Barely a breem after hitting my berth and cursing the world my door chimed along with the incoming comm. message from Bluestreak. ::Prowl, please answer. I haven't talked to you in so long and I need to know you're okay. I know you're technically okay since you're here and not with Ratchet but that's Ratchet's definition of 'okay', not my definition. Please come out or let me in, I'm at your door.::

The plea instantly twisted my spark as if someone tried squeezing out all of its energy, despite the numbness existing only a few breems or so ago. I felt an involuntary contraction of my midsection as if either defending against a kick or spasmic need to get up. Despite those reactions I'm not ready to see others, especially ones who need me in a better state. ::Blue, I'm exhausted and while I understand your need to see me, I'm unable to move easily and incapable or receiving guests.::

::Please.::

I waited before realizing that was all Bluestreak said. No rambling, no fretful explanations, just one word. ::Blue, I am not well and will make very poor company. Please take my word for it that I will be okay. I promise to comm. you the moment I am able to socialize.::

::Please!:: The painful whining sounds of his engine startle me. I didn't expect to hear his engine from the back wall of my quarters, despite the otherwise dead air.

That did it. Another strong, tight twisting sensation from my spark and I was up and moving as quickly as I could without the cane, least Bluestreak see it and his worries further grow. I gripped the doorframe tightly to steady myself upright before letting go and commanding the door to open.

Bluestreak's optics flashed and doorwings flared with relief momentarily before he bobbed his head up and down, looking me over. "What's on your arm? What's going on with your doorwings? Why did Ratchet bring you out of medical stasis if they are still that wrapped up? Usually he's more conservative on doorwings, waking us up when they need less medical stuff almost glued to them." Two-thirds through his fretting his hands and forearms moved slight upward into what Smokescreen calls Bluestreak's "pre-hug position." Usually if he's incredibly upset about one of us, like he appears to be now, he'll locked said brother in a tight embrace. He knows that violates my rules on personal space but he doesn't care. During those times I usually allow it for his sake.

This time, though, I've got a monitor mounted to my right arm that's attached to unwanted wires running under my armor, a cooling blanket lodged tightly inside my chassis, and any extra movement or weight might send me toppling over. "Blue, I know you normally require contact when you're this worried, but I am not capable of receiving or providing that right now. I am partly covered in medical equipment to address the slow-healing damage of battle. Some of it you see but there's more under the armor. It's prudent that I don't disturb any of it."

Gravity couldn't drop his arms down fast enough. His doorwings moved in a combination of twitches and dips, communicating his distress. His silence combined with those movements mean that he's fighting against blurting everything out because he can't convey the right words in a reasonable amount of time, potentially undermining his own point. He needs to be immediately understood before he loses the internalized struggle. In overly simplistic terms, his doorwing communications mean he's distraught from being left out and he's hurting from the lasting silence with no real answers.

In response I use my doorwings to tell him that I'm here to protect him. I pull my doorwings back and then flare them out, ignoring the tenseness and joint throbbing while putting great concentration on my balance. At least Perceptor's pain medication seems to be effective for doorwing movement as well. I tip them at Bluestreak while reaching out with my left arm and very lightly brush the outside edge of his hand. That's the closest to voluntary handholding as I get. All are part of my methods used for helping Bluestreak achieve some sort of peace. "I cannot give you all the answers but I am safe. Take comfort in what's available for you to know now. I wish I could help you feel better about the silence from us while we sort out the issues, but know that no one means it. There are just too much on-going efforts and even I don't know it all. You know how I feel about passing on information that I am only partly satisfied in my comprehension."

That got him to lightly chortle, his tense doorwings relaxing as mine. The throbbing in my joints grew so I brought my doorwings back to their natural neutral position. He looks closer at me with tight optics, while his shoulders roll back and increase their tension. My words aren't comforting enough but he'll take some measure of relief in them. I may be incapable of reading most mechs but watching Bluestreak grow and then helping him through Praxus's fall helped me understand his various ways of communicating. Unfortunately thanks to Megatron's destruction of our home I know Bluestreak's more negative emotion indicators.

"Blue, I need a quiet recharge now that I've been discharged from Medbay. Pass on my ongoing progress with Smokescreen? Let him know that I'm out and resting. I'll be going in and out Medbay regularly but only for on-going status checks. Nothing that will require me to be offline or staying longer than a few breems. Alright?"

His doorwings quivered with protest to being sent away, but he slowly nodded. "Okay. I can talk to Smokey for you. You will keep both of us in the loop? You know we will be there for you, always. Shift times don't matter."

"Yes, I will keep you in the loop," I answer, body tension dissipating when he didn't add a timeframe or repeat frequency for giving them information. I will update them when my doorwings are healed, which will hopefully coincide with Ratchet removing the spark monitor. I'm not sure how I will explain the monitor if I appear otherwise healed.

Bluestreak reluctantly nods and starts to slowly leave. "Love you, brother. Don't go another so long without saying 'hi' to me."

Another small spark twist ending with a small flutter in my spark happens with his words. Comparing it to the level of spark twisting earlier, I shouldn't have felt it to any certain degree (nor the brief, small flutter) but I did. A testament to my systems quickly breaking down Perceptor's medications. "I promise."

Once he's gone I carefully move back to my berth. This time I take the time to properly lie on my left side with a slight forward roll to minimize doorwing pressures. Returning to my berth also restarts my interrupted observations regarding Ratchet's explanation. Sparks give energy when happy, I was happy with Jazz, and that spark-happy response is what caused me physical pain. True, Ratchet specifically said the free or uncontrolled energy of my spark is what caused the pain and not actual pleasure, but transitive properties say he's wrong. If Cause A equals Cause B, and Cause B equals Cause C, then Cause A will always equal Cause C, so long as approximation margins aren't a factor. If happiness causes my spark to pulse faster and stronger, and stronger pulses cause pain, then it can only be logically concluded that happiness causes pain. I don't see a probable margin of error from that non-numerical conclusion. I doubt there's anything Ratchet can say to change any of that. I fail to see a situation he'll allow where Cause B (spark energy) will not generate Cause C (pain).

I need to find my own solution, be it to stop happiness or the ability to sense spark energy. Ratchet's currently preventing me from doing the later, and asking Jazz to help me defeats the purpose, so a work around or a new solution must be had. This will be my first priority upon onlining due to my latest requirement of seeing Ratchet prior to my shift start.

I have a bit of an immediate predicament: I need to recharge to dissipate the effects of Medbay, but I also need a workable solution before happiness can strike again. I doubt Ratchet will find a solution to nullify the damages of a happy spark before my shift starts. Obviously this is not the first time I've face a conundrum, where necessary recharging conflicts with my other needs, but usually I'm weighing recharge with maintaining an army.

I use a query algorithm to speedily work through my many memories to find a workable option with similar characteristics. The query yields something I used a very long time ago. Satisfied with the discovery I work through my systems until everything runs smoothly for recharge. I initiate the archaic, small program for my battle computer and then offline my consciousness.

|/\/\/\|

I onlined and immediately checked my internal chronometer. Good, I have about 1.5 joors before my shift begins. Normally I wouldn't consider that acceptable after taken in reference to when I offlined but rather a sign of malfunction. This time I not only expected the extended recharge but I had anticipated it lasting another half joor.

I searched for the output files generated from my battle computer from that program. If any intruder forcibly bypassed my firewalls they'd pass over the program or give it a good laugh. On the surface it's for building socializing protocols and devising accessible actions to various social settings and potential outcomes.

I rarely care about surface-level perceptions. Besides the fact I'm proof about misleading topical information, it leads to other types of misinformation. That program had all the innocent tales of a simple social problem others may laugh about, but those mechs would be fools. This wasn't a program on how I work with others; this was a program how to work others.

More precisely, this is my program for allowing my battle computer to apply battle tactics to social situations or mechs. While I recharged it churned through a long list of compiled data, and when done it went into standby mode for recharge.

I scanned through the files, from the summary file to the individual files of plans, schedules, and potential options for evading detection. Another list contained the assortments I need to achieve the end goal.

I reviewed the files of the individuals first, knowing those were more subject to unexpected changes. Bluestreak was the easiest; so long as he felt heard and believed himself to be involved then he wouldn't look for anything. Optimus Prime was next, followed by Ironhide, Wheeljack, Perceptor, First Aid, Smokescreen, and Ratchet. While the medic and his support system of mechs presented multiple risks based on their individuals roles within his team, the biggest risk was Jazz. The nature of our ever-changing relationship, combined with its noticeable effects on me, and his sharp saboteur mind made him a risk to my plans. The fact our current relationship status was positive compared to where it was prior to the battle also elevates these risk factors.

I scan through it, caught off guard but some of its nature. Besides its summaries, it suggests that shutting Jazz out while I complete my task is not the best course of action, but neither is letting him know my plans. Our current trend and his stubbornness may present an issue and I'm better off allowing it to progress, only at a slow pace. The idea makes causes a chill in my body, strongest over chassis and hands, but it dies with a warm bubbling sensation. I think that's hopefulness?

I work meticulously through each file until my door chimes again just under a joor before my shift. Sighing irritably at the increased door traffic to what's normally my Area of Social Reprieve, I answer it with the same preparations as when I met with Bluestreak. "Hello, Jazz?" I questioningly greeted him.

"Heya, Prowler."

"Jazz, isn't it a bit early for me to start correcting you on appropriate terms of familiarity between officers? Or are you enjoying it now to the point of searching me out just to push the line?" I artfully ask, careful to assert the idea of a slowed positive progress.

Jazz snickered. "If I had to pick, the second one. Let me in."

"Why?"

"Because you can walk carefully back or I can push you back."

"Or I could command the door to close on you," I retaliate while leaning back so I'm clear of the door. Jazz instantly takes one step inward so the door proximity sensors won't allow the door to close. "Since when are you this obstinate before your shift? Has something happened?"

"Step inside and I'll tell you." I don't move. "Or I push and you fall over, and then I'll tell you as I pull you back up." Someone's weirdly cheerful.

"You wouldn't push me over and force me to land on my doorwings."

"Who said you'd land on your doorwings? I just said you'd fall over, I didn't say I let you hit the ground."

With a slight grumble about stubborn mechs inside another's private quarters I step back and allow him to breezily stroll by me. He turns around and without warning grabs my hands with a light but firm grasp. The unexpected physical contact elicits an uncontrolled tiny gasp from me but he tugs me forward before I can pull away. He grins and says, "Come on, let's sit down on your chairs for entertaining."

"I can walk."

"Yeah, slowly. I don't have patience for it. We're on the pre-clock clock."

"The what?" I ask as I sit down.

"The countdown before our shifts start," he replies airily as if it were obvious. He drops down in my chair with a bit of bounce. I may never fully understand this mech. Sometimes I'm not sure I even half understand him.

"Alright, Jazz, now that we are sitting, can you please tell me what's got you cheerful and paying me a visit me?"

"Life?"

"That's not an acceptable answer."

He responds with his "Cheshire cat" grin, so named by several 'bots. I seriously don't understand him. "Hmm, well Prowler, if I had to pin it down I'd say I woke up on the right side of the recharge berth. Or maybe I decided that we've had too many bad or unhappy times for a while now, excluding that one recharge cycle, so I'm not going to take it anymore by being happy and infecting you with it. Well, as much as you can be infected while you're all… I dunno… you."

"Excuse me?" My voice sharpens as my spark lets out a small burst-like sensation. Besides being accused of a being fundamentally wrong by being me, he's also just described happiness as an infection. His point may have been intended as some form of endearment but he's just added another tally in my column for justifying my ulterior plan.

"Well, saying you're compromised, conflicted, constantly tackling the illogical, or just confused seemed to be a bit judgmental, ya'know?" His voice becomes smooth, the opposite of my sharp tone. "I don't know what's going on inside that helm of yours so I'm not going to bother coming up with my own descriptions. You tell me."

Pause. Perhaps I jumped to conclusions about seeing an accusation in his previous statement. "That… that will take a moment."

"I got a moment. I might even give you two. Got a question for you anyway, so whenever you're done."

I realize this is the first time someone who knows what's happened has asked me how I feel about it. So far those who know have only asked or commented about how to make things right by their own descriptions or definitions. "I supposed I'm confused over the conflictions I experiencing against my will."

Jazz tilted his head while lessening his smile. "How?" he asked with genuine earnest.

"Right now I'm receiving noisy input from my spark to a caliber I've never allowed when I had control. It's still a wordless whisper constantly changing tones in the back of my processor, as it has been since Ratchet took control. Sometimes the tone conflicts with what I'm thinking. Without the ability to tune it down to something I understand or can handle, I'm just confused. Sometimes it's so confusing and noisy it causes my processor to ache." There's a rolling sense of light fluttering from my spark. A sign, I believe, for the comfort in telling someone interested in understanding that already knows. I'm sure my brothers will try understanding but I don't know how the information will affect them on a personal level. Regardless, with the medication gone, I can already feel a newly-familiar ache in my chassis from that rolling spark sensation.

His smile is gone. "I don't think we've thought of it like that. It's so seamless for us it doesn't hurt like that and we can block it out. I guess it's like having a system forced onto your processor rather than integrating it so your processor has almost total control."

"That's almost precisely what it is."

"Huh. Well, maybe Ratchet will come up with a solution that's more middle ground."

"I tend to doubt it, in part because I don't think he's willing to hear it right now. It appears he's still taking this as a personal front by me and the discovery is very fresh for him. Perhaps when he's had time to fully digest my situation and accept my reasoning for keeping this to myself."

My comm. pings and I ask Jazz to hold his response. ::Prowl,:: Ratchet's voice snippily demands my immediate attention.

Aloud I remark to my physically present guest, "Speak of the devil. He does not sound to be in an accepting mood. Please wait while I sort this out."

While Jazz nods I respond to Ratchet. ::Yes?::

::Your shift starts in twenty breems. Get here now or I'll put you on leave for Wheeljack to examine your sensors directly instead of through images and rendering models.::

::I will leave very shortly.::

::Good. You have five breems.::

::I'll need eight.:: I closed the line before Ratchet could push back. If he truly wants to he can re-open the line but I can rebuff the attempted communication. "It appears I'm on another countdown clock; one that belongs to Ratchet."

Jazz pretend-grimaced before returning to a lopsided smile. "Fewer clocks strike more fear than that one. Another time for this conversation, whenever you want it. Let's get going. I might as well start my shift a little early."

"What? Please repeat that last part." Jazz stands next to me and reluctantly I hold up my hands so he can pull me up rather than force me up.

"Hilarious. Maybe I'll start something in the Rec Room."

"Don't you dare," I sternly warn as we approached my door. Letting go of his persistent hold, I explain, "I don't need your assistance, Jazz. I may walk slowly but I am capable of walking."

As the door opened he replied back, "You weren't earlier. Oh yeah, I had a question for you about that."

"Earlier I was exhausted. Now I'm not. Can your question wait?"

"Well if that's what makes the difference then I'll kick you out of your office at the end of your shift. And yeah, it can."

"No need, Ratchet will likely do it."

He raised his optic ridge at me, barely visible with that visor. "Now they've got you going before and after each shift?"

"Twice an Earth day. It may not be exactly at the end of my scheduled shift. I'll find out when I see him shortly. I have almost five breems left to meet his pain-free cutoff and it will likely take that long." After Jazz merrily wished me good luck I started walking to Medbay, steadily picking up speed until I had my normal gait back.

I make it with 0.15 breems to spare. Ratchet sends/pushes me to the private room from earlier with his usual finesse. "Don't make me wait on you again. I want you here a half-joor before the primary shift, no 'if', 'ands', or 'buts'. For every excuse I'll tack on another day of leaving the struts on your doorwings."

"You wouldn't misuse medical needs."

"We both know you won't waste your energy on internal healing for 'minor superficial' damage, opting just to paint over them to avoid stares. I just might extend the application time for those bandages and their special ointment to remedy your stupidity."

I slide onto the medical berth but remain sitting. Ratchet grabs a chip and a thin, long-needle syringe. He explained, "The chip will replace Perceptor's medication from earlier. The chip will focus everything on your processor rather than your processor and neuro-net. Originally we hoped it could work on your processor and spark issues but Perceptor concluded that's too ambitious for us right now. Tailpipe smacking speed bumps.

"The chip's data should actively filter out excess spark activity noise. It has some risks so we're going to switch it out twice a day. The syringe's contents will restart the thermal reaction in the cooling blanket to keep it from becoming warm while you're on shift and no doubt getting peeved at your regular troublesome visitors. Otherwise I'd have to rotate blankets."

"'Peeved'? I think you're finally cleaning up your language to a more professional level."

"Frag no. It's early enough that my usual self hasn't shown up yet. Wait until I'm in full swing."

"Good to know. Now I know when to schedule future appointments."

"Stop being a plotting snarky little sod piece." Ratchet tapped the medical port in my arm and I opened it for him to add the chip. He slipped the syringe through a seam and into the cooling blanket. "Done. Now get out of here. If there's no problem then First Aid will be administrating this whenever I'm busy."

"When am I due back?"

"Two joors after your scheduled shift end. You better refuel before that," he challenged. "Consider that your new normal until we sort this out." I thank him for his efforts in attempt to end our quandary. His efforts may undermine my secret intentions to counter their agendas.

For the duration of my walk I carefully monitor my spark to determine if I can feel it like I did earlier when my medication started ebbing away at an undesirable decay rate. The disease from the sensors picking up a response while speaking to Jazz, the series of small energy "snaps" signally its unhappiness with my plan, all fade as medical interventions take effect. By the time I reach the commanding deck's hallways I can no longer feel my spark, proving that they are still filtering out the spark completely rather than exclusively the excess noise. I have no interest in informing them the treatment is failing to meet their intended purpose since it fully meets mine.

I arrive at my office a breem before my shift starts. "Smokescreen?" I was not expecting my cousin-brother to be sitting in my chair, his optics shrewdly glaring at me.

"I have half a mind to chew you out over Blue. He's complaining that you won't tell us about what's going on. Like that monitor," he declared while pointing at the unsightly equipment decorating my arm. "There's no way that's for your doorwings."

"You are correct. Ratchet is taking extra precaution for my processor to make sure there are no hidden surprises," I supply the lie easily. I could imagine my spark is reacting to the lie but my concern is missing without its whining. The truth will cause unnecessary complications in mine and my cousin-brothers' lives.

He frowned with narrowed optics. "That's it? You couldn't say that to Blue? You had to be mysterious and claim there's extra medical equipment that makes it impossible for you to allow him to handle things his normal way? You know how he gets when one of us take serious harm. The mech is just as tactile as he is verbal. Well, in specific circumstances. It's not like he hugs everyone while talking off whoever's audio off, thank Primus."

"There are wires to my processor. As for why I did not tell him, I thought the truth might worry him more. I had no intention of adding to his worries. If you can explain that to him, I would appreciate it. If he has to hear it from me then send him to my office at the end of my shift. His schedule will allow it."

"How long are you hooked up to Ratchet's toy?"

"He has not supplied me with an approximate duration or end date. He's annoyed with me for not taking better care of myself and seems to think that it will force me to recharge more often, least it trigger a response," I continue the lie after beginning with a true statement.

Smokescreen hums with his consideration. "That sucks. I'll let Blue know but we both know he's going to talk to you anyways." He stands and walks to the door as I step aside so he can leave. "Keep us up-to-date. I'd hate to pull the older brother routine on you."

"You would not. You've never hated that routine. I seem to recall a few mechling-hood calls while we attended different schools where you tried it." The memories usually held some fondness in them and I'm sure I'd relive that sensation now if it wasn't blocked by medication. Probably for the best given my luck lately.

"Too true, although it would dampen my reputation as the nastier underhanded brother." He smirks. "Maybe I'll get Jazz to teach me how to hack into your quarters so I can ambush you without observers."

"Do that and I'll remind you that, despite being the older brother, you do not have the rank to overrule me."

"You wouldn't," he turns my words on me.

Unbeknownst to him that without my spark feedback I easily could pull rank without regretting any negative family effects. "Try it and we will see."

He chuckles and leaves. "Yeah yeah."

I sit down at my desk as the interaction replays in my mind while I muse the benefits of Ratchet's incomplete solution to what he considers a problem. It'll be interesting observing the differences when I chose when and how much I felt emotions versus what Ratchet's methods allow. I suppose we will see where his intentions align with my stoic side.

|/\/\/\|

Almost two deca-orns later Ratchet and his team hadn't solved the issue. I never informed them of the overly effective filter; instead, I only told them it's the chips' failures of wearing off ahead of the expected duration. Unfortunately that part was true so I couldn't easily lie to them at that point thanks to my spark's protesting, a series of energy bursts/snaps depending on its touchiness over the conversation, only carefully omit. Out of curiosity and a need to understand the effects of my new reality I ran simulations from my battle computer when the filters weren't in place and when they were; from the results I could only conclude that my battle computer was obstructed to some degree by my spark. In part it's fascinating how that's a possibility, let alone the calculable differences. According to my battle computer my spark slows it down as much as 5.88% during exercises. Curious, I wonder how it affects other areas.

The cooling blanket started losing its effect around the same period, unfortunately. The signs of a suffering spark repeatedly triggering high demands on the sensors, Ratchet groused. He warned me he'd put me on medical leave if he thought it would do some good but I have the personality of "someone who'd stress about not getting to stress." Since I did not tell him the strain was likely due to being unheard he believed it was from the malfunctioning sensors. Maybe that was part of the problem but I doubt it's the primary contributor.

My doorwings were completely healed a deca-orn ago, save the minor discoloration that I convinced Wheeljack to paint over. I didn't risk asking Hoist, least he protest about waiting to fully heal. There's a chance the discoloration will heal over time whenever my self-repairs activate over something else but I'm indifferent to that. Continued use of self-repairs consume more energon, which means a slight increase in Rec Room visits. No thank you.

For some reason I couldn't bring myself to remove Jazz's cane-styled stick from my subspace. My spark panged unpleasantly and it caused a strange heaviness in my arms when I tried, and when I tried again during its forced silence my battle computer rejected the attempt as well. Since I don't have a close combat weapon my battle computer demanded that it stays for emergency situations that guns would not be optimal.

The argument wasn't something I expected. Tacticians shouldn't require close combat weapons unless they're doing a very poor job of directing guards along the command line or a mission goes improbably wrong. Then again, if I had a close combat weapon Ravage's attack would've likely been unsuccessful. The vast differences between where I am now and where I would be are not lost on me.

So far from not being lost on me, in fact, that after I came to that conclusion I can't recharge. My battle computer is now focused on it with an infinite loop of what might have been if I hadn't assumed my level of expertise in tactical command and shelter wouldn't leave me vulnerable in a battle, or that the enemy hadn't thought to destroy the major asset of a battle computer highly integrated with a high-ranking officer's processor. In battle I focus on keeping those in the direct line of fire safe in addition to find immediate solutions for those within fist-striking range so they gain the upper hand. These are concepts I understand and I can apply them in real time at a distance, but they are not a reality I understand. From that naivety I ended up here, unable to recharge and looking to execute a secret plan that will likely involve self-performed surgery.

The battle computer has an answer, though. Aside from being unable to execute the plan at this time, I can fix the restlessness while working to reduce the chances of an enemy gaining control like Ravage did. All of the other officers should be recharging, except for Ironhide who's on this deca-orn's officer rotational shift. He's on duty so it won't be an issue.

I slip away to the training area until I reach the room in the furthest back corner. This room is completely isolated, even soundproof, save the emergency comm. It's reserved for officers only should they want to train, provide special one-on-one training, or use more physical means of simulating events. It's isolated for any sessions that include classified data. No one will know I'm here unless they catch me by chance or see the tiny "Occupied. User: Prowl" digital door display. Since no officer is both off-duty and online, no one - and by that I mean Jazz or Ironhide - will check.

Secured in the room I searched through Jazz's databank for his training programs when checking out raw potential for Special Ops. I find an easy program with a section on close combat. I skipped the program so it started at the combat portion. In my pre-Autobot life I knew close combat reasonably well but that training and knowledge is ill-fitted for the violently underhanded mass attacks we face now. When the fake Stunticon-like Decepticon emerged from the wall as desert battleground hologram took over the room, my systems immediately rushed to a high-alert state and my hands practically pulsed with a need to react. Time to decide to wait for the fake Decepticon frontliner to attack or I attack first.

Which is better? Before any indecisiveness can influence me my battle computer presses upon me which is best and the follow-through. First and foremost is that a Decepticon frontliner will always be stronger than me. Leverage and distance is a must. I take out my stick and use it as a staff, glad it's somewhat reinforced.

As soon as the Decepticon was within my staff's striking distance I acted as instructed by the battle computer. Fake jab to its right shoulder, swing the staff under its left arm's attempted block, and drive the edge into the left side of its mid section. My attack succeeds, causing the Decepticon to crunch inward. I continue with the battle computer's plan - except I was partly into the upward strike when the battle computer fired a new plan to adjust for the Decepticon's bodily torsion and low left kick.

My left shin is kicked out and I twist into my standing leg. The Decepticon brings its elbow down towards my head. My staff comes back to block the attack but the elbow only glances off of it and drives into the side of my helm instead of the middle. I crumble but manage to roll away in time to avoid the next kick. Rolling on doorwings is always a pained challenge.

I'm back up and the Decepticon stills due to Jazz's safety protocol whenever a mech's body hits the ground. It's just enough to regroup or allow Jazz to call out advice. In his place my battle computer provides a plan but now there are several contingency plans included to adjust for the 0.09 klik lag time between me seeing new execution changes and then the extra 1.9 klik for me to physically readjust. Well, if it's going to "act" like this by giving me several upfront plans to address my insufficient capabilities perhaps it would like to give this a try.

Immediately my battle computer supplies a plan about how it can use our integrated connection to heavily influence my processor and adjust my movements for me rather than have me do the same but with a two klik delay. It points out that if the two klik delay made a slight difference in a simulated one-on-one fight that existed for less than a breem, then additional considerations and compensations are in order to train for more serious situations.

That is an interesting proposal. The Decepticon is starting to slowly move again, its indicator that the safety delay protocol is ending. Alright battle computer, have it your way. Show me what you can do with my body.

The takeover sensation was strange, as if a liquid coolant flowed over my processor and then solidified as it melded with the connections inside my entire processor. The Decepticon moved quickly into a lunge but one arm back to grab or swing for me should I/we try moving out of its trajectory.

My legs dropped into a tight coiled crouch, my body tilted forward, my doorwings tucked into a streamline position, and my staff pulled up along the centerline of my body but tilted out. In a flash my body launched, striking the Decepticon hard in the shoulder and pulling the staff sideways to shove it off balance. My peds slide and my weight shifts to the front leg, allowing my body to twist the staff around and slam it into the Decepticon's back. It went down and the program stopped. The goal was achieved.

The sensation disappeared and I regained control without any issue. There was no struggle, just a nearly undetectable transition. The strangest piece wasn't my body readily answering to commands I didn't actively authorize but that it was easier than me acting as a middle mech of sorts. All of the movements were things I would have done but the fluidity and speed was amazing. The battle computer supplied me with a calculation of 6.03% increase in attack efficiency. How strange that number is approximately the same as the calculated efficiency loss when my spark is involved. In a way it's nearly a 12% positive increase. Those numbers and their relations are very interesting and I wonder what I can accurately deduce from the data.

An alert pops up reminding me that I need to recharge. That shouldn't be a problem anymore but my next recharge cycle will be shortened so I can try this again. It's a fascinating personal study about efficiencies with logic-based postulations.

|/\/\/\|

After a handful of private training sessions I found the results even more fascinating that I first postulated. It wasn't just because of the effects of giving it control. I also saw how a battle computer can operate if executed in the field instead of behind the lines. I wonder how it would handle a real close combat weapon, such as a long energy blade? First question is how to obtain one. My battle computer's suggestion of how to approach Wheeljack was not something I considered fully acceptable. I knew Wheeljack would have emotional conflictions since he knows I'm compromised (by his definition) and my battle computer can only supply so much without the full grasp of emotion. My spark refuses to assist, turning silent when I try using its reaction to gain the upper hand in persuading others. My battle computer soon found another solution by ordering one from Cybertron, marking it as a priority training tool for the frontliners. The order included putting instructions to store it in one of my freight shipments so I could build training simulations after examining it, thus circumventing any probing at why a frontliner tool would be in my supplies, and preventing someone from finding it when doing intake inventory checking. I did my own inventory. Perhaps when I have it I can remove Jazz's stick and put my table back together.

As for the personal relationships, Jazz and I slowed down to a glacial pace now that I did not require his assistance or felt the need for emotional support, save the times before I visited Medbay. Eventually I determined that it frustrated him but I did not give into his persistence. He didn't demand any answers from me, only often reminding me that he was there if I wanted to talk. I still allow him to visit me during our breaks to avoid pushing him to the ends of his frustration and finding out what that looked like.

I pretended to give into my cousin-brothers concerns by updating them on the fake continual punishment from Ratchet over the monitor. I'm hoping to convince Ratchet of several changes during my upcoming post-shift checkup. He doesn't have scheduled maintenance after the primary shift and I made sure to put his frequent visitors on split-shifts so they couldn't cause him problems during the primary or secondary shifts. They complained but their uninteresting words went unheeded.

"I'm here Ratchet," I announced upon arriving for the post shift check-in.

"Yippee, my orn is suddenly brighter," he blithely greeted me with a sarcastic flippant hand gesture.

I waited until we were once again standing in the private room before saying with a flat voice, "I take it no progress today?" I tried faking disappointment but my spark put up its usual whining protest again so I opted to avoid intonation completely.

"Nothing of effect that satisfies Perceptor or me. Let's get this over with so I can drink some high-grade with Wheeljack to complain what a nuisance you've become. We wouldn't be having this sensor failure problem if you told me vorns earlier."

"Your continual thoughts of me give me hope." And damn it, it did. Well, namely his words caused my spark's energy to flourish with the light fluttering I associate with hope.

I carefully approach my intensions by first continuing to remark about his declaration. "Not to mention the strength you give me from your 'bravery' in telling the officer responsible for reprimands about your intentions with contraband, given that said officer hasn't authorized its use. However, I have something more important to discuss with you so I'll overlook that concern for now." I widened my stance and gave Ratchet a square look. "I wish to discuss some changes with you regarding your approach to your plans for me."

"Oh do tell, Commander Non-Medical Reprimander," he replied sardonically.

"This monitor is garnering unnecessary attention. Since you still insist that I wear a monitor of sorts, I thought perhaps you could replace it with a discrete instrument that accomplishes your goal, preferably blending it with my paint job." Stop complaining, spark. I can tell that it's displeased by the shrinking sensation, followed by more small bursts from its protest. After Ratchet's point of its growing energy with happiness I determined that its shrinking energy was a form of complaint, disappointment, or sadness (while anger-base emotions result in tightening its energy field). My involuntary responses also usually helped me decipher which one since disappointment and sadness had their own repeated responses. Unfortunately those involuntary responses were not immune to medically-induced spark silence. Neither was the processor ache waiting to rush in and take the place of the waning medical chip.

Ratchet's optics narrowed and his mouth twitched while he contemplated my request. "I suppose that's reasonable and less likely to cause someone asking me if our SIC is worse off than he's letting on. I'm pretty sure I have a monitoring chip with a plain white plate cover, about the size of a minibot finger, that will notify me if you do anything I don't want you doing. Should be in storage. It still makes sounds so it's not entirely undetectable, but that's only if you do something stupid."

"A plain monitoring chip is acceptable. I also have one more request. You said that I could administer my own medication if the situation permits. Given that this is the third day that you've complained about a lack of progress, it may be of benefit if I continue the plateau'd progress on my own rather than interrupt your efforts."

"I'll consider it. I would enjoy a break from seeing your face every day and you're starting to depress First Aid."

More spark twists. I'm looking forward to that processor medication chip. "Why?"

"The lack of progress is getting to his caring side. You'd think working with me would've cut that down."

"Then perhaps you shouldn't have involved him," I point out while ignoring his last sentence.

"And have to chose between non-routine treatments and your messed up health?" he scoffed. "Perceptor and Wheeljack are both busy with Project Fix Prowl as well as their other projects. Fine, you can administer your own medications. If we have any progress someone here will give you those meds. While you're doing your own meds you are to call Medbay's comm. line and tell whichever of us that answers about any changes or not changes."

Excellent. We get through the treatment with Ratchet explaining how to insert the needle from my reference point. Once I've succeeded he nods and excuses himself. "I'll get you three days worth and go find that monitor chip."

Ratchet moves out of sight, probably heading to his long-term storage area. I slip out, aware that my "accidental" excess medical order is keeping First Aid busy. Originally my plan called for doing this with First Aid because he's not suspicious but he wouldn't leave my side, so I gave him a reason to not be here. I move silently but quickly to Ratchet's closet for rarely used tools. I search for his old tool to pry armor loose as well as tools for snaking wires out. Upon finding the best candidates for my plans I subspaced them. I barely slip back to my berth before Ratchet appears while the sadness in my spark becomes muted. I fight my involuntary frown and doorwing slight droop sothe suspicious medic can't observe any of them and demand answers.

"Sit still while I change these out. Swapping the monitors out means the wires need to be disconnected at the monitor's interface, so that'll be a chore," he begrudges the effort. After a few breems he attaches the chip to my upper arm. He threatens, "Don't think I won't know if you try something or if you get worse."

"Understood. I shall leave you to your 'mid-grade' as a thank you for changing those out." I left and headed straight to my quarters, ignoring the need for a second ration of energon. I locked my door and the second lock I added to avoid any hackers. It's a simple locking pin that prevents the door from moving. Back when I allowed my spark partial influence on my terms it always rejected the idea of extra efforts of shutting others out. I permitted it because I was the one making the choice to work with my spark. Now things are differently and I adjust as needed to keep some resemblance of control.

"Time to be free of pain," I whisper aloud. With the medical chip fully effective I cautiously pry loose my armor that covered my chassis to the right side of my spark chamber. Perceptor's medication effectively stops all pain from registering in my processor, including that which would otherwise require medical stasis. Despite the uncontrolled tremors I prevail by prying those pieces only enough that my under carriage mirror will see it. I can later reset the armor easily.

When Ratchet installed the new detection chip I watched him carefully to make sure I knew which wire was its power source. While he worked I noticed him place an alarm node over the wire's attachment at the chip, likely to inform him if I tried disconnecting and offlining the chip directly. Checking the wires by color codes found the wire attached to my neuro-net for electricity, rather than an actual spark sensor. That end didn't have an alarm node. Using my mirror and the wire snake I detached that first. My lack of surgical skills nicked my neuro-net but not significantly. I felt the involuntary violent flinch at the nick but luckily I did not cause additional harm.

I used the armor pry's reattachment tooling piece to reset my armor and then I subspaced the tools again. After half a joor of waiting to see if Ratchet detected the power loss my battle computer calculated the risk of Ratchet's appearance. It is 3.72% likely that it sent a transmission, but in that case it's also highly probable Ratchet missed the transmission due to his recreational choice. That's acceptable by the battle computer's stastical confidence interval.

It's time to finish my plan. I pry the armor that covers the intruding wires, focusing on minimal efforts. I memorize the path in the event I'm forced to return the intruders. Memorization complete, I use the wire snake and mirror to slowly remove each sensor wire. When the last wire was gone I turned off all spark sensors.

I'm leaving the power source attached in case Ratchet checks but since it's only a change detector it shouldn't be an issue. I hide the freed wires in a drawer rather than have the intruders hover by me in my subspace. I reconnect the power wire very carefully and then put the armor back. Both tools are tucked into my subspace in case I can put them back in Medbay to avoid the 2.68% chance that a medic will need them.

For a moment I revel in the knowledge that even when the medication fails I'll be free of the emotions and pain I didn't want. I'll be free of the processor aches.

Once I controlled my emotional experiences, and so long as I had that control I didn't mind the small struggles. That was taken from me so now I'm taking it completely back. Right now I'm choosing to be free of the accompanying problems I recently discovered and suffered.

I'm 96.54% confident that my battle computer and logic-driven processor will be able to find an effective approach to virtually all situations I cross. Now happiness can't hurt me anymore.

|/\/\/\|

Almost four deca-orns passed while I lied to the medical team about the effectiveness of the medication. At one point they had to cease their efforts due to a battle that left a handful of Autobots missing armor, but my battle computer did save them from existing as actual scraps of armor. When the team started back up I told them their efforts were slowly progressing. It keeps them from becoming completely frustrated and doing something more drastic. They allow me to keep doing the treatment on my own, which I do in case they decide to involve themselves before it'd run out. It doesn't change anything for me.

I rely almost exclusively on my battle computer and the logic center melded in my processor. Reading and playing chest lost some of their thrill after a while because my battle computer found both activities too passive in nature. Rather when I'm alone I continue using the officers' training area to practice close combat at my discretion with my new energy blade. I'm giving the battle computer the freedom to physically act out its calculations as a soldier instead of me issuing orders to the holographic soldier simulations on its behalf. I never realized how much I held it back. The blade was almost a set back as well since it was a mere training tool; a glamorized physical sword with a searing energy field along the blade. A well-placed strike would hurt tremendously but never kill and unlikely even maim.

After applying the useless medication upon onlining from a short recharge, now mandatory since I train while the other same-shift officers recharge, I start my shift. I'm barely two steps in my office when my doorwings pick up a presence in the far corner. "Hello, Jazz. What are you doing here this early?" I inquire as I glide to my chair. "Shouldn't you be engaging the forces to determine the morale?"

He steps out from his cornered leaning position and sits in a chair. "Thought I'd catch you early."

"I presume you mean early for you rather than me. To what purpose?"

"To the purpose I'm concerned about you." I raise my optic ridge, motioning him to continue. "According to sources, I hear you aren't doing so well in the progress of getting back your full self."

My full self? 'You mean my hindered self,' I silently correct while sitting down. "I appreciate the concern but there is nothing you can do so burdening yourself with concerns will not be of any use."

"Burdening myself?!" he snaps and leans into my desk. "I am not burdening myself. I am caring about a friend in dire need, even if he refuses to acknowledge it. Either you want this and it's failing you, or you don't want it like you told me deca-orns ago but you haven't told them. Neither one of those is okay."

"My situation is hardly dire. Being on the verge of total annihilation, Decepticon rule, or permanently offlining are dire. I am merely apathetic to the situation and the perceptions others have about me."

His facial expressions fluctuate with small smiles and frowns before settling on neutral, save some tightness in his lips. "How can you be apathetic to the situation? Do you include me in your apathy to the 'perceptions' and cares of others? Is that why you haven't said anything more to me?"

"If I were apathetic to you I wouldn't partake in non-work conversations, such as now. I haven't said anything because I am observing changes at this point. Gathering data. All of that said, however, if this is all you came for I'd appreciate you allowing me to start my shift. I will see you during our 'lunch' break, as you call it." I folded my hands on my desk to impress upon him the professionalism.

"Uh, no. That's not all." He carefully sits down and tentatively reaches across the desk to place his hand over mine, ignoring my professionalism attempt. "I also wanted to talk to you about how things going on between you and your brothers. Smokescreen and I had a few offhand chats. I know you haven't told them, and while I don't agree with the decision I will respect it. That means you can't talk about your thoughts regarding what could happen between them and you.

"Let's say you do want Ratchet's help, maybe you just aren't comfortable bring up for your own reasons. What are you going to do about your brothers? Will you explain the surgery? How will you explain your post-surgery changes? Things are going to be different no matter what."

"I hadn't thought that far, truthfully." My battle computer's primary focus is how to drag everything out until it loses priority on their list of urgent projects. I do not approve of a project called "Project Fix Prowl." All other plans are still being worked whenever my battle computer has idle time.

"Why not?"

"What would I say? Smokescreen may handle the news acceptably but Bluestreak would not. He has no knowledge of anything, and this requires knowledge of almost everything. I don't want Blue to know anything more painful then he's already lived through." I knew that as a certainty. At times when I was younger and still getting use to Bluestreak's personality I wanted to push him away. I could never bring myself to actually say that to those hopeful optics. Memories of those times started flowing but I disrupted them before they could make any impact.

Jazz chewed the bottom of his lip. "Maybe tell Smokey and seek his advice how to tell Blue? They'd support you no matter what."

True, but if they knew that I wanted no part in this I think they'd be very sad. Blue especially so.

"You okay?"

"Sorry?" I ask.

"You twitched your doorwings downward and you looked troubled. Sometimes you act differently than what you feel, though, so I thought I'd just ask."

"I'm merely thinking about how Blue would react. I don't think Smokescreen can provide anything more effective than I can, but I can ask him when it's time."

"But you don't know when it's time," he pointed out.

"Very true. Thank you for your consideration, Jazz," I kindly thank while pulling my hands free. "If you truly wish to continue speaking about the matter, then let's put it off for later." Doing so will allow my battle computer to come up with a suitable distraction.

"Alright. See you later."

I get through the first half of my shift, followed by Jazz's and my successfully-uneventful break, and then restarted my shift. Almost a quarter of it left I received a comm. ping. ::Yes, Ratchet?::

::Come down to Medbay as soon as you're free.::

::Why? Is there a new treatment?::

::Yes and more. Wheeljack has finally come up with a solution for the time being. I'm still working on my main plan but this should make things better than what you're going through now.::

I sincerely doubt that. ::Don't leave me in suspense.::

::He's built three sensors that should be similar to the way your custom sensors were before they started failing, back when they were fresh off your friend's workbench. We finished our tests and everything comes out perfectly. Took awhile to figure out how to test them but Perceptor got it. I expect you down here at the end of your shift so I can replace them. AND Perceptor is satisfied with his medical cocktail after compiling way too much of your reported data into really complex equations and codes. I dare say he's even smug about it.::

Immediately my battle computer starts processing the information as fast as it can, throwing out simulated risks and scenarios while looking for solutions. The speed and rapid output feels like panic. It finds only one solution with acceptable odds of success. ::I must work two joors past my shift to finalize scheduling issues that several mechs brought up after an intense argument, evidently.::

Ratchet growled a muttered curse. ::Fine, then I expect you two joors and five breems past the primary shift.::

::I will see you then.::

I force my battle computer to slow its calculations until it returns to its normal state as we wait out the shift end. I hastily leave to avoid running into Jazz, Prime, or anyone else coming off the same shift. I make it to my quarters and lock it twice before heading to my drawer. Luckily I never got rid of the tools. Unpleasant as it is for me, I must rewire these to the individual sensors. It'll be cumbersome to attach all with my untrained medical efforts but it's that or be caught.

After 1.24 accumulated joors of disconnecting the power wire (and nicking the neuro-net again) and slowly performing the efforts backwards based on my memorization files, I triple check all attached sensor wires. I don't know what will happen when I turn back on the sensors. The medication is theoretically still in my system but that's a theory based on deca-orns of lies. After cycling all of my vents a few times I turn on the sensors.

Immediately I fall forward as my spark overwhelms me from being heard again. The pain is intense, emotions endlessly flowing and flooding my processor like multiple faucet failures, with the filters having absolutely no effective.

The emotions… I can't grasp them all. They are flying through my processor and it causes a processor ache in record time. My chest burns from the sensors heating up from the wildly flaring energy, the cooling blanket ineffective against the rapid temperature rise. I can't do this; I have to turn them off!

But I can't! Not with Ratchet waiting for me. If I don't make it for now, I won't be able to remove it later because he'll know. I focus hard on my hands to keep them shaking so I can finish but the tremors won't completely cease. I stumble the short distance to my empty far corner where there's a cooling vent so I can curl up in the corner and allow the vented force air to blow over my chassis and frame. My intake vents work at maximum power to draw the cold air into my frame until everything becomes cold, inside and out. The freezing sensation not only allows my circulation system to cool even my overheating processor but it becomes a welcome distraction.

Everything begins to calm down until I have enough mind to check my internal chronometer. I have less than 0.3 joors to make to Ratchet before he becomes mad or suspicious. At least my hands stopped shaking, although they're a little stiff from the cooled plating. It's enough control to let me finish by attaching the power wire and pressing my armor back into place.

I stand up, my knees start quivering despite the stiff hip struts. I push forward from the wall, focusing all my strength on walking and controlling my body to not give away my sudden bodily control issues.

I almost keel over as I see the Medbay doors, my efforts more taxing than I expected and draining my energy fast. It takes everything I have to press on through and greet Ratchet as if everything is the same since my pre-shift check-in comm. "You look pleased."

He wears his own smug smile and crossed arms, one hand's fingers moving with a slow and deliberate tap. "Finally some real success. Plus I've got the materials I need pinned down on Cybertron to build my processor tools. With Prime's signature and his high-priority stamp, I dare say I'll have everything here within the deca-orn; maybe within half a deca-orn."

No, no, no. There will be pain, I know it. How would it last once the connection is permanent? My spark is reacting but I can't read the meanings anymore. Too much input, I can't sort it out. I almost grit out, "I will be very interested in your progress. Keep me up to date when I comm. you the details of my daily pre- and post-shift debriefs."

"Oh no, you'll be in here for those from now until Wheeljack has built the tools. I'll be checking these new sensors and medication to make sure everything is exactly what we plan, including the sensors being accepted by your body."

"Intriguing," is all I can come up with as a response to Ratchet's idea of good news.

"It's beyond intriguing, you underplaying fragger. Now let's get you into my Prowl room." He practically pushes me into the area he dubbed my room since I'm its biggest repeat visitor, clearly excited about it being close to the end of his frustration. It's close to the beginning of a life in the Pit for me. He wastes no time putting me in stasis.