Chapter 2
Prime slipped inside the Repair Bay, trying to make as little noise as possible. Wheeljack was sprawled on a bench, not having bothered to scrub before shutting down for a few blissful hours of rest. Spike and Sparkplug had also passed out, the pair asleep on a small stack of clean rags. Sideswipe was leaning against the wall beside the engineer, arms at his sides and face blank in a very light recharge state that left all systems running but the mind at rest.
At the sound of footfalls the red warrior stirred and snapped into full alertness, rifle in hand. He saw the commander and relaxed slightly, gesturing to the operating theatre. Optimus nodded his thanks and quietly entered.
Ratchet was leaning over his patient, adjusting something on one of the myriad of devices surrounding the wounded Prowl. Sunstreaker stood just beside the door, gun in hand and optics averted out of respect for the tactician.
"Status?" Optimus asked in that quiet hush reserved solely for hospitals and repair bays.
"Alive and stable, barely." Ratchet grunted as he straightened and faced the Prime, weariness evident in every line of his face and frame. "We almost lost him twice, but he's stubborn." The medic winced and rolled his shoulders in an attempt to ease the stiffness out of his joints. "Any progress on the investigation?"
"Not much." Prime replied. "Sunstreaker, could you wait outside please? I need to talk with Ratchet in private."
Sunstreaker nodded and joined his brother in the outer ward.
"What's going on?" Ratchet asked, his tone slightly suspicious.
Prime squared his shoulders. He hated having to suggest this, but if it would increase his 2IC's safety, then it was a necessary evil. "Will it be possible to simulate Prowl's death?" He asked.
The CMO raised both optic ridges in surprise. "Theoretically, it'd be easy. Why?"
"Jazz has suggested that this may not have been an assassination."
"Well, whoever it was will have a fragging hard time convincing me of that." Ratchet interrupted with a growl, arms crossed over his energon-splattered chest.
"Agreed. But in any case there is the possibility that whoever organised this hit will try again. By spreading dis-information that Prowl is dead, they will have no reason to attempt to finish the job." Prime explained. "Is there any way to do it?"
Ratchet frowned, optics narrowed in thought. "Considering the damage, it would be plausible for Prowl's laser core to fail, thereby cutting all power to his spark and killing him. His body and neurological systems would remain intact as he's on full life support as it is. Saying that we want to wait until Prowl's self-repair has completed restoring his main nervous system so that we can download the information in his memory banks would be a valid reason for keeping this equipment on him. It's been done before. Some acting and the twins as witnesses should do the trick."
"True." Prime mused, internally shuddering at the detached way Ratchet explained it. "It's probably the only way he can cope." The commander thought to himself. "How many people need to know?" He asked aloud.
"Me, 'Jack and Sparkplug." Ratchet answered. "I'll talk it over with them tomorrow, but we'll wait until Prowl's vitals stabilise before we do anything."
"Understood." Prime replied. He crossed to the still black and white form, mindful of the surrounding mass of wires and tubes running in and out of Prowl's body. Optimus carefully laid one hand on the Datsun's shoulder. "Hold on Prowl, hold on." He murmured.
0o0o0
Ironhide ran a critical optic over the area, committing every detail to memory. Before he signed up with the Autobots he had served for a long time as a member of Iacon's security detail, and examining a crime scene had almost become second nature to him. "Alright, Ah want every square inch o' this command deck examined with a nano-scanner." He announced to the assembled mechs. "Hound, git me holograms an' measurements of anythin' an' everythin'. Bluestreak, Ah want as much data as y' can get me on th' actual shooting. Smokescreen, git anylisin'. I wanna know how this glitch thinks. Mirage, you know yer job already, an' everyone else I wanna see on hands and knees, lookin' fer anything remotely useful."
The mechs quickly went into action, not needing any further encouragement. One of their own had fallen, and they'd go to the Pit before letting the shooter get away with it.
0o0o0
Elusive and evasive, the evidence he sought lay amongst the fragments and corrupted files that hung in cyberspace. Mirage's mouth twisted into an expression of refined annoyance, silver fingers striking the keys in a restless stattico. Chip was being picked up by Skyfire from the airforce base in Colorado that he was currently working at. The human was good at working with the giant mainframe, but Mirage took it as a point of personal pride that if there was something hidden, he could find it.
The annoyed scowl grew deeper. Thusfar, little useful information was available. Perceptor was currently studying the virus in the hopes of unveiling something about its creator, but Mirage doubted that idea would bear fruit. He recognised the marks of an expert when he saw them. This was somebody who knew how to get in and out, quickly and quietly.
Mirage's mouth twisted again, but this time into a grim smile. At last, a challenge worthy of his skill. He bent his head to the task, long fingers continuing their dance upon the copper hued keys. Yes, this would be a most satisfactory hunt.