor First Aid but I would half way expect something like the Teletran program to be best suited to properly merge together the minds of five or six mechs into complete uniformity or as close as it could get. I've got a thought that even then the merger won't be true. We are individuals for a reason and unless we deal with clones, there will always be some sort of conflict among the minds. It is the unifying drive you brought up which must be concentrated on for any gestalt to work."

Jetfire stepped back from his long list of ideas after he adds in Chromedome's assessment. It is a fine and in depth list but something was still missing. Some sort of spark which connects them all.

"It does seem our special teams, the Aerialbots and Protectobots, would most likely fit most of our criteria we have here."

Jetfire created another couple of screens with the two teams on them. With Silverbolt and Hot Spot both being the larger mechs in their respective groups, it would make sense for them to be in the middle. The other team members are fairly close to same size so they could be the limbs of the respective gestalts.

"The uniting thought for the Protectobots would probably lie in their name, protecting. Wouldn't you agree, First Aid? As for the Aerialbots, hard to say but what times I had flown with them in the past, Silverbolt has his hands full managing them. They each have their own functions but what their primary focus is questionable beyond the overall Autobot code."

Medical Bay

Dimly, awareness slowly worked itself way back into Blurr’s consciousness. He attempted to move his leaden limbs, but they were met with a strange resistance. Troubled, the blue speedster attempted to call out but only heard his own muffled voice die out in the substance around him. Annoyed more than anything else at this point, Blurr onlined his optics, their blue light dimly flickering to life. Seemed like a CR pod. Why was he in a CR pod? Fighting through the cobwebs of memory, Blurr hazily recalled something about being bitten. But…Oh! Drag Strip! The Fallen!

As the realization struck Blurr, the pod began to drain itself of the nanite rich gel that enveloped him. Easing himself onto his feet, he waited impatiently for the door of the capsule to admit him to whatever world waited for him on the other side. It eventually did – far too slowly. Grabbing the edge of the CR chamber, Blurr heaved himself up enough to peer out of the pod. The familiar sight of the Guardian’s medical bay greeted him. With a bit too much of his usual haste, Blurr attempted to walk out of his pod only to find that his once sure feet didn’t have the strength or speed they used to. The result had Blurr taking a bit of a spill onto the floor.

“Ungh…”

While the blue racer struggled to get back onto his feet, he noted that there were some voices coming from a different section of the medical bay. He would have gone to them immediately if not for the fact that he was having an incredibly slow and frustrating time getting back on his feet. Didn’t help that he was feeling light-headed on top of it all.

“This sucks,” Blurr grumbled as he finally reclaimed the title of standing with some support from his CR chamber. He made his way over to the secluded area – where he had heard the voices – taking great pains not to bust his aft again. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally caught sight of the two bots chatting. Trailbreaker and Wheeljack. Continuing to use the wall and any other stable surface as a crutch, Blurr approached the pair.

“Hey! ’Breaker, Jack! What happened? What-“ Blurr paused for a moment, suddenly feeling quite drained. What was wrong with him? “What’s going on? Did we beat the Fallen? Is Hot Rod okay? Is Smokescreen okay? We were dealing with-“ Blurr stopped again, taking another moment before going on, “-with Drag Strip and we both got…” Blurr waved his hand around, searching for the search through his slow, muddled thoughts, “Pretty messed up.”

Medical Bay--Security Isolation Ward

"...and then you will see, 'mighty' Megatron, just what it is to know fear..."

Megatron's optics shot open, blazing red. He looked around and immediately recognized his surroundings: Shockwave's laboratory, back in Kolkular. Megatron didn't know how he had wound up here, but so little of what he had experienced lately made any sense at all. At least here he could begin to put the pieces together.

"Soundwave....Shockwave......t-to me, at once," Megatron murmured from within the confines of the Autobot frigate's isolation ward.

Within Kolkular, all was silence except for the soft hum of various pieces of restorative and analytical equipment. That was until a door outside of Megatron's line of sight slid open.

Medical Bay – Security Isolation Ward

Prowl released his grip on Jazz as he listened to the special operations director explain the presence of Megatron onboard the Protectobot frigate. Apparently, the slagmaker was discovered along with Prime down planet side and that more guards were on the way. Meanwhile, both Jazz and Scoop were acting as the security detail until they arrived. Except, of course, Scoop was no longer in the med bay, having been reassigned to Grimlock’s strike force.

Jazz then went on to inform the military strategist that it was Ultra Magnus that ordered Megatron to be brought back and restrained. The reason why no one, including Prowl, was notified was to avoid causing a panic amongst the crew. The black and white could certainly understand that logic, but one would think that the Autobot second-in-command would be an obvious exception, especially if told about Megatron during a private briefing. That would certainly not have caused a stir with anyone else on board. After all, Prowl was capable of keeping all kinds of secrets better than most ‘bots. This kind of information would be very safe with him.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that more guards are on the way,” Prowl responded once Jazz was finished. “But, I should've still been informed. I'm not the normal rank and file. Furthermore, Scoop is now gone, which leaves only you and I here at the present moment, and I’m about to head out on a new assignment shortly. If you require more guards, Grimlock has informed me that there’s plenty of Autotroopers over on the Trion. Some of them have likely been awakened from stasis by now. You can always utilize some of them as security if need be.”

"Soundwave....Shockwave......t-to me, at once."

Prowl flinched at the sound of Megatron’s voice. It was low and mumbled, but the slagmaker was clearly on the verge of waking up. Instinctively, the military strategist drew his rifle out and brought it to bare. “Seems that our ‘guest’ is stirring,” Prowl said as he kept his focus squarely on the Decepticon leader. “I hope those bonds are strong enough to hold him, Jazz. Megatron’s still a major threat even in a weakened state.”

“In fact,” Prowl continued as he moved over to a nearby control console. “Let’s not take any chances, shall we?” The black and white typed in a few commands and immediately two sets of auto-guns emerged from the ceiling above the slagmaker’s berth, aiming their barrels directly at Megatron’s prone form. “If he breaks free they’re set to terminate,” Prowl informed Jazz as he moved back over next to the special operations director. “I assume you have no objections?”

Medical Bay – Secluded Area

As Wheeljack continued working on Trailbreaker’s broken force shield emitter, Blurr entered the secluded area and began asking questions about what had happened with the Fallen. The speedster also wanted to know if Hot Rod and Smokescreen were all right. The blue racer seemed a little out of it like he had just woken up from a long CR nap. The mechanical engineer stopped for a moment and turned to address the question-filled Autobot.

“Hey, Blurr. Nice to see you back on your feet,” Wheeljack began to say as he moved the soldering tool away from Trailbreaker’s left hand. “You'll be happy to hear that we managed to beat the Fallen. It wasn’t easy, but Prowl used a spark extractor to pull the demigod’s dark spark right out of Hot Rod’s body. I believe Roddy is currently under the care of Axle. Not sure what the cavalier’s exact status is, but I’m sure he’ll pull through okay. As for Smokescreen, I recently made him a new right forearm and then placed him into that CR chamber over there. He’ll also be fine. He just needs some time to recuperate.”

Wheeljack then retracted his face shield and cast the blue speedster a warm smile. “How about you, Blurr? You feeling all right? You seem a little woozy. Maybe you should sit down and catch your bearings for a bit while I finish fixing ‘Breaker’s force field emitter. Okay?” The inventor gave the data courier a nod before returning his attention to the defensive strategist's left palm where he lowered the soldering tool once more and continued with the repairs.

Medical Bay – Private Area

”…too stubborn not…”

Familiar words and the familiar voice that spoke them cut through some of the fog that clouded some of his reality. Optimus Prime’s optics began to glow, coming back online. They shifted around slowly, uncertainly, assessing, taking in all that could be seen. Blue optics alighted on a medic, hazy with confusion before recognition restored clarity to them. Pharma…Yes…that was it…One of Ratchet’s...

”Tend to the others, Ratchet,” Optimus requested, coated in injuries and aiding an injured Red Alert into the medical bay. “I can wait. Please, take-“

Optics suddenly rested on Ratchet from a different perspective. Looking up from an examination slab. Some operating room. Was Red Alert…What battle had they come from? He couldn’t…couldn’t quite…It lingered just tantalizingly out of reach. But…where exactly…Wait. Optimus recalled hearing someone...someone…

“Prowl…” Optimus murmured softly as his optics drifted around searching for the black and white strategist. When he did not immediately become evident, his optics trailed back to Ratchet. “Ratchet…What happened? Where…where…” Optimus mumbled weakly, seeming to lose his strength for a moment, “Is…anyone hurt?”


Bounce Chamber

It wasn’t long before the red minibot found his way to the bounce chamber. With a little help from a terminal that had a map of the ship, mind, but he was new to this frigate. Who could blame him for getting a little turned around? No one. Swerve wondered who else he’d get to see down on the surface besides Kup and the ones Mags mentioned. Maybe he’d get to talk to Blurr. Follow up on that bar thing. Right…heh.

Swerve shook his head to clear it. “What was all that weirdness about Optimus anyway...? Ah, oh well. I can ask Kup when I see him. He’ll know. He’s gotta know. What doesn’t a mech that old not know? Well, besides all the new technology I mean…Hm. Maybe he doesn’t know. But I guess it’s worth a shot. Someone else could know if Kup doesn’t.”

Stepping onto the bounce pad and typing in the coordinates, Swerve was off in a flash.

Medical Bay: Security Isolation Ward

"You are correct Prowl, I should have mentioned that piece of information to you before you had departed our little briefing," The indomitable and stern voice echoed through the small twist and turn of the security passage that divided the isolation ward to that of the main infirmary proper. A long shadow soon emerged from the far end of the corridor as the operating lights of the infirmary highlighted the silhouette.

Ultra Magnus entered the security corridor after conferring with one medical technicians who manned a remote scanner on the other side of the reinforced armored plates of the security walls. While the identity of the prisoner had been deemed classified, literally the minute Magnus had learned of his presence, the basic vital signs continued to beep away on the series of monitors.

The force field that divided the various bulkheads of the corridors flickered on as the acting Autobot Commander passed them with brief flecks of blue static to signify their presence. Ultra Magnus stepped through the final bulkhead and came to a stop just a hair in front of the final force field's activation. A buzz of electricity popped only for a micro second before fading into the background ambiance of the automated weapons descending from the ceiling.

"However, given the participation of Grimlock, I had wished to retain that information until we managed to converse in a less tension filled environment." Magnus walked passed Jazz and Prowl, giving a brief nod of acknowledgement to the counter intelligence officer, and team commander responsible for acquiring the greatest functioning threat in Interstellar history. "Particularly given the measure of assignments both of you had been given, I deemed that such knowledge... the existence of Megatron on board the Guardian, would prove... less than productive in part when dealing with Grimlock's obvious disdain for this particular individual."

Magnus made his way next to the security field that blanketed the bio bed where Megatron's body slowly began to stir. "Not to mention the utter chaos that would have been caused if a certain... metallurgist had learned of his presence. We are at a precarious time, and allowing the Decepticons to know that Megatron is in fact alive, would put any hope of our offensive strategies straight into a quantum singularity." He rested his hand onto the console of the security field and accessed its power grid matrix. He nodded once again in approval as he confirmed his suspicions that the security field had been upgraded during Ironfist's recent impromptu refit of the Guardian. Its power was drawn from the main core as it had been, but Ironfist had installed at least a half dozen micro power generators to act as a possible back up system should the frigate ever suffer another power failure. He retracted his scans and locked down the system, again setting its access level to that of high command security clearance. Which meant, Prowl, Ratchet, Jazz, and himself would be allowed to access the prisoner directly, and unfortunately so too Grimlock.

Magnus glanced back at the fitful nightmares that were evident on the contorted face of the Decepticon Leader. Part of him wished, no... demanded that he simply draw his hammer and end his reign of terror forever. It was a gnawing need to bring this war one step closer to its conclusion. Eliminate the head of the serpent and the rest of the beast would writhe and ultimately fall. Of course that had yet to happen, and Ultra Magnus had to acknowledge that his own reasoning could be dubbed faulty or at least drawing on false hopes to justify the perverse urge for petty revenge. Thus he quelled that emotional expression back to the furthest portion of his core and worked his controls to seal it away. "It would be far to easy. To end the future suffering of so many, to redeem the stolen honor of those who had been butchered by your ego... Still, to kill you here would be pointless Megatron..." he muttered to himself, but barely loud enough for Jazz and Prowl to hear the turmoil that tugged at his mind.

He remembered the chaotic battle that had claimed his former mentor, Sentinel Prime. He remembered the horrors that soon followed as Megatron rose to spark a civil war on a planet of nigh immortals. The millions of dead, the billions of organic gallons of organic blood and Cybertronian Energon that stained this maniac's actuators. Through all that Ultra Magnus knew the slag maker deserved death, but what stayed his hand? The answer immediately came to him as an unbidden memory flickered at the back of his processor. An old saying his brother continued to espouse even in the darkest days of the war... 'There is good in him, it may be over shadowed by the darkness in his spark but there is still something noble and it may be worth saving.'

Optimus rested in an isolation ward after emergency surgeries... at least that was what Magnus had been left to believe. For all of the pain and anguish that Megatron had caused so many for so long, Ultra Magnus knew that he had no true claim against him. Only Optimus had the right to decide the fate of the usurper. His fist clinched hard at his sides, as he thought of the pain and mental torment that plagued his brother since that fateful day. First the death of his mentor then the betrayal of a close friend. Perhaps his own mental controls were not as strong as he initially thought. "How do you two do it?" he asked rhetorically as his optics locked again on the contorted face of Megatron.

Medical Bay – Security Isolation Ward

Before Jazz had a chance to respond to Prowl in regards to the auto-guns being set to terminate Megatron should he somehow break free, the voice of Ultra Magnus echoed into the isolation ward as he stepped out of the security corridor. The City Commander conceded that he should’ve informed the military strategist of Megatron’s presence. However, Prime’s brother had two very good reasons for not telling Prowl during their briefing, those being named Grimlock and Swerve.

Of course, it was best not to tell the Dinobot Commander as his reaction would have been less than calm and likely lead to a confrontation here in this very room that could’ve ended in a very bad way. As for the metallurgist, his tiny big mouth would have ensured that the entire galactic quadrant knew of Megatron’s whereabouts and that certainly could not be allowed to happen. No, Magnus had made the right decision, but being left out of the loop, even for a short while, still irked the black and white to a degree.

“I understand,” Prowl said plainly as he put away his rifle once he realized that force fields were securely in place over Megatron’s body and bio bed. “You made the logical decision, Ultra Magnus. I can’t fault you for that. Still, being your second-in-command, I need to be kept in the loop from here on out. Encrypted, private comm channels can be used if need be. A prisoner as important and dangerous as Megatron must be dealt with cautiously and then thoroughly interrogated once he is awake and able to respond to questioning. If I am not still on my mission at that time, I would very much like to take part in said interrogations.”

In all honesty, Prowl would love to take a crack at interrogating Megatron one on one. Although, his methods of interrogation would likely be frowned upon by those like Ultra Magnus, Jazz and especially Optimus Prime. Simply talking to and asking questions of the slagmaker in the hopes he would divulge important information would get them no where. No, pain and violence are the only things that Megatron would respond to and even then it would take an immense amount of suffering to get him to talk. Hell, perhaps Chromedome’s mnemosurgical abilities could be utilized if Megatron continued to resist. Many would call what Prowl had in mind to be torture even illegal. The black and white, however, would call it a necessity. Considering that the deaths of countless Cybertronians, not to mention other lifeforms from across the universe, could be laid squarely at the slagmaker’s feet, would it really be considered evil to torture Megatron?

Not to me, Prowl thought as he overheard Ultra Magnus talking to himself in a low tone, but still loud enough for the military strategist to overhear. “Why is it pointless? I mean, once Megatron is sufficiently interrogated and we have all of the information we can pull out of him, why not kill him? Surely, he deserves that and so much more.”

Medical Bay-–Security Isolation Ward

Somewhere on the boundaries of the Rust Sea...

Megatron looked out over the far-reaching, copper void. Long-decimated structures dotted the distance. All waste. All waste that had been allowed by the corruption of the Cybertronian senate and their tireless need to control every aspect of their existence.

"It would be far to easy. To end the future suffering of so many, to redeem the stolen honor of those who had been butchered by your ego... Still, to kill you here would be pointless Megatron..." a voice in his mind said. It sounded familiar, but Megatron could not place it at the moment. Tetrajets streaked by overhead, but none of them appeared to notice him.

“You made the logical decision, Ultra Magnus. I can’t fault you for that. Still...

Ultra Magnus. Yes. That was whom the voice belonged to. But the other was new, and even less familiar. So much confusion. The Slagmaker raised his fusion cannon as if to fire, but fire at what? Emptiness? He lowered his weapon again. He-

“Why is it pointless? I mean, once Megatron is sufficiently interrogated and we have all of the information we can pull out of him, why not kill him? Surely, he deserves that and so much more.”

Megatron's crimson optics flickered to life once more. He looked around. This time there was no Rust Sea. No Cybertron or Kolkular or Soundwave or Shockwave. No Optimus Prime. This was....an Autobot vessel? The confusion raged in the Slagmaker's mind. He strained to move but quickly discovered that he could not, his optics settling on the first mech within his line of sight.

"...Ultra, grh, Magnus."

Medical Bay – Secluded Area

It made the blue speedster sight with relief to know that Smokescreen had made it out okay. His memories were a little fuzzy after getting bit. Or that just might be the grogginess of just reactivating kicking in. Either way, hopefully it would clear up soon. Beating the Fallen was great news as well and Hot Rod was okay. Only way it could get better was if Optimus had magically reappeared and kicked the Cons’ cans once and for all. But, Blurr might like to be awake for when the Autobots finally did that.

“How about you, Blurr? You feeling all right? You seem a little woozy. Maybe you should sit down and catch your bearings for a bit while I finish fixing ‘Breaker’s force field emitter. Okay?”

“Hm? Me, woozy? Well, maybe a little…” Blurr mumbled with a nod. He staggered over to the slab next to Trailbreaker and plopped down tiredly, feeling quite exhausted. He looked over to Trailbreaker, his optics squinted. “Wait a second…’Breaker, you got hurt? When’d that happen? Last thing I remember is…being in one of your forcefields…Hm…”

Why had he been in one of those? Wait, wait. It had been something with the bite. Yeah! Drag’s bite had something in it. Something that made the energon come out and not stop. Blurr hastily checked himself, optics wide. Nope. No energon leakages. Blurr sighed with relief. Now he remembered. “Oh, right…energon plague thing.” Blurr gave it a wave. “That explains it. That was pretty nasty. Glad everyone made it out okay.”

Blurr looked over to Wheeljack. “I miss anything while I was passed out, ’Jack. I mean. Other than us saving Hot Rod. We didn’t lose anyone, right?”


Main Science Lab

"Well, not that it hasn't been fun discussing egghead science with all of you fine mechs," Getaway interjected as he rose from leaning against one of the desks and slowly strolled over to the doorway, "but it appears I'm needed elsewhere very soon so I must bid you all a fine farewell. Good luck in your research... or something like that."

“Take care, Getaway,” Skids said with a distracted wave. Chromedome had some fascinating points. As expected of a mnemosurgeon. Jetfire concluded that their special teams were still the best place to begin. He suggested that the Protectobots might be best suited due to their combined attitudes toward ‘protecting’.

“Well, maybe some sort of…mental dampener would be effective for any combiner we wanted to try out?” Skids suggested. He looked over to Jetfire. “We can conduct a test run on the Aerialbots. If they’re up for it that is. They should probably know what they’re signing on for. In case something goes wrong, the dampener could also protect them from any severe mental damage.” Skids looked from Jetfire to Chromedome. “Does that sound doable?”

For his part, Rewind sat in his chair and kept on recording the scientists’ discussion. He wished he could be of more help, but as it stood, he just had to sit and listen. He was referencing the Archives for any useful information via keywords. So far, nothing really, but he was ready to intensify his search if called upon to do so.

Armory

Nova Strike stepped through the thick reinforced bulkhead that divided the primary thoroughfare that lead the length of the Guardian's hull on the main deck of the frigate. His pace was set with purpose and narrowed focus, so much so that his shoulders barely missed slamming into the retracting doors as they sank into their respective bulkhead compartments. He stopped only briefly to order a pair of the security technicians who had been assigned to monitor the Armory to prepare the refit chamber for emergency equipment transfer and rapid deployment protocols.

As the two units acknowledged the order and disappeared behind the counters into the back storage facility, Nova Strike allowed a brief moment to relax his posture. He made his way over to the nearest central library access terminal located along the farthest wall next to a weapons repair station. He placed his right hand on the edge of the screen where the security sensors began registering and acknowledging his identity.

Immediately a plethora of reports and data mined from the planetary information network, flooded the terminal's screen. Nova Strike began absorbing as much of the intelligence as he could, paying attention to the local news, history, customs and cultures of the island that he would be infiltrating. After his tactical library sorted through the necessary historical points, particularly industrial and military presence of the United States Navy, Army and Air Force, Nova Strike began to filter through the data pertaining to a potential cover identity set that he could employ.

The first of the set would most likely be his primary avatar's form, that of an industrialist or perhaps a technically inclined engineering specialist who would be potentially called into investigate the strange devices held in human quarantine. A few key strokes soon followed and the filtered data switched to negotiation methods that were typically used by those of the larger military contractors or independent companies that would theoretically have enough trust to be called in on this level of project. He also studied the human military structure and how it differed when it came to the interaction with the civilians in their employ. Finally he entered another query to the larger overview of possible technological schools that would be brought to bear in studying the Decepticon Missile that had been recovered from Kansas.

Many of the details with the final search were not too far beyond his comprehension. Humanity, while advanced for some organics, was still quite primitive. If anything much of their procedures or in their terms, technological advances, were best studied in Cybertronian Archaeology. Then again, if this war continues... whats advanced to us may become an even more distant memory and our term of advanced will pale in comparison to what these Humans can create. The thought caused a slight grin to tug at the edge of his cheek.

Nova Strike adjusted his search profile again, this time focusing on his secondary cover story. Given his choice of alternative form, the ranger decided that his roles would be best suited to being a touch more conspicuous than the other members of the team. While that did not necessarily mean he would be in robot form for any portion of the mission, a mode he rather avoid given the questions that would be asked and the incredible amount of paperwork that would follow, it did mean that his avatar would have to fit the vehicle form. The initial form would be good against the military and probably withstand even their most stringent scrutiny. But in public, he needed an alternative profile to draw attention off of the likes of Prowl or Hot Spot, or even the less than stable Red Alert. That meant celebrity.

He flooded the library terminal with as many celebrity profiles and historical nuances that he best felt fit his own personality. It took only moments for him to formulate the best form of cover that would mix rather well with his previously accepted cover personality. That of a former athlete of an undetermined sport, with a rather extensive background in certain levels of engineering... which was not too far from reality as Nova Strike understood it. He was a former celebrity in his own right, dominating the Nova Cronum circuits and playing regularly in team competitions across the whole of Cybertron. As for the engineering, well one had to have the basics when it came to blowing stuff to atoms. Nova Strike was fairly good at tactical reasoning, and capable of at least holding his own behind enemy lines while trying to demolish Decepticon defenses.. how different could these various schools be? Besides, he would have access to the incredible library and the equally as pleasant librarian that was Prowl.

Another two cover identities were created to bolster his roster of human disguises, to help distract potential pursuit should his other forms become compromised. As he loaded the new data, and the recovered information from the library's main computer, the two security officers reemerged from the back. He offered a nod to the two technicians and allowed them to return to duties without preamble.

Nova Strike passed to the back work facility and made his way to one of the cylindrical alcoves located along the right bulkhead. Flashing neon wires and conduit hung along the walls feeding the device with power, and did little to keep the optics from being drawn to the massive gantry cranes and the various tools and devices that loomed over the head of the alcoves. The ranger hated this part of his job, the redeployment procedures were a necessary part of what made him so effective on any assignment. He was able to reequip for nearly any potential mission profile. Only problem was, the damn procedure hurt like hell for those who were immune to nearly all sedatives, and fatally allergic to the ones he wasn't.

"Computer, alert me when Eject, Hot Spot, Red Alert or Prowl enter the Armory. I don't want to miss their final words of concern before we deploy."

..."Request acknowledged."

Nova Strike placed one foot on the alcove platform. "Load protocol Infiltration. Activate sensor package Sigma Li. Install package and bolster with Infiltration Package Delta Lamda Twelve... Acknowledge."

"Loading protocols confirmed. Requested packages, acknowledged and confirmed. Subject will be scanned momentarily..." A blinding green beam exploded from the top of the gantry crane assembly and began to sweep over Nova Strike's body, from head to toe and back again. "Scan complete. Necessary precautions have been established, Sedatives have been stayed. Subject will experience a momentary level of discomfort for the duration of procedure. Do you wish to continue?"

Nova Strike finished mounting the platform and locked his feet into the magnetic locks. "Not like I got a choice in the matter now do I? Just start the damn thing and get it over with." The ranger cringed almost immediately as the first set of cranes descended and began unlocking the compartment where his primary sensor package was held. It was going to be a long and painful process, and all Nova could do was grit his proverbial teeth and bear it.

Med Bay – Private Room

Ratchet shook his head while he pulled another piece of shrapnel form the Prime’s extremities. Why Optimus hadn’t sought him out for repairs was beyond the CMO. Then again it was also typical of him to just press ahead and not mention any ailments.

He slowed his worked after a moment as he took in Prime’s words. He doesn’t remember a thing. Ratchet grunted before placing the extracted piece of ordinance on the nearby tray.

“What happened was you vanished. You and Megatron just…” He let out a heave sigh while turning his gaze into Optimus’ optics. “You two were engaged in a fight and it was…one minute you were there and the next, nothing.” Ratchet broke off his gaze picked up his tweezers and began rooting around for more pieces.

As Ratchet relayed to the Prime what had occurred Pharma stopped and stared. “You mean Prime went missing and no one was told?” He knew no one on Cas Coller was told since he’d have been one of the first to have found out. He was annoyed but that annoyance was growing slowly into anger.
“Now is not the time, Pharma.” Ratchet glanced up. “We searched but you were gone.” He said to Optimus before sighing.

“But everyone is fine.” He flashed his wounded friend a forced smile. He didn’t want to mention the recent goings on with The Fallen, Prime already had enough on his plate.

A few minutes passed before Ratchet straightened up to his full height. “That should do it.” Pharma, still perturbed about his compatriot’s revalations, stood up as well. “Once I run a few tests I’ll need to check on another patient.” The CMO noted.

Pharma placed a hand on his hip and waved his free hand dismissively. “I can check on your patient. I think it’s best if you’re with Optimus right now.” He needed to get away from the CMO for just a bit if only to clear his head and cool down.

Ratchet rounded Prime’s slab and grabbed Pharma by the wrist. He pulled the other doctor out of earshot. “Listen, my other patient is Megatron. He was discovered with Prime so we brought them in together.” The initial shock on Pharam’s face quickly faded as he nodded. “Like I said before, I can handle it.” He patted Ratchet on the shoulder and then turned and left the room without another word. Ratchet looked on as the door closed behind the retreating flier. Once Pharma was gone the CMO turned his attention back onto Prime. “Optimus. Can you remember anything, anything at all, that happened to the two of you?”

Med Bay – Secluded Area

Even seated Trailbreaker was having a tough time keeping himself still. He swayed gently while Wheeljack went to work on the force field generator in his hand. For the most part Breaker listened to Jack explain things, most settled in while some minor items filtered through his audios.

“That right, eh? Heh, Smokey.” The outlier looked back at Jack and smiled. “Lucky slagger.” He chuckled but quieted when he felt a slight burning sensation in his hand. “Ow! Now that was uncomfortable.” He resisted pulling his hand out from Jack’s not wanting the feeling to return ten-fold.

Trailbreaker’s infectious smiled returned however, when Blurr suddenly showed up. “Oh hey! If it isn’t the fasted mech alive!” he looked at Jack and gestured to the blue racer with a slight jerk of his head. “ Did I ever tell you I had the great honor of attending one of Blurr’s, here, races?” His smile grew even wider as he started to reminisce. “What a day that was…” Trailbreaker chuckled as the memory file filled his consciousness. That was until he noticed something.

“Hey.” Again he gestured with a jerk of his head but instead of aiming toward Blurr he was looking in Tracer’s direction. “I think your other patient is crying.” Sure enough a tear was trickling down the femme’s cheek. “She okay?”

Med Bay

Axle grunted. He was exhausted. Two major surgeries and he still hadn’t had time to fuel up on some energon. Thankfully Hot Rod’s repairs were now complete leaving just a short stint in a CR chamber before he could be back to his full functional self.

From his hunched over position Axle slowly straightened to his full height; the sound of joints popping back into alignment following suit. The former surgeon placed a hand lightly on Hot Rod’s forehead and smiled tiredly.

“Well, everything’s done. Just some time in a CR chamber and he’ll be up in no time.” Axle ran one final scan as he spoke.

Brakeline bounced over and smiled broadly. “I knew he’d pull through. I mean,” he shrugged slightly, “after all it was you working on him.” Brakeline’s smile grew wider. Axle stared for a moment and nodded slowly. “Riiight. Thanks for your help, Brakeline.” The nurse nodded enthusiastically and opened his mouth to say something but he was quickly cut off by the much faster Axle. “Say, I think there’s something else you can help me with.”

The expression on Brakeline’s face brightened and he slid towards the medic just a bit further. Axle felt a bit perturbed but he kept his visage neutral. He swiftly snatched up a data slate and trust it forward for Brakeline to grab.

“I’d like you to take this and record all of Veneer’s readings starting from two hours ago. Do you think you can handle that?” Axle stared hard at the nurse.

“Pfft” Brakeline waved a hand in dismissal. “Of course I can.” He grew serious as he looked back at Axle. “But why don’t I just transfer the data to the computer terminal this way you can just read it there.”

Axle smiled. “Well, I have rounds to make and I won’t have the time to sit at a terminal to read through it all. This way I’d just have to access it from the slate.”

Brakeline hadn’t thought of that and smiled up at the medic. “Gotcha.”

“I also have to see to Hex.” Axle looked over his shoulder at his ward. He hoped that once he spoke to Hex the young mech will have had time to think about discussing his experiences.

The smile on Brakeline’s face melted away quickly as he looked towards Hex. The kid was nothing but trouble. He was keeping Axle down. In fact he was the one that prompted Axle’s demotion. Here was a superb surgeon who was still making a name for himself and he let it all go once that little deranged punk showed.

“Well, not to worry. I’ll get all of Vee’s readings and have them to you in no time flat.” Came the nurse’s up beat response. The sooner he got this task done the sooner he could get Axle away from Hex.

Brakeline took the data slate and set off in the direction of Veneer’s slab.

While Brakeline made his way across the med bay, Axle ran a hand down the length of his face. The mech was persistent, not to mention tiresome. Nevermind him. Let me get Hot Rod to a chamber and then see Hex, he thought.

Axle quickly prepped Hot Rod and transferred him to a free CR chamber. The cavalier was set as soon as the tube filled with its nanite-rich fluid and the cycle began.

Once he was finished Axle made his way to Hex’s slab.

“Hey.” Hex spotted Axle from the corner of his optic as his guardian sat beside him on the berth. “Hey.” Hex said lowly.

Axle smiled down at the smaller bot. “How’re you feeling?” Hex, for his part, did not laugh sardonically at the absurdity of the question, instead he simply sighed and gave a full on honest answer. “Like slag.” He licked his lips before he went on. “I’m tired and this place is too big. I can’t stand it.”

The black and green medic drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I know it’s too open and you want to go back to your place, but…” he cautiously placed his hand on Hex’s shoulder and when he didn’t get a negative reaction he went on. “But I still need to run a few tests.”

His optics focused intensely on the ceiling while he weighed the pros and cons. If he said no, Axle would press, he’d get angry with the medic and he’d probably get physical. On the other hand, if he cooperated then help he’d be able to leave and get back to his place, where it was smaller and safe.

With a heavy exhale and a stiff nod Hex agreed. “Okay, do your tests. And when you’re done I’m leaving. I can’t stay here anymore.”

Pleased with his ward’s decision, Axle stood up and smiled. “Of course. Let me just gather my things and we should be good to go.” Axle quickly left hoping in the short amount of time he’d be gone Hex wouldn’t have a change of heart.

Medical Bay - Security Isolation Ward

It sure was a good thing Ultra Magnus had made his appearance in the isolation ward a lot sooner than later. Jazz understood Prowl's reasoning on having beefed up security and weapon emplacements fixated on Megatron while they had him in custody, but the specialist could see that Prowl was looking a little more trigger-happy than usual. What was worse is, Jazz was finding himself agreeing with the notion of just killing Megatron here, right then and now. He paused for a moment and thought about what it was like before the the war had broken out, the various venues and gigs he played his electro-bass on before the enrollment began. They could end it all here in a single action...

But would it be the right thing? Was that the way Autobots solved their issues?

"That's more of Prime's call to make." The black and white mech stated as he entered back into the conversation, shortly following Prowl's suggestion of having him bite the bullet once they acquire whatever Intel he deemed fit. "Not that I'm opposing the idea, Primus knows I'd like to see it all come to and end once and for all, but the big guy and the Slagmaker himself here having been at odds with each other for eons now. Maybe Prime sees something in him we can't exactly."

Jazz stepped forward and away from Megatron's holding slab as he tried to switch to a more optimistic tone of voice.

"I mean, Megatron was with Prime in whatever hellhole the two managed to disappear away to. Maybe the two worked somethings out?"

Murmurs and grumbles from the imprisoned Leader of the Decepticons seemingly cut off Jazz's precious thought as a shiver dashed up his usually hardened and rather calm spinal strut. He was always a master of keeping his cool but the sudden life that seemed to have returned to the once unconscious Megatron startled the Special Operations director far more than he would have anticipated.

"Ya know... Hopefully. Heh..."

Armory

The doors slid open and Eject wasted no time in trying to acquire his gear. For the most part he was still somewhat surprised that Ultra Magnus had placed him on this mission without having to tag alongside Blaster and the rest of his fellow Cassettobots.

Eject then approached one of the many console terminals that were fixated around the room and began to access his own armament files, shifting through the lift of avail able ammunition and gear he was granted to carry about on his petite frame for this endeavor.

"Autobot Presence Detected..." Came a voice that echoed all around the blue and white cassette. "Subject: Eject has entered the Armory." Eject sat at the terminal puzzled about the l unusual welcoming that he had just received by the onboard computer. He cocked his head slightly when his optics were able to quickly identify one oft the various speakers fixated on the ceiling. That was until his attention was drawn away by a bright green light emitting from across the Armory.

"Hey!" The little Autobot exclaimed towards the mech currently restrained in the armament platform, "If it isn't the champion of the Nova Cronum Circuit, himself!"