Title: Mainframe
Rating: T
It was just another one of those orns at Iacon's Science Department. "Can we get security to level three, please," Mainframe sighed, leaning forward in his seat, finger on the intercom button. His optics shuttered slowly at the monitors lining the wall in front of him, "We're going to need a personnel check and probably a fire-extinguisher as well. Wheeljack seems to have blown something up in his labs again."
There came sort of garbled confirmation through the speaker on the phone, of which the cocker collie merely brushed aside; leaning back in his seat and continuing his complicated work on his handy, little tablet. Only occasionally did he look up from compiling together various binary coding and department data-sorting to check on the progress of Wheeljack's lab. He was marginally relieved to see that the engineer had not managed to blow himself up this time, and only bore one or two scratches from whatever disaster he had concocted in his workspace now.
The janitors would probably throw a fit again though...
Turning his optics away from the security feed being displayed on the small terminal to his left, Mainframe tried to return to his own tasks but found himself... bored, for lack of a better term. Venting softly, the autodog set down his tablet, resting his helm back on his chair. Dissatisfaction settled on Mainframe's shoulder plating, stronger than the previous times that it had come, and this time, he was not so sure it would leave quickly.
He didn't know why he felt this way...
So, he wasn't a brilliant scientist like Perceptor. Astronomy both bored him and seemed irrelevant. He never cared enough for transit to get himself into the space-bridge technology. Engineering felt too subservient and meant having to cater to the whims of mechs like Perceptor, who -if it wasn't already obvious- made him feel slightly inadequate when compared next to. All in all, Mainframe felt out of sorts among his fellow employees in the Science Department.
A strange thought he knew. He was practically the "Boss" here. He ran the archives, storing and handling all legal matters and written reports about the experiments and progression projects that took place on each level. He controlled the funds of all the members of the guild, and even cleared cheques to the janitorial staff and security that acted as secondary workers within the building. And when he wasn't busy negotiating all public and private relations, he could be found maintaining and upgrading the Department's entire network of computers.
His office was practically a whole level of integrated computers and servers: one plugged into the next, plugged into a security box, plugged into a platinum battery pack here and there, jacked into several large and humming cooling units secured to the walls of the room; all wired and compliant to the massive super-computer that essentially ran the entire building and their network mainframe. A computer and system that Mainframe had built with his very own two servos, earning him the very right to be here among all the other notable talents of the progressive technological age.
He should have been happy. Should have felt overjoyed to be doing the only thing that had ever held any meaning to his life, fostering billions of line of codes like other 'bots fostered sparklings; safe and well-justified to stay away from a world he only found chaotic to begin with, let alone relate to. And yet... He wasn't. Not any more.
These bouts of depression were becoming more frequent and, truthfully, annoying. The cocker collie was used to this sort of behaviour in Cosmos, but really, it neither suited his own persona nor was it logical. He had everything he had ever wanted in life and wasn't troubled by society's more trivial issues like socializing and lovers and people. Must have been all the changes happening with his co-workers that were making him feel a little too meta this past decacyle.
Frowning, Mainframe realized he had just spent ten kliks zoning out and pondering to himself all the inane questions of the universe (which he neither wanted nor cared for, since they weren't small, blue and white digits of 1's and 0's that he could then play with and manipulate into masteries of programming genius) and straightened up in his seat; once more gripping his tablet with a firm servo. He noticed, to his surprise, that an email alert was pinging silently at the bottom of the screen, demanding his attention.
The programmer mulled it over for a moment, but finally consented to the notification, opening the page with the thought in mind that it had to be of some actual importance. And it was... he believed.
Frowning a bit more, the autodog clicked on the sender, watching as a window popped up with its forwarded message. "...Brainstorm...?," he mused quietly to himself. The name sounded familiar... but honestly, he could not place it, and therefore couldn't confirm if this was a person of importance or just another spammer. If it was the latter, it would mean that he'd written up a poor filter and would have to unravel the coding and start again.
That idea appealed to him a little.
Shaking his helm a little, the cocker collie read through the short email; optics shuttering in shock slightly. A veteran... a veteran of the Great War was asking permission to use his facilities, seeing as they had the region's most accommodating equipment. Mainframe tilted his helm to the side slightly, uncertain how to take this request. Though he was aware that he perhaps should remain unbiased, the truth was that he detested soldiers. War was the most corrupt, inane course of action that the world was capable of concocting and did nothing but cripple resources and bots alike. There was nothing good to come out of fighting, and never did the end justify the means. Morality was a distinguishment that alluded war; good, bad, enemy, friend... none of that existed. There was no such thing as right or wrong.
The only truth that war surfaced was that suffering was real; agony, hand-made. The mountain of graves and the tears wept from the ones who were left behind, testaments to the grievance and hypocrisy that War embodied.
It should be no surprise that Mainframe detested War and hence-forth was not taking too kindly to an ex-soldier asking him to use their Department's most prestigious labs for whatever private matters he needed to attend to. He should refuse.
The cocker collie's servo slid over to the reply button, but paused when he received yet another notification. Mildly curious (even if he was still suspicious), he clicked on the new message, watching as the window popped up over the first one, displaying its contents for him to see. The same message... but from Ratchet this time. Mainframe fixed his frames in disbelief, pulling the tablet closer, reading over the lines of text with scrutiny. Even if he wanted to believe otherwise, this message was clearly from the famous vet himself (his snark was rife in the words) and requested as the previous message that he open his facilities for himself and a colleague.
'I understand your stand-point, Mainframe,' the letter added, 'But you'll need to put your selfish vindications and your social anxieties behind you this time. The labs are essential to a medically-related project that both myself and the aforementioned Brainstorm are a part of. Denying us would not only be stupid and immature of you, but you would risk the life of the one we seek to help. Don't be a brat.'
Grumbling in annoyance at the email, Mainframe clicked on reply, and stiffly wrote his response. It was, of course, a compliance to Ratchet's request. He had no problem denying this Brainstorm what he sought, but he was neither cruel nor daft enough to say no to a vet that could easily amputate his servos in under five kliks.
He only hoped that he wouldn't regret this later...
Or be forced to pay extra maintenance bills.
xxXxXxx
Why was his life this never-ending cycle of idiots popping by and melodrama after melodrama? Huffing, Ratchet entered into the examination room, shutting the door quickly behind him. He didn't even bother to look up at the patient sitting on the medical berth, delving straight into the datapad he held. "...is this your first time in Iacon?"
"No, sir," a calm voice answered politely. "Iacon is quite familiar to me, even though I have not been a permanent resident."
At that, the vet glanced up, staring into pale blue optics. " …..You're-?"
The white helm nodded back at him. "Yes. They are my family and he is my brother. Or, perhaps... I should say was."
Ratchet vented heavily. "Hence the need for secrecy, I see." He tucked the datapad under his arm, crossing the room to the cupboards. "I was given a short report about your situation, but I confess I don't know much beyond what you are. Certainly, I wasn't informed of who you are... I usually try not to get myself involved in government affairs -secret services or not. Got one too many problems as is in my own life," the labrador gruffed, snapping on a pair of rubber gloves.
"I am sorry to be a burden," the younger mech apologized.
"Don't worry about it, pup," the vet shrugged, turning to the patient. "I never turn away a 'bot who needs the help."
"Which is why he's such an easy mech," a voice chirped obscenely, its owner slamming through the door. Ratchet turned around, glaring at Brainstorm as he skipped forward, looping an arm around his stiff shoulders.
"...I thought I locked that door..."
"Meh. You know how those silly things work," the tervuren replied, waving off the vet's glowering expression, "Old wood, rusted locks..."
"What did you-"
"I'm so glad you made it here, Streetwise!," Brainstorm interrupted, springing over to the seated autodog; grabbing his servo and giving it a firm shake. "You know, I would have picked you up, but you didn't return my calls and then Chromedome was trying to tell me something, maybe serious, but all I could think was how cute he was and I just had to-"
"Ah, ah, ah!," Ratchet snapped, clipping the wacky mech upside the helm, "Shut it! I don't want to hear anything about your freaky interfacing habits!"
"But-"
"No buts! You contacted me for help with a job- specifically helping your so-called friend, Streetwise here." The vet turned to his datapad, scrolling through it again. "And I plan on doing my part. I've already contacted Mainframe-"
"I did tha-"
"And," Ratchet continued, growling slightly at Brainstorm, "He's agreed to let us use some lab space at the Science Department. Though you may be renowned by government standards, the point is that no one really knows you outside of those who were in the war -and unfortunately, the one who manages these labs is an agoraphobic nerd with a distaste for soldiers." The labrador turned to the quiet autodog then, who sat, seemingly not there, listening in attentively.
"As for you Streetwise...," the old mech sighed, "Well, I promise we'll do our best. They say I'm the best in my field, and maybe they're right, but my experience only goes as far as the transbiological. Hopefully, with mine and your guardian Brainstorm's knowledge, we'll be able to help you before any more problems crop up. If... if not, at least we have Cybertron's finest also at hand."
"Why do you always put me down?," Brainstorm whined shortly, "I'm always great at what I do!"
Ratchet's frown, astoundingly, grew deeper on his face but he refrained from replying to that comment. Huffing to himself instead, he scrolled through his datapad one last time before flicking the tablet off. "We'll be heading for the lab tomorrow, where we can fully evaluate the growing issues," he continued to the patient mech watching them. "Are... are you sure you don't wish to inform your family about these procedures? At the very least, First Aid could accompany us."
The conservative akita merely looked at the vet; a polite smile coming to his lip components. "No. I rather not worry them about this," he replied. He didn't even waver under the older autodog's penetrating stare, keeping his modest expression. "I will be fine."
Still scowling, Ratchet decided to let it go for now, slapping the servos of the wandering tervuren. "Alright. I won't tell your family what's happening, and I shall see you tomorrow at noon. Now scat! I've got other patients to see- and you put those rubber gloves back, Brainstorm!"
"Awwww, but Chromedome loves a good 'medical examin-"
"Nah nah nah! I don't want to hear it!," the labrador interrupted, tone raising and servos shaking in the air as he turned on his heel. "And don't you dare take a single item! I'll have the nurses double-check the inventory and Chromedome will be informed if anything is missing."
Brainstorm blew a raspberry at the vet's backstruts sourly, but once the door had closed, he turned to the white mech, rubbing his servos together excitedly. "Sooooo... ready to head back to the office?"
Pale blue optics rose towards him demurely, not a single reply coming from the other autodog. Optics shimmering brightly, Brainstorm giggled, grabbing Streetwise's servo and dragging him out of the room. "Another smoking headquarters it is!"
xxXxXxx
There was nothing unusual about his morning patrol that orn. Mainframe checked the security hub, checked the front desk, then each of the labs, level by level. There were no infrastructure worries to be had in the Space Bridge development lab and so far, Wheeljack's lab was void of any projects to go nuclear and him. The cocker collie took that as a good sign. Wrapping up the last of his patrol, the programmer headed upstairs to his own lab, eager to escape into the quiet, confined space.
"There he is..."
Imagine his surprise when he stepped out of the elevator and he saw not only Ratchet, but another stranger standing outside his lab door.
"Heesh," remarked the lanky, teal one, "Ever heard about a watch? You're late! You work here and you're late for meeting us at your own lab. Kinda inconsiderate if you ask me. I mean, we showed up on time for you because Ratchet said we had to but could you have the decency to be here when we arrived? Nooooo."
"Brainstorm," Ratchet warned lowly.
"Honestly, I never even wanted to get up early but Ratchet told Chromey and he made sure to set his alarm, just so he could wake me up. And then he actually took away my morning fuckles because I apparently had an appointment to keep."
"Brainstorm," Ratchet repeated, an optic beginning to twitch.
Brainstorm had not finished though. "My morning fuckles!," he shouted loudly, servos waving about like a mad man. "I love my morning boner, especially when it's warmed between two-"
"BRAINSTORM!," Ratchet bellowed, grabbing one of the tervuren's ears, yanking his helm down suddenly. "Keep that slag to yourself or you'll have many more mornings without sex from Chromedome truly!"
Mainframe took an uncertain step back, brow furrowed. These were shenanigans he wasn't accustomed to even among his own staff, and surely didn't approve of happening outside his lab. Brainstorm tugged himself free of the vet's hold, shaking his helm before glaring at the labrador.
"Well, I'll have you know-"
"Don't even give me that slag, you uncontrollable-"
This was rapidly deteriorating into a full on screaming match. Scowling further, Mainframe cleared his throat.
"Chomper's been looking for a new-"
"Try it, you deranged-"
"Ahem!" Mainframe cleared his throat loudly, pressing his tablet and blasting a single, loud note from his main computer within the lab. The sound was concussive enough even if halted by the thick iron doors. Straightening up onto their legs, the two older autodogs looked down on the programmer.
"I suppose we should actually get to work," Ratchet started first, glancing at the tervuren.
"Yeah. Suppose..." Brainstorm muttered, grumbling something else under his vents. "Let's get these doors open already!"
Mainframe walked up to the keypad, beginning to input his password. "...Ratchet," he started quietly.
Ratchet interrupted him before he could get too far along. "I am aware of your rules, Mainframe. We will keep to them, I assure you."
The cocker collie didn't look as if he believed the old mech, but he didn't have much of a choice at this moment, now did he? Especially not when the rude stranger went marching into his lab narily an astrosecond after the door slid open. Miffed, Mainframe made to follow, but a strong servo stopped him dead in his tracks.
"Sorry, kid," the vet said, pushing him back a couple pede steps, "But we need privacy from this point on. I'll send you a message the moment we're done for the orn."
What? No way, the programmer wanted to shout. This was his lab; his safe haven! Everything precious he owned and created was within this space! How dare they deny him entry?!
"Remember, you gave us permission and unfortunately, this is part of the package," Ratchet was adding, walking into the lab. "Go get some tea, Mainframe before you blow something."
And then the doors were shutting in his face; two complete strangers on the inside and him locked out. Mainframe grit his denta tight but only turned on his heel and marched stiffly back to the elevator. Next time, he swore, he'd get the fine print before agreeing to any more rental of his facilities.
xxXxXxx
This was embarrassing. All of his co-workers were giving him weird looks and a few were even making comments. It wasn't usual for the cocker collie to be outside his lab after his early morning patrol and Mainframe would have liked nothing better to escape to his computer just to get away from everyone's prying questions. Eventually, the programmer decided to slag with it- he was going out for some strong coffee and then he was hijacking the lobby security hub.
He paced in front of the doors before Mainframe finally walked outside, glad that the plaza was clear of too many 'bots. He didn't want to associate with more people than he needed to. Walking quickly across the street for the cafe, the cocker collie noticed a lone autodog circling around slowly. That unnerved him and he hastened his pace; he didn't want to be bothered by strangers and their hidden agendas.
He'd pray to Primus if that would give him the extra advantage...
"Excuse me?"
But obviously Primus was not looking down on him. Or, if he was, he certainly did not care.
"Excuse me?," the gentle voice called again, closer now. "Sir?"
Slowing down to a complete stop, Mainframe turned his helm to the other 'bot, a blank face his mask, hiding his irritation. He shuttered his optics though when he saw the other autodog. Tall, at least a few inches than him, the akita was slender, with white, lush fur and gentle, pale blue optics. He kept his gaze lowered half an inch from being equal and it made him seem defenseless in response. The programmer would dare say this... mech, he was sure the autodog was a mech... was gorgeous.
But that would be a senseless comment to speak, not to mention Mainframe didn't care about other kittycons and autodogs that way. There was nobody that could compare to his programs and codes; they were more beautiful than any flashy mech or femme.
"...I," the akita began, "I am sorry to bother you but I seem to have gotten turned around. Would you be so kind as to direct me the Science Department? I'm not sure which of these buildings it is."
Now that was curious. What did a mech that looked like a model have any need for the Science Department? Well, Mainframe thought, raising a servo, it wasn't for him to worry about until a commission was sent directly to his intake box digitally. And he only needed his tablet to access that, which he carried with him always. Quietly he pointed to the building he had just left kliks ago, to the stranger's smiling relief.
"Thank you for your assistance," he said, turning to the programmer once more. "Have a good day."
Then the akita was walking away quickly, tail flicking behind him in time with his graceful strides.
Again, Mainframe was curious as to why a mech like that would be looking for the Science Department, but he figured it was a problem he could ponder over after he had locked himself away in the security hub, away from the likelihood of any social interaction.