Chapter 4
"It's one o' us. It's th' only explanation." Ironhide gestured to the holographic images of the pool of fluids that had surrounded Prowl. "Ah know what Ah saw, an' Ah saw tread marks in th' energon on th' floor. Now they ain't there. Somebody's done tampered with th' crime scene recordings." He crossed his arms over his chest, glowering.
Prime silently studied the images, wishing that it were not true. "Who has had access to this room?" He asked finally.
"Only th' officers, an' even then it's only been you, me an' Red Alert. I got an energy signature recognition system in th' door lock t' keep it secure." Ironhide replied. "But th' images ain't th' only thing Ah found. There's a missin' part."
"Missing? What?"
"Th' energy distributor cap off of Prowl's laser core." Ironhide passed the two lists to the Prime. "It wasn't at th' scene, an' there wasn't any residue from it, so Ah'm thinkin' th' perp took it."
"Why?"
"Dunno, but Ah'll remember t' ask 'im when Ah git mah hands on 'im." The warrior replied, cracking his knuckle joints to emphasise his intent.
"Ease off the throttle Ironhide, we can't be sure of anything at this point." Prime replied. "Make sure this information goes no further than us. The last thing we need is a witch-hunt."
"Understood Prahme."
0o0o0
Ratchet stumbled into the Common Room and downed three mugs of energon in quick succession before collapsing in the nearest chair with a groan, one hand wearily rubbing his pale grey face.
"How's he doing?" Hound asked quietly, setting a fourth cup before the medic.
"Stable, but shaky." Ratchet answered tiredly, accepting the energon with a grateful nod. He drained the cup and slumped in his chair with an exhausted noise.
He looked about ready to doze off when his radio suddenly warbled. Ratchet sat up, touched one hand to his audio and listened for a moment, then let out a paint blistering string of curses, lurched to his feet and sprinted out the door.
0o0o0
Mirage paused, fingers poised above the keyboard. "Hello, what's this?" he murmured. A series of keystrokes isolated the anomaly, two more brought up a scan of its contents. "Well, that's interesting."
"What?" Chip asked, brown eyes never leaving his screen as he skimmed through the mainframe.
"It's a virus-damaged radio recording, but the timestamp is from two days before the shooting. The virus shouldn't have touched it." The spy explained.
Chip frowned. "Can I take a look?" he asked. Mirage gestured to the screen. The human ran his hands over the keys. "You're right, it shouldn't have. And it didn't." He said, brow furrowed in concentration. "This file was deliberately fragmented soon after it was recorded. This guy is smart. All deleted files are copied and sent to Red Alert. By tampering with the file, it could be concealed among all the other files damaged when the virus hit."
"Can you get it into playable condition?" Mirage asked, quietly tucking the tidbit of information away for his own investigation.
Chip massaged his stiff fingers. "Sure." He replied. "But I'll need you to translate for me, it's all in Cybertronian."
"I'll be happy to."
0o0o0
Ratchet burst into the Repair Bay, all traces of his earlier exhaustion gone.
"Ratchet!" Wheeljack yelled over the wail of a monitor alert. "Get in here, Prowl's laser core is failing!"
"What triggered it?" Ratchet demanded, snatching up an emergency power pack and splicing it into Prowl's systems. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker wisely stayed out of their way.
"Dunno. He just started spiking, then power output dropped."
"Rate?"
"Approximately 12 percentevery thirty seconds."
Another alarm trilled. Ratchet swore and started stripping wires. "Slag it! Fuel pump is going into fribulation. Get it stabilised!"
"On it."
The two medics worked frantically, then the trilling alarm gave way to a long electronic wail. "Oh no you fraggin' don't!" Ratchet snarled, yanking out wires and plugging in different ones. "You're not gonna get this one!"
Wheeljack stepped back. This was the pivotal moment, and Ratchet needed as few distractions as possible. The medic growled a stream of curses under his breath as he worked, optics narrowed in concentration and jaw set to one side. The wailing alarm continued on for a moment longer, then abruptly fell silent.
Ratchet stopped, his hands still resting within Prowl's chest cavity. "No." He whispered. "Not again."
"Ratchet?" Sideswipe ventured.
"He's gone." The medic replied quietly. "I lost him." Automatically, Ratchet picked up a rag and wiped his hands, then cleaned the worst of the fluid splatters from around Prowl's open chest.
"Do you want me to get the autopsy protocols?" Wheeljack asked.
"No." Ratchet shook his head. "Prowl still has sensitive information in his neural net, not to mention the identity of his killer. Leave him on full life support. We'll have to wait for his self repair to finish fixing his systems before it can be accessed." He turned to the shocked twins. "Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, you're dismissed."
0o0o0
The news of the 2IC's apparent demise hit the Autobots hard. Disbelief turned to shock, shock turned to grief, grief turned to anger, and anger spurred the Autobots on in their search for the shooter. Whomever it was, they were not going to get away.