I don't own them. They belong to folks with very expensive lawyers.

Warning I was in a very weird and unhappy headspace when this came along and sunk its teeth in, this is not going to be a happy fic people, just so you know.

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Ratchet stopped mid step and sighed deeply as the sound of someone noisily emptying their gas tank drifted down the corridor, spinning on his heel he set off in the direction of the sound idly wondering who the twins had got now with their 'special brew' energon. As he passed the door to the security office, he again stopped mid step at the sounds emanating from within. Distressed, despairing, broken sobbing was not Red Alert's usual response to the results of any of the twin's schemes; seriously concerned that things might have gone further than the twins had planned Ratchet opened the door. Red was half kneeling, half slumped against the back wall of the office clutching the waste bin so hard that the metal was dented under his fingers, shaking uncontrollably his face white with shock, optics dilated to their fullest extent and fixed in horror on the main screen. The logo of some pirate broadcaster spun slowly in the middle of it, a trite metallic tune issued from the speakers, Ratchet gently and slowly knelt down just out of arms length, not wanting to startle the distressed mech. Having provoked no response with this action he risked moving forward slightly, still no response but now Ratchet could hear that Red was uttering a half mumbled litany of words.

"Nononononononono not them, please Primus not them, not that please, please no"

Scratch the twin's as the source of this Ratchet thought carefully examining Red, then very slowly and as non-threateningly as he could Ratchet reached out and laid a hand on Red's arm. Against all of Ratchet's expectations the distressed mech didn't react violently, in fact all that happened is that Red Alert slowly tore his gaze away from the screen and focused on Ratchet. In a voice that sounded lost and very forlorn, he stuttered.

"Too late, far too late, what use am I? I have failed the most basic duty of a security officer and now … they …. He…. Oh Primus he's"

Red's voice drifted of in to unintelligible, hysterical sobbing as he collapsed into Ratchets arms the occasional dry heave making his frame shudder. Ratchet sighed and broadcast over the private com lines a request to Wheeljack and First Aid for them to join him in the security office right this slagging minuet.

----An hour later----

"So what you're saying is that Red's finally gone off the deep end?"

Sunstreaker asked when Ratchet had finished explaining to the rest of the Autobots what had happened, and that for Red's own well being the security officer was currently sedated in the repair bay.

"Highly unlikely, I hypothesise that what ever that station was broadcasting must have been responsible for the state Ratchet found him in." Perceptor reasoned, "So I suggest we examine the broadcast and then we can determine the most appropriate course of action."

At the various nods of agreement, Perceptor switched on the main screen and the same tinny electronic music that Ratchet had heard in the security room drifted out of the speakers, followed by a high-pitched nauseating voice announcing.

"Good morning Keitel, and for those of you with us for the first time you are in for a treat! Yes good people life doesn't get better than this, so grab a can of your favourite poison and sit back a enjoy the highlights of the event of the epoch!"

The logo dissolved into a view of a grey, grimy energon stained chamber with a large solid table in the middle, but when the door hissed open and two very familiar offline mechs were hauled in hisses and exclamations of anger filled the room. Silence fell as a third very online mech was dragged in kicking and struggling for all he was worth. Twenty minuets later not a mech in the conference room hadn't needed to loose the contents of his gas tank and a numb horrified helplessness settled firmly over the group.