Yay! I'm back! Sorry about the wait, but you know life- it always gets in the way! I hope you enjoy the chapter! It's one wild ride of intensity! And super long to the tenth degree!
Perceptor- Yes, he has had an apparent shift in size. I am perfectly aware of his normal mech size in the G1 series; there is no need to remind me. Yes, I've stuck him in a microbot frame, but I', just trying to add some variety to the story; when you have three size classes, normal to huge size, minibot, and microbot, you can't expect everyone to go for the same size. But, if anyone is curious, Perceptor's stature would stand at a head shorter than Arcee, placing him at eight feet tall.
CR Chambers- Cryogenic Regeneration chambers. The idea was gifted to me by lady tecuma, so all brownie points go to her!
D-class and B-class low-grade- A system devised for differentiating the different energy levels of medical-issue low-grade, seeing as some bots would be weaker than other when they came in and could only handle so much energy. D is the lowest energy level, A being the highest.
Alpha-class virus- yeah, another system of categorizing something, this time being weaponized viruses. Alpha-class is the most severe category to be infected with since it is a rapid self-replicating search-and-destroy program meant for a relatively quick but painful deactivation. The naming scheme follows on through the Greek alphabet because I am terribly unimaginative.
Thank You Corner is brought to you by "Reviewers"- the people who make writing this story worth it. I just wish to thank the few of you who took the time to give a little review; my heart always soars when I see someone enjoyed my work! Thank you sincerely to lady tecuma, Bluebird Soaring, theshadowcat, Litahatchee, VAwitch, and Violet Light. You people are awesome!
And on a further note; dedication to this chapter goes to wise lady tecuma and the kind Violet Light for putting up with me while I whined. A lot of ideas were bounced off of them in preparation for this chapter and future ones. I can never thank you two enough!
The firing range, for all intents and purposes, did not look like a firing range anymore.
In fact, it didn't look like much of anything any more.
The walls, once worn grey metal, were now riddled with smoking, black impact craters, shards of silver drones, and long, seared lines of super heated slag left behind in the wake of furious volleys of rapid plasma cannon fire. There were only two working lights left in the room, the rest being shot out long before, leaving the room cast in dim ambience that caused shadows to lurk in the crevices of frames and optics to glow bright against the polished metal of faceplates.
The floor was torn up, wires and energon piping bent up and exposed to the furious atmosphere of the room. Benches that once lined the far wall were now tossed across the room, several embedded in the walls, one appearing to have been snapped in half and melted to slag.
The holo-emitters in the room had long ago fritzed out from their extensive overuse. All the practice-battle drones and target drones had been shot and destroyed beyond any comprehensible repair. Twitching parts and ashen scrap piles lay littered around the room haphazardly.
Quite literally, the firing range looked like it had been to the pit and back.
At the epicentre of the destruction laid Ironhide and Chromia- too tangled up in each to acknowledge the devastation they'd wrought on the room around them.
Spread out on the blackened floor with her chassis open, Chromia lay beneath Ironhide like a vision of perfection. Deliciously wanton, her frame undulated to the slow, sensual rhythm that her sparkmate had set. As he moved above her, worshipping her frame in the way she deserved, he memorized her; every low moan that escaped her vocal processor was committed to his memory banks, every roll of dusky-blue armor stored safely away.
Forever would the image of his sparkmate be burned into his processor, with her optics shuttered in rapture and her frame arched high against his.
Her small hands dug into his armor, grasping at the ridges as if he were the only solid thing left in her world. Her vents were gasping hot breaths of air across his frame, eliciting a hungry revving from deep with Ironhide's open chassis. There was sensuality in every movement she made, her fighting spark blazing bright and hot in her spark case.
She did nothing to stop her bonded as he loomed over her, pinning her to the floor with his frame.
Briefly, her optics flickered open, searching Ironhide's faceplate with wanton lust. A single hand disentangled itself from its place in his shoulder plating, falling to his open chassis and grabbing the edge, dragging her sparkmate closer.
"I said I wanted forever, Ironhide, not for you to take forever!" she hissed, her vocal processor crackling from overuse. She had been made to scream a few times in the last two orns.
Ironhide rumbled above her, sending rippling vibrations through her entire frame. "Enjoy it while it lasts, femme. We're not going to have much of this in the future," he murmured, concentrating on dipping his exposed spark close to his sparkmate's. Her internals revved loudly, cooling fans whining in attempts to keep up with burning systems.
"Don't say that! Don't ruin this, 'Hide!" she gasped, her frame shaking uncontrollably.
"Then mute it and I won't have to ruin it," he growled.
She reached out through their bond, using teasing astral fingers to bring him to the very precipice of an overload. He growled, pushing back through the bond. A static shriek ripped from her vocal processor. A low, rumbling vibration of satisfaction swept from his frame into hers.
They tangled together, forgetting where one ended and the other began. It was all One now; a blur of sensation and heat, pounding pumps and grating metal as their frames pressed closed to each other. Strong arms were crushing Chromia's slight frame; she was enveloped in the heavy black armor, drawn into the hot, growling inner world of her sparkmate, folded close, as if he never wished to let her go.
Waves of desire clashed against each other as tides of lust and wanting ebbed and flowed powerfully through one being into the other.
Chromia dragged herself upwards to thrust her entire exposed spark into the open cavity of Ironhide's spark case. The scant distance between their frames was killing her. She wanted to immerse herself in her sparkmate's being. She wanted to feel his every thought, every desire. She wanted to lose herself in him and never be found.
He was overwhelming her by his sheer presence alone.
He watched with deep satisfaction as his mate writhed on the floor. He memorized her. He dipped his spark into hers and memorized her from the inside out. She was fiery and powerful and ready to rip him to shreds if he didn't get the show on the road, but he loved every aspect of her. He wanted to cherish her like she was the most treasured, rare jewel in the universe. He didn't want to leave her.
Through the bond, Chromia was growing frantic for the long awaited overload. Her presence grew into the quick, frenzied darting of a caged animal. She was calling to him, pleading with him, to give her release. She began to fight him. Trying to force him to move faster, touch her sensitized wires and exposed spark case. Her hands were clawing at him now, dragging thin scratch lines through Ironhide's black-as-pitch paint.
'Ironhide! Ironhide, dammit, I don't think I can last much longer!' She screamed through the bond. The wash of intense sensations she flooded her sparkmate with nearly sent him over the edge. 'I think I'm going to have a meltdown before an overload!'
'You wanted me, you got me. Quit complaining.' He replied.
The femme underneath him revved furiously. Venomous hissing issued from her vents as she arched herself so high that she was endanger of snapping in half.
Both were oblivious to the pounding on the firing range door.
"Slag it, you two! Open this door THIS INSTANT!" Red Alert yelled, pounding his fists loudly against the unforgiving metal, cursing the fact that all his shouting was for nothing. The firing range was sound proof. And locked. He continued his barrage on the door nonetheless. "Dammit, OPEN UP!"
He'd been out there for easily half a joor, demanding uselessly for the occupants of the room to come out. He's tried accessing the room's controls, but it was made clear that they DID NOT want to be disturbed when Chromia's encryptions threw him out. She had done one pit of a job on locking the systems down. It even gave him quite a nasty shock to his systems before it ejected him.
"You've been in there for nearly two whole orns! That's long enough! Come out with your weapons deactivated or I'll be forced to blast the door in!"
The pneumatic hiss of another range's door sliding open down the hall was completely missed by the fritzing Security Director as he continued his tirade against the unresponsive door.
Jazz perked up curiously as he watched Red Alert throw what appeared to be a tantrum. A grin stretched across the saboteur's faceplate as he nudged his companion. "Wonder what's up wit' him?"
Prowl scanned the mech carefully, trying to make sense of the illogical behaviour. "He looks to be fully functional, physically..."
Jazz laughed. "Ya sayin' he's finally flipped his lid in the ol' noggin' then?" he asked. The tactician shot him a hard look; though Red Alert was infamous for being strung a little tighter than most mechs, he normally had a good head on his shoulders.
Jazz turned his attentions back to Red Alert, finally noticing what door he was banging on. "Ain't that where old 'Hide and Chromia are hiding?"
Prowl quirked an optic ridge as the Security Director starting kicking the door. "Yes, it is, but what would Red Alert want with them? Optimus gave us strict orders to leave them be for now."
The Special Ops officer slanted his companion a sly grin. "Maybe Firestar is takin' up too much o' Inferno's time an' Red's lookin' ta get some action from somewhere else?"
"I hardly think that's the case," Prowl replied, deadpanned.
They watched for a few breems, puzzling over the conundrum of why Red Alert would be kicking and shouting at a shielded and sound proof room.
Was Jazz's assumption right and Red Alert had finally cracked from all the pressure he put himself under? Or had something happened while they were holed up in their own combat simulation? The training ranges of Iacon wereunder several blanketing arrays, so an emergency could have arisen that they were unaware of. But, if that was the case, would it not make more sense to contact the second in command instead of the weapons specialist?
Curiosity getting the better of him, Jazz made his way toward the other mech. With a single digit, he tapped on the mech's shoulder, and then leapt away when Red Alert swung around in surprise. His optics shone bright, light blue as they settled on the shorter silver mech.
"Wuz'up, Red?" Jazz asked, offering a friendly grin to the fritzing bot.
"They're not coming out!" Red Alert announced loudly. He huffed exaggeratedly, taking a few steps away from the offending door so that he could glare at it. "I've been trying to get in there for over half a joor, but Chromia's put a multi-layered encryption code on the locking mechanism- I can't even get past the firewall without getting my circuits scrambled!"
"But ain't ya the Security Director for Iacon? Shouldn't ya be able ta override all that stuff?" Jazz asked.
A spasm crossed Red Alert's faceplate. He was well aware that he should've been able to get in, which made the fact that he couldn't get in worse. The encryptions that Chromia used were so vicious they could have easily been Decepticon codes- not surprising, since her function was to infiltrate Deception outposts.
"Has it ever occurred to you, Red Alert, that, perhaps they do not want to be disturbed?" Prowl asked. "I am quite aware that what they're doing is against almost every rule we have in place regarding the firing ranges, but Optimus has already issued orders for us not to disturb them while they are in there. I'm surprised you'd be the one to try and defy Prime's orders."
Red Alert's faceplate twitched again, making him appear as if he were in pain. "I'm down here on orders by Optimus to get them out of there!" he retorted.
Jazz cocked his head to the side. "Now why would Prime want ta do a thin' like that?"
Looking at a loss for immediate words, the mech just flailed his arms sporadically. "We've just received a distress signal, that's why!" he managed to get out after some difficultly.
Prowl and Jazz exchanged alarmed glances before turning their attentions back to Red Alert.
"From who? When did we receive it? Why was I not contacted right away?" Prowl asked, barrelling down on the distressed mech. Jazz could practically hear the circuits in Red's processor overloading as he tried to process each rapidly issued question.
Carefully, the saboteur intervened before something blew in the poor mech's head. "Hey, calm down, Red, 'fore ya have a meltdown," he said calmly. "An' Prowl, take a few paces back 'fore ya stress the poor mech into stasis." He pushed Prowl away so that the tactician was not bearing down on the stressed Security Director.
Red Alert still looked like he was on the brink of shutting down, but at least he was out from under the critical optic of the second in command.
Carefully, Jazz activated his magnetic fields, placing his hands on the mech's arms to help keep him calm. "Now take it from the top; who sent the distress signal?"
The mech vibrated under the saboteur's touch, like he was ready to jump out of his own armor. "The Ark. It was attacked in the Black Expanse. Blaster picked up the distress signal exactly twenty seven breems and thirteen astroseconds ago. Rescue teams have already been deployed to rendezvous with the ship and bring it in."
Jazz's spark fluttered in fear. "The- the Ark?" he spluttered. He dropped his grip on Red Alert as if he'd been burned. "Is ev'ryone alright? Bee-? Magnus-?"
Prowl shouldered Jazz out of the way, fixing Red Alert with a hard stare. "Why wasn't I contacted immediately over this matter? If the Ark that has been attacked, than I would expect Optimus to see it fit to inform his second in command of the matter- not his weapons specialist."
Red Alert's internals revved in frustration; he had only been ordered down to the training level to collect Ironhide. He had no idea how to deal with Prowl! "I… I-uh-."
"What is so important about this distress signal that Optimus has seen it fit override his previous privacy orders regarding Ironhide and Chromia to have them dragged out of that range instead of coming to me first?" Prowl raised his optical ridge expectantly, waiting with a hard silence for Red Alert's answer.
Again, Red Alert looked at a loss. He look a slow drag of air through his intakes, and then blew it out through his vents- one of the many calming techniques that Beachcomber was trying to instil in the high-strung mech.
"Optimus wants Ironhide to be there because something happened during the assault. The Decepticons that attacked apparently had viral capabilities-." Quickly, Jazz and Prowl exchanged grim, worried expressions. Again, Red Alert took a calming drag of air through his intakes; he was preparing himself. "Arcee was infected."
"Frag," Jazz hissed, his claws clenching against the wall he'd splayed his hand against for support. In all the saboteur's time in Special Ops, he'd seen his fair share of viral warfare. He, and every other soldier in Special Ops, was trained in the utilization of weaponized viruses, should any of their missions ever call for the system they were hacking to be wiped out permanently. It was his own personal preference not to use them, though- they were without style; distasteful and ugly. A Decepticon method, not Autobot.
In all his vorns of experience with viral warfare, Jazz knew only one truth about it; viruses were dangerous. Period. It didn't matter how "minor" one was. A single strand of viral code could do some serious damage to a bot's processor.
"Is she alrigh'? What kind o' virus did the lil' fraggers tag her wit'?" the saboteur inquired harshly.
Red Alert shook his head irritably. "The virus was not specified in the transmission. She's in critical condition, though."
"Arcee was Ironhide's apprentice, was she not?" Prowl asked. His logic center was now easily putting the pieces of the puzzle together; it was becoming clear why Ironhide would be contacted before himself.
"Yes. That's why Optimus wants him there when the ship comes in. It's better that he's there and knows, instead of finding out second hand later on. Should the latter happen in place of the former, he'd tear all of Iacon apart." Red Alert gestured to the control panel to the side of the range's entrance. "But the controls are locked- I can't get in."
"Maybe ya can't, but let's see what Ah can do," Jazz said, sliding up to the panel. "We got no time ta waste getting' those two petro-rabbits outta there." He drew aside the polished panel, drawing his interface cable and hooking up to the system. He flinched back as he immediately encountered the encryptions. Red was right, these codes of Chromia's sure had some bite.
Watching the saboteur sway discreetly, Prowl came up behind him to hold him around the waist, helping support him in case the encryptions fried something and threw him out.
"That's one doozey o' a firewall she's got up," Jazz hissed, leaning into Prowl. "Ah can see why ya had difficulties wit' it."
Red Alert watched anxiously, shifting from one foot to the other. "I don't see how you think you're going to get through when I couldn't. I know those systems like I know my own programming, and they are locked up tight."
"Ah ain't Special Ops fer nothin', y'know-." Suddenly, Jazz gave a random spasm, jerking away from the wall. His interface cable was spit from the wall, a few sparks spewing after it. Prowl caught the stumbling mech easily, supporting him against his own frame.
Jazz grinned crookedly, if not a little woozily. "Looks like ya don' know yer own programmin' so well, Red."
And so Pandora's Box was opened…
The hissing of the door opening caught Ironhide's immediate attention. He went rigid, growling.
Someone had broken Chromia's encryptions.
Without warning, he reared, twisting around to face the intruder. His chassis slammed closed angrily, and then his frame shifted to block the intruders' views of his exposed sparkmate. The loud, unmistakable whine of his plasma cannons charging filled the silent air.
Chromia froze below him, her optics flaring angrily. She. Was. So. Damn. Close! Frag Ironhide for working her up to the very brink of an overload and then just leaving her there!
The femme was about to kick her sparkmate to remind him that she was there, still waiting, when cool air from the outside hall brushed against her frame. She sensed the abrupt change in Ironhide's demeanour, her audios perking up to the sound of charging weapons. Instantly, her chassis were closed and her rifle was charging.
Who in the pit was dumb enough to disturb them?
Red Alert stood stock still in the entrance, silhouetted starkly by the blaring white lights of the hallway beyond. He was obviously taking in the damages wrought on the room, tallying everything from damaged lights to destroyed drones, calculating every infraction, preparing for the very, very long report he was going to have to write up.
Slowly, his gaze dragged across the room to rest on Ironhide's rigid frame. His optics dropped to the angrily glowing plasma cannons that targeted the center of his chassis.
Next to him, Jazz's head appeared. "Damn," he murmured in awe as he gazed about the destroyed range. "When ol' bots get busy, they sure do get busy."
Red Alert murmured a small sound like a whimper before keeling over. He hit the floor with a metallic clash.
Jazz stared down at the out cold mech, then up at Ironhide. "'Hide, I think you broke Red Alert-."
Something in Ironhide snapped. His whole frame tensed dangerously.
"GET THE FRAG OUT OF HERE!!"
"DUCK AND COVER!" Prowl roared, diving across the doorway to snatch both Red Alert and Jazz to safety. Hot on the mech's heels, blazing trails of plasma howled through the air, exploding against the far wall in an explosive display of fury. The metal wall buckled inward, several layers of plating melting clean through.
The ground shook dangerously with the pounding stomps of the irate weapons specialist as he came to loom in the entranceway of the firing range, his thick frame trembling with barely contained killing-rage. His optics were nearly red as he glared down at the three mechs sprawled on the floor, giving each of them a good look down the barrel of his charged cannon.
Red Alert, still out cold from his meltdown, gave a strange squeak.
Jazz raised his hands in defence, harbouring no desire to have his internals shot up one hallway and down the other. "Ya migh' wanna cool down, 'Hide 'fore some poor bot gets shot-."
"I'll give you until three to spit out one fragging good reason for interrupting us." Ironhide's voice was modulated into a low, furious growl, making it clear that if he received an answer he didn't like, they'd be eating supercharged plasma. "One."
Chromia prowled out of the range, her energy rifle already trained on the bots before her. "Three," she hissed, levelling the barrel to lie between Prowl's optics.
Prowl sighed in annoyance as he stared up at the pair of furious bots; they were not going to intimidate him with their histrionics, or their guns. "This is ridiculous; you're not going to shoot anyone, either of you. Put your guns away and calm down before I have you confined to the-."
Two clear shots rang through the hall, searing the air just above Prowl's head. The tactician froze instantly, his sensors registering the weapon that discharged was Chromia's double barrel energy rifle. She'd fired, but didn't hit him.
Jazz tipped his head back a little to see two burn holes in the wall just above the storm-grey mech's head; the shots had been close enough sear some paint off the top of the tactician's head.
"Don't you dare try to tell me to calm down, you data-pad pusher!"she snarled at him. Her frame was a blur as she swooped in close, pushing her faceplate uncomfortably close to the tactician's, holding up her index finger and thumb before Prowl's optics so that he could see they were only a little ways apart. "I was this close, Prowl, this close, and you had to ruin it!"
Prowl scrutinized the pair of digits, clearly uncomfortable with her proximity. "I- I see…" he responded lamely.
Jazz wormed his way between Chromia and Prowl, taking the femme's attention away from his companion and placing it solely on himself.
"Y'know, Chromia, if yer lookin' fer someone ta get after, it's Red here who was lookin' ta get into the range," he intoned lightly. "Or better yet, get after Prime; he's the one tha' wanted ta see ol' Hide. Prowler an' Ah got nothin' ta d wit' any o' this."
Chromia glared blackly, clearly under the impression that the infamously smooth-talking mech was lying.
Ironhide hesitated before lowering his cannons, offering the mechs at his mercy a very dark glare. "And what the pit does Prime want with me?" he growled. His cannons folded back into his arms. He nodded for Chromia to back off so that the two mechs could get off the floor. She hissed, but stood down, though her fiery glare continued to be focused solely on them.
Jazz jumped up quickly, and then stooped to help Prowl lift the frame of Red Alert over his shoulder. Once comfortably adjusted, the tactician turned to the pair of fuming bots, both of whom continued to glare at him darkly.
"According to Red Alert, Blaster picked up a distress signal not long ago, originating from the Ark. It was attacked within the Black Expanse by a team of unidentified Decepticons, one with apparent viral capabilities."
"Someone was infected, then." Ironhide rumbled darkly. It wasn't a question, it was statement.
"Yes," Prowl said, then paused. He weighed the decision of whether or not to tell Ironhide who had been infected. Ultimately, the weapons specialist was going to find out, so withholding the information now was pointless. "The marksfemme for the team, Arcee, was infected. Being that she was once your apprentice, Optimus most likely believed that you would want to know of this incident immediately, as well as be present when the ship came in."
All pretence of anger instantly evaporated, replaced with cold confusion as he struggled to comprehend. "Arcee was-?"
"Infected? Yes."
"Primus," Chromia hissed. Through their sparkbond, she felt the cold silvers of dread run through Ironhide's spark. Her own needs for satisfaction forgotten, Chromia felt the same ice-cold fear that threaded through her bonded. The cooling fans that had been working furiously to keep her systems from melting became an icy draft through her suddenly hollow feeling frame. Similarly, Ironhide's famously thick armor now felt thinner than paint gloss.
Ironhide glared beseechingly at Prowl. "Are you sure it was Arcee who was infected?" he asked, hoping beyond hope that his audio receptors were malfunctioning. His spark have a nasty lurch when Prowl nodded firmly.
"Yes, I am sure. There was no reason for Red Alert to lie about the identity of the infected individual, and it is unlikely the information pertaining to this would become convoluted in the span of time it took to get from the command center to here."
"Slag."
Both Ironhide and Chromia held a fondness in their sparks for the young femme.
It had been Chromia who'd trained Arcee when she'd first become an Autobot enlisted amongst the femme warriors. Having never had a youngling of her own, Chromia took to the young femme, looking after her as she grew accustomed to life as an Autobot. They even served together on the same infiltration team for a while.
Ironhide had stolen Arcee from Elita One's ranks the moment he saw the spark of sniper's talent in the femme. He took her in as one of his very own few apprentices, training her relentlessly. She excelled under his intensive training, her sniper skills growing to rival that of even Bluestreak's extraordinary skills.
An apprentice to both old bots she may have been, but they'd developed a soft spot for her spitfire self, caring for her as Creators would for their Creation.
Jazz queried a glance at the burly black mech. "Ya might wanna head up now, Hide," he said quietly. "The Ark'll be arrivin' any time now."
Chromia turned to the stunned mech at her side, reaching out for his arm. "Ironhide…"
He flinched from her touch, spinning around quickly. He left the corridor with little more than a hiss of hydraulics in his wake. Chromia watched him go with worried optics. She glanced back at the remaining mech, her optics darting between Prowl and Jazz.
"Go after him," Jazz offered. "We'll be righ' behind ya."
The damning crescendo of booming footfalls easily cut through Iacon's main hangar walls. Ratchet threw a disgruntled look over his shoulder towards the large, grey door behind him, and then turned back to shoot a glance up to Optimus.
"He's here," he deadpanned.
Optimus glanced toward the door as well, contemplating it as the thunderous stomping quickly drew near. "It sounds like Red Alert was able to relay to him all the available information," he said.
Ratchet sighed, shaking his head. "Much to our detriment," he replied. "We're the ones who will have to put up with him until the Ark arrives."
Elita One crossed her arms over her chassis. "Can you honestly blame him for his behaviour?"
Ratchet shot her a stubborn look. "Believe me; I can blame him for many things."
The femme rolled her optics. "He and Chromia were both mentors to Arcee when she was younger; they share a special bond with her. You'd have to be a sparkless glitch not to be able to see that they care for her."
"All I see is that he's causing more trouble then what we need at the moment. The damages Ultra Magnus detailed over his transmission concerning Arcee and Bumblebee were extensive, to say the least. I don't need that old loose cannon storming about with his plasma cannons charged while I try to repair the injured."
Optimus cocked his head to the side, staring down inquiringly at the medic. He broke into the conversation before his sparkmate responded. "And what would you have me do? Confine him to quarters, or perhaps lock him up in the brig?"
Ratchet huffed. "That would be a great help, actually."
"To you, maybe," Optimus intoned amusedly. "But the damages he would cause in the brig would be a lot of trouble for me to deal with."
The medic sniffed testily. "A fair trade."
Elita shook her head in annoyance. "Mechs," she breathed incredulously. "This is why I command femmes instead."
With an ominous hiss, the hangar doors opened wide to admit the rigid, burly form of Iacon's weapons specialist. His frame was heaving, fans whining, hydraulics hissing, as he prowled into the room like a self-contained storm about to explode. His optics locked on the Supreme Commander's as he came to stand before Optimus, chassis thrust out, head held up, optics burning.
Elita and Ratchet drew back collectively as they felt electricity pulse through the air between the two mechs standing off.
"Where are they?" Ironhide demanded. "Where is Arcee?"
Optimus observed his old friend carefully. "The Ark is still a ways out. It'll be at least a little under a joor before they arrive."
Ironhide's frame trembled as he processed the information. "Dammit, Optimus, that's too long! Who knows what damage the virus could do to her while we just stand here waiting for them to arrive!"
"This is the most we can do, Ironhide." Optimus said calmly. "The Protectobots have already intercepted the ship; they are flying it as fast as low altitudes will permit to get it here."
"Frag it! I should be out there retrieving the ship, or hunting down the glitching little virus-fraggers that did this! Not standing around waiting! Why didn't you send me out with the retrieval team- she's my apprentice, I should be out there!"
Optimus leaned down so as to loom over the compact frame of Ironhide. His faceplates contorted into mild frown. "If you hadn't been aware of it, Ironhide, you and Chromia had been indisposed at the time we received Ultra Magnus's distress signal; we couldn't get a hold of you right away."
The hangar doors hissed opened once more, admitting Chromia first, who made a beeline for Elita One, closely followed by Jazz, Prowl, and the offline Red Alert, who came to stand by Ratchet to watch the one-sided shouting match as Ironhide fumed at the calmly responding Optimus.
Ratchet gave Red Alert a wary look. "What happened to him?" he grouched.
"Too much excitement for one orn," Jazz replied, patting Red Alert's limply dangling frame. "Poor mech had a meltdown."
Ratchet snorted. "Well, there's nothing I can do for him now- have Inferno take him back to his quarters. He'll be fine in a few joors; this wouldn't be the first time he's had a meltdown."
Chromia's optics darted back and forth between her bonded and Optimus for a few astroseconds, deeming the chance of butting in to be nil. Instead, she turned to Elita and fixed her with a hard stare. "Tell me exactly what's going on, right now."
"Just don't shoot me," Elita replied tiredly, shaking her head sadly as she replayed every bit of information she was privy to.
The growing group of Autobots in the hangar were joined shortly after by four more mechs and a single femme; the summoned Inferno with the smirking Firestar trotting along at his side, both of whom quickly relieved Prowl of his burden and left with Red Alert slung between the two of them; a bulky green mech known as Hoist; the familiar, friendly white mech Wheeljack, and perched on the engineer's shoulder was the copper-red frame of the microbot scientist known as Perceptor.
Optimus sighed as his audios began to ring from Ironhide's loud bellowing. "I know this is difficult for you, Ironhide, as it is with many of us, but you will have to try to calm down or I will confine you to quarters-."
Wheeljack sidled up to Ratchet's side, close enough so that his passenger could lean forward and speak comfortably with the medic.
"The surgical bay has been prepared exactly as you have specified," Perceptor informed.
Ratchet cast the scientist a quick glance before returning his attention back to Optimus and Ironhide. "And the med bay?"
Filaments in Perceptor's large, domed oval optics rearranged quickly as he focused his gaze on the CMO. "Patients in the medical bay whose afflictions were not detrimental to their functioning capacity were relocated to their own quarters; those in the Intensive Care Unit have been moved so that the forthcoming proceedings will not be impeded by their presence."
"We also set up two of the CR chambers, in case they're needed," Wheeljack intoned. "An' I ordered Tungsten ta stay behind ta gather up all the needed temp platin' an' tools that we're gonna need fer this."
"Good," Ratchet replied shortly, nodding. "By the sounds of things, those CR chambers most likely will be needed- if not by Arcee or Bumblebee, then by whomever Ironhide chooses to shoot."
Ironhide continued to rage at Optimus, despite the effort his sparkmate was putting in to calm him down. He could feel her aggravation mounting as he continued to blatantly ignore her, but paid little heed to it. "I don't care if you shut me up in my damn room or shove me in the brig, I'll blast my way out, Prime! You should be sending out teams to go after the 'Cons that did this!"
"You know better than that, Ironhide. I can't just send troops out on a mission of blind revenge. It would be nothing short of a disaster. What we need to do is examine the Ark to see if we can glean any information about the attackers from anything they left behind," Optimus replied calmly. Ironhide's internals revved angrily, seething on the spot. "You need to calm down; you're not thinking clearly right now."
Ironhide let out something that sounded like a mild roar. "I AM THINKING CLEARLY!"
Jazz leaned toward Prowl, a smirk quirking his faceplate. "If this is him thinkin' clearly, Ah don't wanna see him when he's glitchin'."
Prowl shot him a look. "Mute it, Jazz. This is hardly the time."
Chromia growled as another attempt at trying to calm her bonded was thrown back at her sharply. Elita laid a hand on her second in command's arm, but she shrugged it off quickly. "That fragging aft! Does he honestly think that he's the only one who cares for Arcee?" she hissed, glaring daggers at the back of her sparkmate's head.
"Chromia, please, try to calm down," Elita reasoned, parroting her sparkmate as he struggled to do the same with Ironhide.
A spasm crossed Chromia's faceplate, her processors nearly frying from the request. Calming down was not her speciality! Not to mention her bond with Ironhide had become a volatile loop as their foul moods circulated through each other, accumulating steadily to explosive levels. "Elita, look, I know what you're trying to do, but don't. Don't tell me to 'calm down' or I swear to Primus, I will shoot you. I have put up with Ironhide messing with me in the firing range, Jazz and those other afts interrupting us, and now this slag with the Ark and Arcee; I am astroseconds away from having a meltdown! Next bot to tell me to calm down will be shot on site!"
"Chromia…" For the first time, Elita truly took in the condition her friend was in, from the roughed up appearance of her paintjob to the heaving whine of her internals as they worked at maximum stress levels. She was really worked up.
Suddenly, Optimus jerked up straight, his internal comms being connected to by Blaster. Ironhide cut off mid-rant to glare expectantly at the mech.
"Good news, Boss Bot, the Ark is finally within visual range; it'll be docking in Iacon in a matter of breems," The microbot transmitted. "First Aid is requesting that Ratchet be ready for their arrival, though; Bee's been roughed up pretty bad, and Arcee's in critical condition."
"I'll let him know, Blaster. Thank you for the update."
"No problem, Boss Bot. Just promise me that lil' Bee and 'em will be alight."
"I-." Optimus stopped short, glancing at the tense medic; the expression on the CMO's faceplate was not encouraging. "Ratchet and his medical team will do their best," he transmitted lamely.
Blaster was silent for a few moments; obviously he caught on to Optimus's lack of promise. Finally, he responded. "I'll hold ya to that, Prime- Bee's a good little buddy of mine, I don't want ta see him going out like this."
The comms link cut off shortly afterward, leaving Optimus at the center of attention as nine curious Autobots stared at him relentlessly, waiting for him to divulge any sort of information pertaining to the Ark.
Prime sighed tiredly. "The Ark should be within visual range now," he announced, watching as every head swung in unison towards the gaping hole of the opened hangar, their optics searching the darkening sky for any sign of the ship. "Ratchet, First Aid asks that you be prepared for the moment they land; Bumblebee and Arcee will both require immediate attention."
Ratchet nodded stonily. "Understood," he replied.
Perceptor stood up from his perch on Wheeljack's shoulder, his optics rapidly dilating to give him the best resolution of the darkening evening sky. It was there, barely more than a dark spot on the horizon; the Ark was coming home.
"I see it," he announced, loud enough for the assembled group to hear. "Just above the horizon; at its estimated rate of speed, it will be here in approximately 15.3 breems."
True to Perceptor's estimate, the Ark took exactly 15.3 breems to cross the sky from the far off horizon to the maw of Iacon's hangar. The time was spent in utter silence between the Autobots, none daring to break the tension.
The deep hum of the huge engines vibrated the air as the ship approached rapidly, flying at the maximum speed possible for low altitude flight of a large vessel. Anxiousness fluttered in the assembled Autobots as they watched its approach, tracking the ship's every movement with sharp optics.
"Please clear the Main Hangar area for safe docking procedures," instructed an automated voice over the comms.
The instruction went unheeded by the ten observing bots as they stood transfixed to sight of the Ark. Without even realizing it, they were slowly being buffered to the back of the room as bots and drones came streaming into the area to help direct the ship for proper docking procedures. Docking arms deployed from long panels in the walls, outstretched to received the ship and safely bring it in. Bright guidance lights and sensor arrays shone to life, creating a multi-spectrum glow in the room meant to guide the ship in without running it into the walls.
Jazz whistled as he stared up at the smooth underside of the Ark. "Now that's a ship," he commented quietly. Even in its compacted state, the Ark had definite style.
Hoist's sharp optics tracked the long scratch marks that marred the ventral plating of the Ark, catching the obvious deformations around the hatch denoting to obvious forced entry. He elbowed Wheeljack and pointed to the scars in the haul. The engineer scanned them carefully and nodded; they were just superficial wounds, they could assign colleagues to repair the damages, but it was still disturbing to see that some Primus forsaken 'Con was able to pierce the armour despite all the work put into strengthening it.
Ironhide growled as he watched the reverse thrusters engage, slowing the Ark's progress to the mere crawl. Somewhere on that ship, Bumblebee was severely hurt and Arcee was dying.
Next to him, Chromia darted out from the ranks, running for the docking ship. "Arcee! Arcee!" she screamed, stumbling around skittering drones. Her spark was pulsing wildly in her sparkcase, beating harshly against the insides of her chassis. Fear had finally overcome what little sense she had left; Arcee was as good her youngling as anyone else's and she was damn set on making sure she was okay!
"Someone grab her!" Prowl barked over the loud din.
Ironhide was startled by the cold punch of fear flooding through his spark; Chromia wasn't holding back as she reached out for him, utterly terrified. All this time, she's been trying to reach out to him, to help him, pushing back her own mounting concerns for Arcee so that she could help him. But now she wasn't bothering holding back anymore. He was nearly overwhelmed.
"Chromia! Chromia get back here!" Elita shouted. She was ignored.
The femme stumbled again, this time from the sudden overload of feedback coming from Ironhide. It was his sudden outpouring of concern for her, of open love without the heat of anger that had her tripping over her feet. A pair of strong arms shot out of no where, wrapping firmly around her mid-section before she face-planted on the floor. Her optics dropped to the thick, black arms clutching her tightly.
"Ironhide- she's in there," Chromia moaned painfully, struggling against her restraints. "We have to help her!"
"I know. I know we have to help her, but the ship isn't docked yet. Wait until it's docked and then we'll help her," he rumbled into her audio receptors. His frame was trembling from the effort of not running for the ship; his spark was screaming for him to just rip into the Ark to get to Bee and Arcee.
A loud, long groan echoed through the gargantuan hangar as the Ark shut down, settling heavily against the deployed supports. Moments later, there was a smooth hiss, and then the ventral hatch detached crookedly from the underside, falling fast with a disturbing crash to the floor.
Chromia's hands clutched tightly to Ironhide's arms as he, in turn, held a vice like grip on her frame. He started forward out of instinct, but was held back by a firm hand gripping his shoulder tightly. Optimus loomed above him, issuing a warning stare clearly saying 'don't get in the way'.
Blades was the first to appear in the mouth of the hatch, taking to the air in his alt mode and swooping low into the assembled crowd. "Move it! Get out the way! Dying Autobots coming through! MOVE YOUR AFTS!" he yelled, cutting a wide berth from the ship the exit. Several too-slow drones got thrown out of the way.
Two hovering berths came next, their burdens consisting of two offline bots, one yellow, the other magenta, each tended to by a pair of franticly moving mechs. As they raced down the ramp, First Aid's voice cut like a knife through the room.
"Ratchet! Ratchet, we need your help here-!" he yelled desperately. His anti-viral firewalls were being thrown out of the way like they were nothing; whatever was rampaging in Arcee was big, mean, and ugly.
Ratchet met them mid-way on the ramp, followed closely by Wheeljack, Perceptor, and Hoist. Perfectly choreographed, the mechs instantly divided themselves; Hoist and Wheeljack switched to the berth that Bumblebee laid on, their hands diving into the fray as Groove and Streetwise continued to try to rebuild Bumblebee's compromised infrastructure. Ratchet grabbed Perceptor and threw the microbot onto Arcee's hovering berth, the medic and scientist both taking over as First Aid and Hot Spot were shoved to the side.
"I need her vitals NOW!" Ratchet roared, scanning her rapidly. Perceptor was already at her head, accessing her directly through her cranial processing unit so as to quickly assess the virus and build a proper firewall.
First Aid ran at the berth's left side, working furiously to solder together two severed neural wires. "She's lost a lot of energon!" he shouted. "She'll need a transfusion of medical-issue D-class low-grade stat; using any higher energy level will shut down her systems! Her right arm has been severed and is unaccounted for; the energon lines have been clamped, but possible pollutants have already entered her circulation! Infrastructure has been compromised! Transformational circuitry; compromised! Neural circuitry; compromised! Weaponry; compromised! An unknown Alpha-class virus has entered her systems through her head, neck column, chassis, and interface port; it has already accessed her vital software and has begun corrupting all existing programming- she's gone into emergency stasis lock!"
"Dammit, we have to get her into surgery before her frame collapses!" Ratchet roared. "Perceptor, do you have a lock on the virus!? Can you isolate it?!"
"No, the infection has spread too far for conventional means of isolation! I am trying several different methods to try and back it into a disposal program, but all attempts are failing!" The scientist shouted back. His optics were shuttered as he spoke, long black cables webbed between his frame and Arcee's, his spindly hands moving deftly without sight to their correct destinations in her exposed processing motherboards.
Wheeljack shouted over his shoulder at the CMO. "Bee's gonna need B-class low-grade an' a major recalibration of his systems- his readings are all over the place! His harmonics are screwed like nothin' I've ever seen before- the Expanse fragged him up good! Weaponry's been slagged too! He's a mess!"
"Ultra Magnus did what he could for the both of them," Streetwise informed, even as his hands flashed between supports and hydraulics in Bee's frame. "He managed to staunch the majority of Arcee's energon loss, but there was nothing to do for the virus. He was forced to place Bumblebee in stasis lock after the mech became unmanageable shortly after Arcee went out- fried neural circuitry made him delusional."
As they sped past Ironhide and Chromia, the pair leapt to their feet and ran after the mechs. The weapons specialist was only able to catch a brief glance of Bumblebee as they ran by; the poor minibot looked scrapped. Arcee, on the other hand, had been completely obscured from view.
"Ironhide-!" Optimus tried to recall the warrior, but the black mech was already to the door.
"Forget it, Prime! I'm not leaving those two!" he roared with damning finality in his voice. "I raised and trained Bee-!"
"And Arcee is as good as ours!" Chromia shouted. She took hold of her bonded's hand and yanked him hard into the corridor to follow after the racing medical pandemonium.
Jazz started to take off after them, but Prowl reached out to take his arm. "And where are you going?" he demanded.
Jazz shot the tactician an incredulous look. "Bee's like a lil' brother ta me," he said quickly. His head jerked in the direction of the door. "Ah'm wit' the old bots; I'm not gonna leave 'im. Ya can come, or ya can stand there lookin' like an aft, but ya ain't holdin' me back." He shook his arm from Prowl's grip and raced out.
Prowl glanced to Optimus, waiting to see what the commander would do. Prime's focus was still on the Ark where Ultra Magnus was slowly making his way down the ramp. Though unharmed, Ultra Magnus looked worse for wear in ways that went beyond the physical.
"Sir?" Prowl prompted.
"Go on with Jazz, Prowl." Optimus said quietly. "I'll be along shortly."
The tactician nodded resolutely and left.
"Remove the armor- we need to get at the damaged internals!" Ratchet yelled.
"We can't- her armor is the only thing keeping her frame from collapsing- whatever attacked her crushed her internal supports!" First Aid shouted from across the surgical berth. The blaring white light above them illuminated the surgical bay in a macabre picture of splattered energon, flashing tools, and scraps of cut away circuitry and armor.
"Then weld in ulterior supports so that we CAN get the armor off!" Ratchet roared. He was working furiously in her opened chest cavity, welding together wildly misfiring circuit. The 'Con that managed to sheer off her arm had also accomplished taking half her internal wiring as well, stripping her bare from the inside out. "And get me that new wiring! What she's got left in here isn't worth slag!"
A horrible screeching sound filled the surgical bay as Wheeljack started in on Bumblebee's armor from across the bay. He was wielding a dual blade circular saw, similar to the one Ratchet was equipped with, and was proceeding to strip away the armor from Bumblebee's back so as to get to the dislocated gears and jarred hydraulics underneath. A gush of glowing energon spurted from the minibot as a piece of armor previously damming a severed energon line was torn free, allowing for the built up energon to spray out, painting Wheeljack's front in gore.
Hoist was ready with several energon clamps to stop the rapid bleeding and suction tubes to clean away the excess energon. "Tungsten, we need that B-class energon NOW!" he demanded.
Wheeljack's little drone jumped at the order, racing for the on-hand stores it collected for the surgeries and grabbing the appropriate cube.
Suddenly, a piercing cry erupted from Arcee's vocal processor. Her frame snapped up from the berth, writhing wildly. Perceptor reacted first, grabbing hold of her head and dragging it down to lay her flat to the berth. "I've been able to stave the virus away from her core processing unit!" he yelled as her frame was strapped down by Ratchet and First Aid. "Her neural relays reinitiated on their own!"
"At least that's some good news!" Ratchet hissed.
"Not unless I can erect a firewall to guard her synapses, it's not," Perceptor replied quickly. "At least her memory banks and major personality programming were safe while she was offline and the files were inactive, but while she's online like this there's a chance the virus will carry over!"
"We can't sedate her either, that would weaken whatever defences she has left!" First Aid piped in.
Ratchet finished with the installation of temporary supports in her chassis, switching instantly to striping the femme of her energon spattered armor. "We need more time! Her frame needs to be repaired before it collapses on her spark! Her spark casing won't be enough to withstand the weight-!"
"But we still need to deal with the virus!" Perceptor cut in.
A minor explosion went off near Bumblebee's berth, shaking the surgical bay.
"WHAT IN THE PIT WAS THAT!?" Ratchet roared.
Wheeljack started, spinning to face Ratchet with a wild expression. "I didn't do it!" he shouted automatically.
"I recalibrated Bee's missiles, Ratch'," Hoist shouted, now switching to work on the exposed gears in Bumblebee's right arm to realign his solar agitator. "They went off accidentally."
"See that it doesn't happen again!" Ratchet hissed. "We can't afford any stupid mistakes!"
Wheeljack and Hoist nodded quickly, returning to the scout. The engineer kept the file containing Bumblebee's schematics open as he continued to cut away at what remained of the minibot's back plating, removing Bee's retracted battle mask, as well as his cranial plating to get to the fried neural relays underneath. A minor fountain of steam issued from within the exposed unit, heat from overworked systems creating distortions in the air. Wheeljack flinched away from the damage- his field medic's chip only went so far; he wouldn't be able to deal Bumblebee's damaged processors.
"Ratchet, we need you over here!" the engineer called. "Bee's motherboards have overheated; his cooling fans failed to engage- it looks like several neural wires have fused!"
The CMO went rigid, his processor working madly to keep up with the mounds of critical information that kept pouring in. "Give me an astrosecond 'Jack!" He directed his gaze to Perceptor. "You said you pushed the virus out of Arcee's CPU, right?" he demanded.
"Yes, but everything beyond that is infected! And I cannot guarantee that her processing unit is completely uncorrupted-!"
"I don't care, we need to take the chance or we'll lose her; her CPU needs to be completely isolated from any further chance of contamination-!"
First Aid jerked up from his work soldering temp plating to Arcee's punctured frame. "You can't possibly be suggesting we-!"
"Remove her core processing unit!" Ratchet ordered. "Immediately!"
"Have you lost it?!" First Aid roared. "She's in critical condition- do you WANT to kill her!"
"There's no time to argue! Remove it and place it on support- at least if the CPU is out of her frame it can't be infected!"
"And what about the rest of her systems- the ones that ARE infected?!" First Aid demanded.
Ratchet growled. "Purge them. Everything beyond the core programming is expendable at this point!"
"You can't be serious!"
Ratchet rounded on the younger mech, taking hold of him by the front of his armor and levelling him with a manic glare. "Do as I say or I'll dismantle you! Remove the CPU, purge her systems, and then stick her in a damned CR chamber! Wheeljack will be able to do the rest of the reconstruction. So I make my self clear?!""
"Yes sir!" First Aid shouted, finding himself released and thrust back into his work.
"'Jack, come switch places with me- while First Aid and Perceptor work on her CPU, you can work on her frame!" Ratchet barked. "I'll take Bumblebee!"
"Got'cha!" The engineer spun away from the scout and met the medic half way across the bay. They stood for mere moments in front of each other, interfacing for a single astrosecond to exchange Arcee's and Bumblebee's schematics before sliding away from each other to head for their respective patients.
In the windowed observatory above Surgical Bay 3, Ironhide watched the proceedings with a critical optic. Chromia had pressed herself to the crystalline window, searching wildly through the mess of mechs down in the bay for any sign that Arcee was going to be alright. The tension between them had mounted to an unbearable height, neither of them able to glance at the other without the sudden urge to yell, shoot, or cry.
Jazz had taken to pacing the breadth of the room unceasingly; his was visor down so that none could see the worry clouding his optics. Prowl sat near the back of the observatory, switching smoothly from watching the proceedings below to letting his optics trail after the rigidly pacing Jazz. The saboteur may have thought he was hiding his concern from everyone by using his visor, but his pacing was making it blatantly obvious how very worried he was.
Optimus, Ultra Magnus, and Elita had taken up positions at the other end of the windows, with Prime and the Femme Commander silently listening as Magnus continued to whisper his guilt.
"It's my fault, Prime… I shouldn't have let Bumblebee wander so far from the ship… I should have told him to stay close… I should have had the defences engaged… shouldn't have flown so low… this is my fault. I'm sorry…"
Optimus leaned in close to his friend's audio receptors. "It is no one's fault but the Decepticons' that attacked. You are not at fault for this incident," he said firmly. "Stop blaming yourself, old friend." But his words fell upon deaf audio receptors as the base commander continued to watch Bumblebee and Arcee be stripped down to there bare essentials.
Those six bots were not the only ones in the room though. As they'd raced through the halls of Iacon to the Medical Wing, they'd picked up curious stragglers as well as frantic bots who knew what was going on. Now there was a small gathering of mechs and femmes milling about near the windows, some taking up the few chairs the room held.
The four other Protectobots of First Aid's team watched diligently as their team mate worked furiously to extract Arcee's CPU. They'd gathered in a tight knit group before the window, staring unceasingly down at their fellow Protectobot as he worked relentlessly to save another spark from being extinguished.
Moonracer whimpered fearfully as she watched the dual surgeries, her tiny fingers digging into Powerglide's wings as she hid partially behind him. Powerglide stood helplessly as the femme continued to whine pathetically behind him. He would've have taken her into his arms to comfort her, but was afraid that in his anxiety he'd accidentally crush her.
Inferno and Firestar had returned from dropping Red Alert off, and now they stood staring down into the surgical bay with fire in their optics. Like the night Firestar had sat with Elita One in the Femme Commander's quarters, she looked like a trapped animal. Inferno stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, their grip slowly denting her armor in.
Mirage had come from duty to watch over his scout, nigh-invisible in the great shadows of Prime and Magnus. He watched on with unflinching dedication, though it tore his spark to see the once jovial Bumblebee reduced to a stripped down frame and an amalgamation of barely working parts.
Bluestreak babbled nervously to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe as the three of them sat tensely in their seats. None of them had the courage to look over the ledge of the window. Bluestreak's mental images of what was going on were enough to churn his tanks, while the twins did not think they could bare the image of their beloved bad-tempered medic struggling to save their even more beloved Bumblebee.
As the sharpshooter approached a new record for non-stop chatter (he'd been going for about four joors straight), Sunstreaker snapped. The golden mech shot up from his seat and loomed over the blue and light-grey mech with a menacing expression marring his faceplate.
"For Primus' sake, mute it! Just mute it, Bluestreak! MUTE! IT! If I hear one more fragging word out of you, I'm going to rip your vocals out! I do not want to hear about what happened in Nebula One last night; I don't care if you think the division of organic cells is fascinating; I don't give a flying frag which mech is with whom!"
Sideswipe was up at his twin's side in astroseconds, trying valiantly to calm him down. "Sunny! Sunny, stop terrorizing Bluestreak! He's just nervous- we all are-." But his efforts were rewarded with a quick punch to the chassis to dislodge him.
"Don't you get it!?" Sunstreaker roared, blind to the fact that he had attracted all attention in the room. "Bumblebee and Arcee are down there in Primus only knows what kind of condition! Ratchet is the best medic there is- he could disassemble me an' Sides in a matter of astroseconds, and yet he's been down there for joors! That's NOT a good sign! If no one else is willing to put two and two together, than I will! Bumblebee and Arcee are probably not going to-!"
BANG!
Supercharged plasma roared over Sunstreaker's head, searing his spotless paint right off his armor, yet even as small flakes of paint drifted before his optics, the melee warrior failed to make a sound. His optics were solely focused on the charged plasma cannon that was now targeting his chassis.
Ironhide regarded the golden twin with cold fury; there was no longer fire in his optics, nor did the heat of flaming pit-inspired anger rise in him. He was burnt out to the embers of his patience, black coals of pure animosity simmering darkly in his optics.
"They are going to make it," he growled darkly.
Chromia took up position next to her sparkmate, rifle charged. "Anyone who says differently can eat plasma."
It was silent was a very long time afterwards in the observatory.
Moonracer gasped, pointing wildly down at the surgical bay. "Something's happening!" she shouted.
As a collective entity, every Autobot rushed for the crystalline windows to observe what Moonracer was pointing at. They caught sight of First Aid rushing Arcee's berth out, heading for the ICU, followed closely by Perceptor, who was carrying the large support container that housed Arcee's CPU to keeping it running even though it was detached from her frame. Hoist followed on their heels with Bumblebee, Tungsten set up at the head of the berth holding up several wires that ran from Bee's head to a monitoring machine next to the drone.
Ratchet was left in the bay with Wheeljack, who patted the sagging CMO solemnly on the back. He took a deep drag through his intakes, and then let it rush out through his vents. A comm. link crackled to life within the observatory.
"I've done all that I can for them…" Ratchet announced tiredly. His frame was smeared with the drying blue remnants of his patients' energon. "Bumblebee is in stable condition now, but he will require several more recalibrations before he's functioning properly again- the ultrasonic frequencies within the Expanse corrupted a lot of his systems."
"What about Arcee, Ratchet?" Chromia asked quietly. "How is she?"
At this, Ratchet's optics dropped to the floor. "We removed her core processing unit to prevent it from being infected, and Wheeljack will be able to reconstruct her arm and other parts while she's in the CR chamber, but when we tried to purge the virus from her other systems we… failed. The purge only slowed it down. It's too embedded now to remove."
"Dammit!" Ironhide roared, his fist slamming into the crystalline windows, crisscrossing them with fine spider web cracks.
Ratchet's optics gazed up painfully at the Autobots above him, feeling like he had been put on display for all them to see. He felt trapped, with no where else to go. He'd failed. "I've done all I can…" he said quietly; a poor attempt at trying to defend himself against a jury of unrelenting stares.
Optimus placed a hand against the cracked window, gazing down at the CMO with his unfathomably blue optics shining sadly. "That's all we could ask for…" he replied, though the words felt terribly inadequate.
"No it isn't," Ironhide rumbled, gathering his distraught sparkmate to his chassis. She struggled against him, making desperate choking sounds as the agony of misery overpowered her spark. The virus was still in Arcee's systems. There was no way of getting rid of it now. It was only a matter of time until she…
He made his way towards the door, intent on marching down to the ICU to see Bumblebee and Arcee. He paused in the doorway, turning back to fix the room with a hard, indecipherable stare.
"We could have asked him to save her." And then he left.