Author's Note: I want to take a moment to say a big thank you to everyone whose taken the time to smash the favorite and follow buttons and leave a review! It means a lot to me!
Review Responses:
wolf girl811: The G1 episode that you are thinking of where the Autobots turn human was in the episode, 'Only Human,' but it was through a vastly different method than the Autobot Spike incident and involved technology used by the G.I. Joe canon terrorist group Cobra. That aside, thank you so much for the lovely and long reviews you leave. It's always a pleasure to read how excited and engrossed my readers get.
Guest: Thank you for leaving the wonderful review
Tennoda: X) I couldn't help but write Optimus as a dominating personality. I've read waaaay too much fiction where he's gentle and I couldn't do that. For a mech that's been through so much, and for someone whose climbed the social ladder, being anything but dominating just didn't seem to fit ;) Ahuurg! A fanfic of Optimus kidnapping someone does sound appealing now! Especially if written by you! I did read one once, it was a Bayverse Optimus after he was tortured by Quintessa, the writing was okay but they nailed the creepy Optimus vibes completely. Dark and/or dominating Optimus's aside, there was this off line of toy merc that stated that Optimus did have a cyberdog named Magnus at one point! Cracked me up just picturing Optimus with a cyberdog with big jowls that slobbered a lot, but was a big friendly oaf.
Guest: Thank you for the love and support! It tickles me pink to hear when the story enraptures a reader like you described where they have to read everything that's up!
KOTHP5532: Always love to hear when someone enjoys the story! And bounce back to it I am! I was grinning while reading your review, because I was in the middle of editing this next chapter. I hope you enjoy!
Easter Eggs: (There's a lpt and I think I missed some)
-Sparkplug was forced to convert Earth fuel into Energon for the Decepticons but instead posioned them in the Marvel G1 comic: 'Prisoner of War!'
-Sunstreaker was a gladiator that fought against Megatron. In one famous fight, Megatron nearly killed Sunsteaker if not for Optimus's intervention. Marvel G1 comics: 'State Games'
-Cybertonium deficiency first arose as an issue in the G1 episode: 'Desertion of the Dinobots part 1 and part 2'.
-Megatron called Ironhide 'Bumblebee' in the G1 episode: 'Prime Problem.'
-Soundwave fails to catch Spike in the G1 episode: 'More Than Meets the Eye Part 2'
-The Matter Duplicator appeared in the G1 episode: 'Cosmic Rust.'
-Ratchet has made a number of concerning yet seemingly throw away remarks throughout G1 and Tf:Prime that I have recycled for this chapter to solidify his mental break. I like to think that this mental break was canon in G1, as it would explain why the Cybertonium deficieny went unreported, and why Ratchet was slowly replaced by Perceptor (a scientist!) as the medical officer in G1.
"Mm-hm, it's in the rules. And I should warn you that one of us always tells the truth, and one of us always lies. That's a rule too, he always lies."
"I do not! I tell the truth!"
"Oooh, what a lie!"
-Labyrinth, Two Doors Riddle
Location: Ark, Medical Bay
There had to be some kind of error, Wheeljack reasoned with himself. It was the only thing that made sense. He tapped an icon at the top of the medical datapad, intent on refreshing the page and hoping the numbers on the screen would reset to their correct percentages, but the numbers remained adamantly fixed. His optical ridges sloped downward into a confounded 'V'.
"These numbers can't be right." He murmured to himself, his helm panels flashing a gentle blue, and tapped the refresh button again. "There has to be some sort of glitch in the system somewhere..."
But the numbers remained adamantly fixed.
Frustrated that Sideswipe's medical readouts were throwing the same erroneous numbers at him for his minerals percentages, Wheeljack slotted the datapad back in its compartment on the medberth and moved over to the next where Sunstreaker rested in bare protoform.
Taking in Sunstreaker's silver-grey body, Wheeljack was reminded of a sudden how little humans actually knew about their Cybertronian neighbors. It was a situation that still tickled many of the mechs around the Ark, including himself. Some Autobots, such as Jazz and Cliffjumper, went out of their way to find articles online and laugh about human misconceptions. The most prevalent of them all seemed to be the idea that Cybertronians were just exposed muscle cables and wires underneath the armor. A preposterous notion—how could they possibly deal with sand getting in their internals if that was the case? Shudder the thought, but the notion was as ridiculous a concept as a human walking around in clothes, or ancient humans in suits of armor, but stripped of their skin beneath that. Certainly, if humans learned that their exodermal armor was just that—armor worn, and that there was a very similar and very familiar android-like body beneath all that, complete with cyber-lines and link up ports to synchronize the armor with their Cybertronian body, and yes, transformable in cases, humans minds would likely implode. Out of the whole situation, Wheeljack wasn't sure what was more entertaining, how creative humans got in trying to figure it out, or that Optimus Prime refused to clarify the misconceptions with the humans.
Wheeljack's attention turned from Sunstreaker himself and drifted towards the medical datapad hanging from the medberth. He had a nagging inkling to check Sunstreaker's medical datapad to inspect if the error was coming up in his results too, when he was struck by an inexplicable feeling that he was a vorner all over again about to be caught stealing an oil cake.
Wheeljack stalled, servo poised over Sunstreaker's medical pad. His attention drifted around the Medbay to locate Ratchet and Sparkplug's position and spotted them just a few medberths over. The two were busy with their own patients and ignorant of any wrongdoing on Wheeljack's part.
Not that I'm doing anything wrong, thought Wheeljack. How can I be? I volunteered to help Doc Sunshine with the damaged...
Wheeljack's attention zeroed in on Ratchet. He moved with the telltale signs of an overworked medic, dark tired optics and slow movements. His back was too him as Ratchet half listened to the dark grey and red Windcharger as the minibot prattled on about the battle while Ratchet picked shrapnel out of his armor. Over the murmur of hushed conversations and grumbles of complaint taking place throughout the Medbay, Wheeljack could pick out their conversation easily.
"-then I magnetized my arms again. The missiles redirected my way of course, but I barely had time to dodge."
"Lucky for Mirage and Bluestreak." Murmured Ratchet in reply.
"Yeah." Scoffed Windcharger with a click of his glossa. "Not that they seemed to notice. Too busy snipping whichever 'Con at the time."
"And your upset about that?"
"No! Noo... Just a thank you would be nice."
And nearby, Wheeljack picked up on Sparkplug and Ironhide's conversation as the human worked on the surly red Autobot.
"Be careful in there." Grumbled Ironhide moodily as he lifted his cranium off the medberth to try and get a look at the human digging around through his midsection.
"I always am." Replied Sparkplug off hand.
"Tch." Snorted Ironhide as he thunked his cranium back on the medberth. "I've seen your barbarous torture shop."
"Repair shop." Sparkplug grumbled in mock offense as the human mechanic came more alert of their conversation. "It was an auto repair shop."
"Sure it was." Ironhide replied in a tone that suggested light-hearted teasing.
"Maybe if you put up a better fight against Megatron as much as you grumble you'd be in better shape."
"Hrumpth...Maybe I'ah would have felt the metal burn on that one if it hadn't of come from the only Witwicky that hasn't taken Megatron head on."
Sparkplug's salt and pepper head popped up. "Excuse me." Replied an immediately irate Sparkplug. "You seem to have forgotten who was taken hostage by the Decepticons when you were reactivated. Who was forced to create synthetic energon and who instead poisoned the Decepticons?"
Once more, Ironhide's cranium came up off the medberth. For a long nanoklik he stared at Sparkplug. Then, turned to Windcharger and said, "I'll trade you medics."
"Frag you." Said Windcharger.
"Oh come on, Ironhide." Chuckled Sparkplug as he broke into a lopsided grin and bent back into Ironhide's damaged insides. "Little ol' me scares you?"
"You and Phage both. The two of you can be so wildly unpredictable." Then, he added in a low mutter to himself, "Can't believe I forgot you did that."
Buried in Ironhide's wound, he didn't see the smile slip from Sparkplug's face. "Well, she is my niece."
"Was." Then, abruptly, Ironhide spasm and shouted. "Ow!" A spew of Cybertronian curses poured from Ironhide's vocal processor in rapid fire succession, drawing the attention of many of the Autobots in Medbay. Ironhide curled into a sitting position and glared down at Sparkplug. "What was that?!" Complained Ironhide.
"Oops." Said Sparkplug as he made a show of wiping his energon coated rubber-gloved hands on a cloth. "Must've slipped." Then added with a barely contained smirk. "Looks like your alloy's not as tough on the inside. On Earth, we call that hard on the outside, but soft on the inside. Is the idiom 'Ironhide' on your planet?"
"Why, you!"
Wheeljack shook his cranium as he turned away from the friendly slag-talking.
Distracted, thought Wheeljack as he reached for Sunstreaker's medical report. Gnawing worries and thoughts spiraled through his processor as he entered his code to bypass the simple security and went through the suddenly tedious and time-consuming process to get to the page he needed.
Sideswipe's is just an error, he tried to comfort himself but the nagging concerns multiplied as his optics drifted between Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.
The mechs shared a spark, twaned at creation, and whether due to that splitting or that the individual spark before dividing had a unique outliner mutation was a matter of discussion, but the Twins had a fast regenerative ability-one couldn't terminate without the other. Take too long in knocking one down and the other twin just sprang back up like a rose. And in spite of that, their regeneration was taking longer than normal. Wheeljack had originally just assumed it was because Megatron had so thoroughly trashed Sunstreaker that, by the time Ratchet had gotten to the mech, he looked like a mangled, crunched up horror show. Extricating Sunstreaker from his own exodermal armor had been a nightmare that had taken the better half of four and a half hours, even with Wheeljack helping Ratchet with the cutting and stripping. It had, unfortunately, left Sunstreaker stripped to his bare protoform while they waited for Huffer to make replacement parts.
But what if it isn't because of the royal beat down between the three old gladiators?, Worried Wheeljack. What if Sideswipe's mineral readouts isn't an error? What if Sunstreaker's mineral levels were as critical as Sideswipe's?
His attention focused back on the medical datapad as he reached the page he needed. As the page loaded, Wheeljack silently willed that Sunstreaker's mineral percentages were accurate and that there had only been an issue with Sideswipe's that needed a redo. His optics swept the page and located the mineral percentage for Cybertonium...
The numbers were eerily the same-low. Worryingly, so.
His optics narrowed to twin burning sapphire slits as a low rumble emitted from his vocal processor.
Two identical errors? Thought Wheeljack. Only, perhaps, if they were done together, at the same time, while Ratchet was tired, then maybe... What if, Wheeljack pondered further, the low mineral readouts were accurate. Perhaps Sunstreaker's slow regenerative rate was less to do with the beat down Megatron had dished out...
A sudden thought popped into Wheeljack's processor and an unsettling weight soon pooled in his fuel tanks. He stole a glance around the medbay, split between checking someone else's medical pad to see if the same error came up and informing Ratchet of the glitch. He was settling on checking a third medical datapad.
How could Ratchet have missed it?, the thought crossed Wheeljack's mind as he spied the chief medical officer still picking shrapnel out of Windcharger a few medberths over. Their levels are bordering yellow. Ratchet should have seen declines in their monthly maintenance checkups.
He was just of a mind to start in Ratchet's direction and bring the issue up when he stopped short, his attention snapping back around to Sideswipe as the mech groaned and then slowly began to stir to life. Beside Sideswipe, Sunstreaker's digits twitched and gradually curled into a fist. Wheeljack pivoted back around, making a mental note to bring the matter with the erroneous mineral ratings up to Ratchet right after the Twin's check up.
"Welcome back to the land of the functioning, gentle-mechs."
Sideswipe blinked rapidly as he came online. "Gentle-mech?" He questioned, groaning as he sat up and rubbed at his forehead. "Nobody has called me a gentle-mech in...ever actually."
"Yeah, well, I realized the error as soon as it left my glossa." Replied Wheeljack, his helm panels flashing a cool blue. "I should have supplemented 'gentle-mech' for 'stubborn afted glitch.'"
"Hm. Now that sounds like something I've been called a lot."
"Getting nostalgic?" Quipped Wheeljack, cocking on optical ridge.
"Oh, yeah." Sideswipe shot back even as his attention slipped to the medberth next to his where Sunstreaker shifted and stirred, groaning himself as he came online. "Takes me back to some real cozy places."
"Tch! As if you two have ever been anywhere cozy."
"Iacon." Sideswipe replied quickly, feeling the slightest bit defensive. "You know. Before."
Immediately, Wheeljack sobered up. "Yeah. I know. ...How're you functioning after your trip down nostalgic lane with Megatron?"
"Stiff." Groaned Sideswipe. Then quickly gritted his denta and berated himself with a hiss, "Every. Fragging. Time!"
Gingerly, Sunstreaker shifted into a sitting position, careful as he swung his legs over the edge of the medberth. He steadied himself by gripping the edge with both servos. His cold icy blues scanned the Medbay, assessing and processing the situation around him.
"How ya holding up, 'Sunny." Asked Wheeljack after too long Sunstreaker had said nothing.
Those icy lens focused squarely on Wheeljack. Besides scuff blemishes, Sunstreaker's perfect model face had regenerated of any major lacerations hours ago, leaving him to stare at Wheeljack with the coldness of a display mannequin. "You know not to call me that."
"Well, I can't call you Sunshine either. That one's reserved for a certain someone."
"We all know you mean Ratchet and no one cares." Sighed Sideswipe with a bored roll of his optics.
Sunstreaker's lips pulled up at one corner into the beginnings of a snarl at Wheeljack's implication that his nickname could have been Sunshine, but instead all Sunstreaker did was force a rush of air through his auxiliary vents, including the pair that was his helm panels. He tore his attention off of Wheeljack and made a cursory swept of the damaged Autobot forces and familiar surroundings with a calculating glance before settling his full attention squarely back on Wheeljack. "We won, I take it." He surmised as he carefully gauged Wheeljack for the most minuscule reaction. "Or else this whole scene would be a lot different. More purple and silver glaring at us from behind bars."
"Sort of." Wheeljack replied as he shifted his weight uncomfortably from pede to pede. "There's been some complications."
"And?" Sunstreaker shrugged flippantly. "Whoever terminated this time Prime can bring 'em back."
"Sunstreaker!" Sideswipe hissed, glaring at his brother who promptly ignored the reprimand with a dismissive roll of his shoulders that transitioned into him working out the kinks in his shoulder joints. Wheeljack glared at the mech, his head panels flaring a dark pink, bordering red to signal his irate mood, when Sideswipe interjected to redirect the conversation.
"Let me tell you, 'Jackie," Began Sideswipe with a crooked grin, "Yours isn't the face I thought I'd see when I onlined." And his warm baby blues swept the Medbay over. "Where's our feisty Phage? Ratchet got her in the back grabbing parts or was she sent down to Huffer's Forge to help? Did she manage to stabilize Prime?"
Wheeljack sighed wearily, and his cranium panels flared that same shade of blue. "That's part of the complication." Both Lamborghini Brothers stalled, attention snapping up and around to Wheeljack and boring into the mech. "See, uh... Not sure if I should be the one telling you all this. I've never been good at this sort of thing. But, Optimus...Optimus Prime terminated." Wheeljack blurted tiredly, jerking his cranium in the direction of the medberth with a large cloth draped over the frame. "Gunmetal grey."
The bombshell left the Twin's stranded in shock, speechless, mouths agape and staring with wide round optics. Then, slowly, their gaze drifted to Prime's frame on the indicated medberth and back again. "Optimus Prime, terminated?" Repeated Sideswipe at long last in a daze.
"But-" Whatever Sunstreaker had been about to say trailed off.
"We're all in shock." Said Wheeljack uselessly.
It was a long minute before Sideswipe came around. Slowly, he blinked and gave his cranium a shake. "Are we...Do we owe allegiance to Megatron?"
"No." Clipped Wheeljack quickly. "Megatron tried too-"
"Whose in charge?" Asked Sideswipe hastily, cutting him off.
"Jazz, I suppose." Replied Wheeljack with a shrug. "But he's not here right now."
"Why?"
"Because of Phage. She-"
"What happened to her?" Asked Sideswipe sharply, coming fully out of his shock. His voice pitched, his optics widened in alarm as his servos gripped the edge of the medberth as if he intended to leap off. "Where is she?"
"Will you let me talk? Eesh! She was...She was captured, by Megatron."
The Twins burst to their pedes in an explosion of livid energy and towered over Wheeljack by a full cranium and shoulders. "Captured?" Snapped off Sunstreaker.
"Why?" Sideswipe demanded, his handsome face twisting up with his temper that made him look as equally vicious as his brother. "Why would he take her! What advantage could that possibly have!"
"Spoils, obviously." Growled Sunstreaker with a vicious snarl. "Couldn't take the Ark so he took what he could get in compensation."
Sideswipe's attention whipped around to his brother as his face flushed a vibrant angry blue. "She's not some Kaonite free downloader he can take to his berth after a battle in the pits!"
"I didn't say that. He wanted her before because she can phase." Sunstreaker shot back stubbornly. "If the 'Cons kept Bombshell's cerebral shell research they could Altihex her. What he does with her after that..."
"He wasn't going to take her, not initially." Interjected Mirage into their conversation from a nearby berth, his smooth caramel vocals ringing clearly. "He dismissed her from Optimus Prime's cold frame and Phage took off running. It was only after he tore through Prime's chassis that he realized she had taken the Matrix."
At the brief, clipped news, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's optics doubled in size. "Phage took the Matrix?!" Exclaimed Sideswipe.
"She tried to outrun Megatron on pede!?" Cried Sunstreaker in disbelief.
"She didn't get far." Said Mirage crisply. "Megatron ordered all the Decepticons to divert their attention to grabbing her after she took the Matrix. Saw everything from my vantage point."
"You mean your cowards point!" Bit Sideswipe. "Where were you while Ironhide, Sunstreaker and I were tangoing with Megatron?"
Mirage lazily stretched his legs from the medberth, eyeing the Twins impassively. "Bluestreak and I were covering your reckless afts by maintaining our tactical vista and clipping the wings of a few Seekers and the odd 'Con that tried to interfere. Do you really think your fight went unseen out there?"
Color flushed Sideswipe's face before he whirled his temper back on Wheeljack and jabbed a digit into his chassis. "Where were you? Why didn't you cover her after we threw down our lives!"
"I was with Huffer and Brawn!" At the indignant treatment, Wheeljack's engine revved angrily. "Stripping down the Ark's cannons and fixing them to the entrance to deal with Devastator! Which we barely managed just in time! Thank you very much! We were close to being overrun!"
"Come on, mechs." Sighed Windcharger from nearby. The poor grey mech was getting his chassis removed by Ratchet. Once the exodermal armor had been stripped, Ratchet took hold of Windcharger's arm and gingerly directed the minibot to lift his arm and hold it horizontally while he attended to damage sustained to Windcharger's smooth, dark grey mercurial-like body from the shrapnel. "We all did our best out there. There's no need to jump down each other's throats."
The Twins were gearing up for another round of jabs, when Wheeljack placed himself in their line of sight. He took hold of Sideswipe's arm, a wiser choice between the two, and tried to guide him back onto the medberth. "The two of you should take a nanoklik and sit back down. You're hardly in decent shape to be standing, and none of this can be easy to process."
"I'm fine to stand." Grit Sideswipe, as he shifted his stance to hold his ground against Wheeljack's efforts to seat him. "It's not the first time Sunstreaker or I have willingly been cannonfodder for the front lines. I'll stand."
"Just this once, take some well deserved rest."
"You mean Ratchet wants us back on the berth so he can organ harvest us for one of these unlucky afts." Said Sunstreaker crankily.
At the mention of his designation, Ratchet's cranium popped up from his work of cleaning out Windcharger's injury. "I don't need to do any transplants, thank Primus."
"Will you both, just this once, not be difficult and rest. You're bodies need it more than anything."
"More like you need us more than anything." Murmured Sunstreaker.
"I'll stand, thank you." Clipped Sideswipe.
"For Primus's sake!"
The three remained locked, a silent battle of wills until Ratchet stormed to his pedes and thundered, "If you start a brawl in my Medbay, so help me Primus, I will reconfigure your alts into toasters!"
Startled, Wheeljack's optics went round as he gestured to the Twins. "You mean just them, right Sunshine?"
Ratchet's mouth twisted up into a snarl. "Call me Sunshine one more time and you'll find out who that threat included."
Fearful of discovering the validity Ratchet's wrath, the three mechs demurred. Then, abruptly, Sunstreaker turned aside and started to move away. "Where are you going?" Barked Ratchet. "You're in no state to be going anywhere."
A storm of emotions knitted Sunstreaker's optical ridges as he struggled to articulate his intentions. The more nanokliks that passed, the stiffness left Ratchet's shoulder struts. At last, Sunstreaker said simply. "I need to see Optimus Prime with my own two optics."
Both Ratchet and Wheeljack's resolve crumbled. Wheeljack's servo fell off of Sideswipe's arm as he indicted the covered medberth centered roughly in the midst of the Medbay. "Over there."
"You should be warned." Said Ratchet, "What Megatron did to him isn't pretty."
"Sunstreaker and I have seen our fair share of terminations."
"Megatron did worse to him than New York."
The Badland Terrors paused as they brushed pass Wheeljack. As one, they glanced back at Ratchet, all at once full of righteous fury then quickly simmered to a controlled hate. Finally, Sideswipe grunted in understanding and they pressed forward. Under their watchful optics, Wheeljack and Ratchet marked their trek, noting for any signs of distress that would give either of them cause to strap the Twins to the medberths. But even with Sunstreaker stripped of the majority of his exodermal armor, and Sideswipe pieces of his, the only issue Wheeljack noted was a limp from Sunstreaker.
Wheeljack could hardly help but marvel at their remarkable perseverance and grow envious of their tenacious nature. Next to Optimus Prime, the two were war legends, practically machine gods in their own rights. If anyone was going to survive the war, Wheeljack felt certain to place his credits on those two. Certainly, he wondered, they had probably felt the same about Optimus Prime-and therein was the tragedy of the Twins.
An edge went out of Wheeljack as his thoughts turned to how the Badland Terrors must have felt at the turn if events. Termination and brutality marked Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's lives as part of the Autobot vangaurd and their stint with the Wreckers. It must have been difficult for the two to form lasting connections when they continued to regenrate and live while everyone else terminated around them. Then to come to Earth, and even the last dredges of Cybertronian life clung to the Twin's survival. Hold the line, defend us, protect us, sacrifice for us, and even the organ harvesting they had had to resort to when they woke up on Earth. Primus knew how often someone would have terminated if not from a donation from the Twins, or how many of them would have been unable to transform without a transformation cog harvested from the only two who could regenerate from anything. Throughout everything, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker must have banked hard that Optimus Prime would have survived the war, given everything that they had ever gone through.
Wheeljack could hardly comprehend the emotional turmoil they were going through. He looked aside as Sunstreaker pulled the heavy cloth off of Prime's cold frame. He could not bare to witness the extent of the damage again, nor could he bare to invade on the Twin's privacy as they took their own moment to mourn.
"I'm taking five." Murmurred Ratchet abruptly and without further ado to a confounded Windcharger, the white Autobot cut a beeline for his offices. Wheeljack did not even hear him or see him go. He was too busy rubbing at his optics, lost in thought.
Should he check up on another patient or should he assist Ratchet with repairs, and oh! He still needed to talk to Ratchet about the errors in the Twin's mineral readouts. Wheeljack was busy spinning through all of his additional duties, when something Mirage had said abruptly clicked together.
"Wait a nanoklik!" Wheeljack burst suddenly and whirled around on the lithe mech just a few medberths over who was quietly talking with Hound and Tracks. "Mirage! You said you saw Phage take the Matrix?"
Across the Medbay, several craniums snapped up or around. At Wheeljack's blunt and sudden inquiry, Mirage blinked slowly at the short, stout mech and replied haughtily, "Yes." Then, added crisply, "Briefly, mind you. The battle was chaotic and the Seekers had my foremost attention."
"But you saw her take it?" Stressed Wheeljack.
"Yes, I said. When I detected the Matrix energy flare on my scanners, I had to locate the source. That's when I glanced Phage through my scope before she stashed it in her subspace. ...Why?"
Wheeljack's optical ridges shot up. "She told Trailbreaker she didn't have it! Why would she lie about that to him?"
An impassive look stole over Mirage's face. "I couldn't say, Wheeljack."
"Trailbreaker!" Wheeljack called across the Medbay and signaled for the dark mech to join them immediately. Trailbreaker plodded over, but before he had reached their position Wheeljack inquired curtly and impatiently, "Mirage says he saw Phage subspace the Matrix. What was it exactly Phage said to you about it's location? Exact words."
"Exact words?"
"Yes. Exact words."
"Well, we had a brief exchange. She was in a panic, demanding that I cut a straight line for the Ark. She said, get us back to the Ark asap before Megatron realizes what I've done! And I thought that was strange and I said so, since Megatron clearly already knew she had taken the Matrix. Then she tells me that she didn't have it."
"That's it?"
"That's it." Trailbreaker confirmed with a shrug. "She...Well. We were hit and she went flying out my windshield..."
"I haven't a clue what lying would have benefited her." Mirage cut in. "I clearly saw her subspace the Matrix."
Beside Mirage, Hound chipped in, "And when Trailbreaker, Smokescreen and I swooped in to grab her, I could smell Matrix energy all over her."
Wheeljack dismissed Hound's claim with a careless flick of his wrist. "She had to have touched it so of course you would have. This isn't a matter of what you could or couldn't detect, it's a matter of what Phage did with the Matrix."
"I just said." Mirage said irritability. "She subspaced it."
"But she told me she didn't have it." Countered Trailbreaker.
"Then she lied." Replied Mirage.
"Phage doesn't lie." Cut in Sparkplug from his station with Ironhide.
"And besides," added Trailbreaker, "Why would she lie to me? She was in a panic, Mirage. That's hard to fake."
"I can easily fabricate distress." Countered Mirage
"It's your function." Trailbreaker countered. "Just like it's my business as security to tell the difference between a vorner's stumbling efforts at duplicity versus someone with your expertise."
"Thank you for the compliment." Behind his cracked blue visor, Trailbreaker rolled his optics.
Wheeljack leveled an intent frown back on Mirage. "Since when has Alicean been known to lie?"
"Thank you." Said an irritated Sparkplug.
"She lied about phasing." Mirage countered.
"She never lied about it!" Wheeljack shot back. "Nobody ever asked if she was! She was told not to, and she disregarded our strong suggestion. Typical vorner behavior. You of all mechs should understand the fine line between deliberately lying to a friend and omitting information."
"I've had mechs argue there one and the same."
"Mirage!" Wheeljack bit. "This is Phage! Our Alicean!"
"Phage," Mirage said in a low voice, "who we've had under watch."
"Just suspend that for a moment! Neither ever lied. For a mech of your smooth caliber, I'm shocked you can't see that Phage has played her hand at the game of deception and fooled Megatron himself!" Gradually, Mirage's golden optics widened as Wheeljack carried on. "There is a paradox here that we need to figure out. Phage tried to deliver us the message before the Decepticons nabbed her and got part of it out. She doesn't have the Matrix. You saw her subspace it. Phage doesn't lie. Paradox. I'm comming Prowl. And where the Pitt is Ratchet now?" Wheeljack barked.
"That's something we would like to know." Cut in Sideswipe, his tone irate, as the Twin's stormed back across the Medbay towards Wheeljack's position. Sideswipe gestured between his brother and himself. Wheeljack spun on his heel to address the two, stunned at their twin glowering faces. "We don't appreciate the sick joke."
Wheeljack gawked helplessly at the two Wreckers. "What joke?"
"Prime!" Sunstreaker snarled. "I've half a mind to punch in your face and Ratchet's!"
"What?" Exclaimed Wheeljack helplessly, his panels flashing a washed out blue, bordering white. "What are you talking about?"
Sideswipe jabbed his pointer digit behind him, indicating the medberth where Optimus Prime's managled frame had lain since that afternoon and was now exposed to the whole room. "He's not gun metal grey, you slagger!"
Sunstreaker got up in his face then and shouted. "Try pulling something like that on us again and I swear-!"
"He's not..." Shock slammed Wheeljack hard in the processors. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's words fell away as his attention focused pass them and on Prime's medberth. He forced himself to look, to actually look since the battle, and saw that the body had, indeed, retained its color.
"Wheeljack...?" The distant voice belonged to Sideswipe. He had approached Wheeljack cautiously, all former anger had vanished from the Wrecker's face and was replaced with concern. "Wheeljack? Your vocal indicators have been on for a full minute... 'Jackie...You didn't know?"
Gradually, Wheeljack came back to his surroundings. He was aware of the tell end of the stunned silence that had gripped the Autobot forces in Medbay as surely as him, and was just shaking off his shock as a low rumble of murmur rolled through the Medbay, rising in volume and excitement like a rising tide.
Wheeljack teetered then stumbled backwards. The Twin's watched him topple, mirror looks of gnawing surprise and concern on their faces.
"Wheeljack?" Sideswipe called tentatively. "I didn't realize-We thought..."
"You didn't know?" Said Sunstreaker with an edge of disbelief.
"Where's Ratchet?" Wheeljack cried, not caring as his vocal processor hit a pitch in the rising raw adrenaline that surged through his systems, a mixure of panic and excitement.
It was Sparkplug who spoke up. With his wrench in one hand, he pointed across the way to Ratchet's office. "He mumbled something about taking a breather."
"Another break?" Wheeljack clapped back, his panels flaring red as he cut a direct path towards Ratchet's office. His optics swept Ratchet's tools as he passed by Windcharger and noted the dirtied disarrayed medical equipment.
How completely uncharacteristic.
Wheeljack's demeanor worsened to an oncoming storm. "Trailbreaker! Comm Prowl while I deal with Ratchet!"
Prowl swept into the Forge, a section of the Ark where the minobot Huffer crafted the exodermal armor for the Autobots with a keen understanding of metallurgy, craftsmanship, and a hammer.
"Huffer!" Prowl bellowed as he entered the large space, at once failing to spy the surly minibot bent over the Forge at work.
With a glance he swept the Forge, an area Huffer had rightly taken up as his section of the Ark as surely as Ratchet had claimed the Medbay. The domain was strictly Huffer's territory and reflected the minibot's kleptomaniac tendencies and obsession with cleanliness and organization. Along the walls and occupying tables were myriad scrap, junk, nuts, bolts and odd shapes and sizes of metals from Earth and Cybertron, each to their own section. Each neatly labeled and organized. It bordered between an organized mess and a beautiful tool shop.
"Huffer!" Prowl called again. "Ratchet was suppose to receive the first batch of armor an hour ago! Sunstreaker is bare, and half the rest of the forces are missing pieces! ...Huffer?"
A loud irritable grumble attracted his attention to a section of the crowded Forge. Out from around a table laden with raw materials the orange and purple minibot stumbled, wide optic and furious. He came out bellowing, and threw a hammer across the room where it struck the wall above a table laden down with other neatly organized hammers. "I can't forge if I can't find my hammer!"
Prowl blinked. His optics swept across the Forge, at first landing on the area where the thrown hammer had struck and to the table where numerous others rested, neatly labeled, by size and weight. Immediately Prowl realized the situation with the delayed exodermal armor was not what he had thought it would be. He was not coming here to hurry Huffer along out of a stupor to forge, but that he had walked into something else entirely. A situation that defied logic, and it was far too late to retreat.
"You've wasted the last four hours... looking for a hammer? You just had a hammer, Huffer."
"Not that one! I need my hammer!"
Prowl did not know what to do. He was having one of those moments. One of those instances where reality defied all sensible logic and his processor was trying to reboot itself to account for the anomaly.
"I...don't understand." That was a fact. He really did not see the problem. "Just use any hammer."
A desperate and frantic Huffer looked up at Prowl from where he was tearing apart his neatly organized smith. The mech looked wild and outraged at Prowl's mere suggestion. "I can't just use any hammer! My hammer is special!"
Long worry lines etched into Prowl's young desperate face. "It's just a hammer, Huffer!"
The minbot whirled on Prowl and chucked yet another apparently unsuitable hammer towards Prowl's cranium. He ducked, missing the hammer by inches as it sailed over his cranium.
"It wasn't just any hammer!" Huffer bellowed. "It was my hammer! From Cybertron! Not any of these Earth based slag!"
"All of your tools are from Cybertron!" Prowl's servos gesticulated outward from his cranium and waved across all of the Ark's Forge room.
"You don't understand!" Countered Huffer. "I've had my hammer from before the War!"
Oh. Ooh, this was starting to make more sense. Sentimental value, thought Prowl. The simple revelation had Prowl cooling and collecting his thoughts and Huffer sobering up from his anger and dropping into a reflective depressive slump while Prowl ran his servos across his face.
Desperate for a visual anchor, Huffer fixed his attention to his servos as he flexed his digits around a nonexistent handle. The grumpy minibot said quietly, "It's the one thing I've managed to keep a hold of through everything."
Oh, Primus. He should have led the extraction team and not Jazz. Jazz would know what to do. He was the people's mech. Everyone loved Jazz. Jazz would say something smooth and make everything alright, and Primus knew they all needed a morale boost. Prowl knew he was just going to make matters worse.
"I'm...uh," Prowl struggled to make his next words connect as he swept his optics over the Forge, "sure its around here somewhere."
Huffer made a deep rumbling growl from his engine. "She put it somewhere."
He could have only meant one individual. Prowl dragged his servo down his face, peeking at the purple and orange minibot between his digits. "Phage?" He quipped, the conversation exhausting him more than he cared for.
"She's always putting things in the wrong place or forgetting-distracted is what she is. Always jotting down notes. Which was fine, when it is notes about forging, but it ain't always. Gets ideas and has to put it to pad." Grumbled Huffer. "I don't know which is worse-the forgetting or misplacing. I caught a bolt with the nuts! Can you believe that?!"
"No." Sighed Prowl, but Huffer did not seem to hear his lackluster repulsion.
"Oh Primus, unless she tried to reorganize again." And Huffer's optics darted around the Forge, as if he could detect with a glance if his organization system was out of whack. "She thinks she's being helpful but I've told her she can do that all she want's in Wheeljack's lab. That mech is a mess."
Prowl was not about to point out the hypocrisy of Huffer's statement. Wheeljack was a slob, yes. But Huffer was an organized kleptomaniac. A mental byproduct brought on by the war's limited resources. The minibot collected anything and everything under the pretense that he never knew what would come in handy. Prowl believed the human term was a hoarder. Certainly, it seemed like the organized junk was beginning to encroach around the central Forge itself where Huffer crafted their exodermal armor replacements from scrap.
"At least Wheeljack keeps the explosive material locked safely away."
"Humpth! But is it labeled? Is it organized? Or is it all by what he and he alone remembers?"
"With Phage's help, yes, it has gotten organized."
"Hm... At least I have a particular system." Huffer grumbled and sounded proud about it. "Hammers go in the top drawer, spare sheets of metal are lined up in that wall compartment by size. Irregular pieces go in the one next to it—"
"Huffer." Prowl tried to interject. "We need those exodermal armor pieces! We can't have half our forces going into battle missing door panels and hoods!"
"It wouldn't be the first time." The surly minibot grumbled.
"It shouldn't have to be this time! We have the equipment and the spare parts."
"I don't have my hammer!"
"Huffer!" Prowl snapped. "Just use a spare!"
"They aren't spares!" The minibot shouted back. "They are specific hammers I use for specific phases of the forging process!"
Once again, Prowl slapped his servos over his face and dragged it down, releasing an exasperated sigh. Where was Jazz when he needed him?, he wondered as he said, "Where was the last place you saw it, Huffer?"
"Right here, of course!" Huffer gestured toward the Forge itself. "Where I always leave it!"
"And it wasn't there when you walked in?"
"No! Phage was scheduled to work with me in the Forge this morning. I bet-"
"She was?" Interrupted Prowl curiously, sniffing a potential lead out of limbo.
"Yes." Huffer clipped. "I bet she saw it and thought she was being helpful by putting it away but I can't find it anywhere! I keep telling her, I know where everything is and not to touch anything! What are you doing?"
Prowl was busy on his comm-link. "Accessing Teletraan-One's security feed. You should have comm'ed me about this earlier, Huffer, instead of wasting so much time."
Huffer stewed and blustered indignantly. "Gonna take at least ten days to get everyone's orders done."
"I'd rather it was sooner than later!" Prowl bit back. "Aha! Here!" He said teresly, reviewing the feed. "She entered around five-o-seven."
"Late." Huffer grumbled.
Prowl lifted an optical ridge. "Where were you?"
The minibot set his jaw. "Busy."
Prowl hmmed noncommittally, turning his optics back to the feed. "She did grab it, Huffer-"
"I knew it!"
"And the Ark klaxons went off for the attack..."
"Excuses."
"...She dropped...What is that? A datapad?"
"The one she's always jotting down notes in, most likely."
"She dropped a datapad on the workbench and tossed the hammer back-"
"She tossed my hammer?!"
"-before running out the door." His digits tapped on the hard-light keypad of his comm-link. "Ran straight for command after."
"But where's my hammer if she—She threw it back?" Asked Huffer as he looked over his shoulder strut.
"It skidded and landed behind the Forge." Prowl said simply, closing the security feed and shutting off his comm-link before giving Huffer a long look. "You should have contacted me sooner. Or Trailbreaker. Red Alert-"
"Tch."
"-or Inferno even. Anyone with security access."
Grumbling and mumbling under his breath, Huffer searched around the workbench and near the Forge until he came up with his hammer in question. "I missed you." Prowl heard the mech coo to the inanimate hammer, a heavy, over-sized thing in Huffer's servos, more, Prowl thought, better suited for a war hammer, and perhaps it was the same Huffer took into combat. While Huffer was distracted, Prowl's attention drifted to the work bench where he spied Phage's discarded datapad. An itch took him and he picked it up.
"I'll hold on to this, Huff-"
"I'll never let anyone touch you ever again!" Prowl hung up as Huffer cuddled the hammer, uncertain what to say or how to react, and was only so grateful when his comm-link went off.
"I expect you to have Sunstreaker's exodermal armor ready within the next cycle, Huffer! Now, excuse me." Prowl said tersely, walking off happily to distance himself from the whole episode.
"It'll take three!" Huffer shouted after his retreating backside.
Prowl waved flippantly. "Just get it done!"
Once he was outside the Forge, he answered the call and was greeted by Trailbreaker's visage. {Prowl, Wheeljack is requesting your presence.}
"What's happened now?"
{Err—A few things, actually. Prime's not gunmetal grey.}
Prowl missed his next step and stumbled to a stop. "What? It's been at least six cycles. Discoloration should have set in immediately. Where's Ratchet?"
{Wheeljack's dealing with him. But that's not the only thing. We need to get the officers together and discuss where Phage put the Matrix.}
"She has it—or likely Megatron at this point."
Trailbreaker shook his cranium in the negative. {Wheeljack doesn't think so, and I have to agree with him. She told me she didn't have it.}
"I remember."
{But Mirage just told us he saw her pluck the Matrix from Optimus's chest cavity and stash it in subspace.}
"Then she lied."
"Why?" Trailbreaker challenged. "Why lie about that?"
Prowl's face set in a tense frown. "What have we been afraid about for the last two Earth years, Trailbreaker?"
{I don't buy that she's a spy, Prowl. I think any of us can tell the difference between a rookie infiltrator and the experience that Mirage brings to the table.}
Prowl grunted.
{We've got a paradox over here and we need you.}
Paradoxes? Riddles? Mysteries? Problem-solving. This sounded more his alley. "Tell me all the details while I'm en route."
{Oh. Err...that was about it, actually.}
"Why isn't Prime gunmetal?" Questioned Prowl. "And if Phage doesn't have the Matrix, but she stashed it in subspace, and Phage doesn't lie, what's true?"
{Uh...}
"Begin debriefing everyone about the battle and what they saw of Phage and fill me in when I get there. I won't be long."
"Ratchet!"
Wheeljack barged into Ratchet's office, an astounding feat of presence and intimidation when all of the Ark doors were automatic. Upon his entry, Ratchet fumbled, wide opticed and hastily tried to hide something that was in his servo. He exclaimed in a fright, "What are you doing in here!"
The blantant reaction of a vorner caught with his servo in the oil cookie jar did not escape Wheeljack. Hyped up on an adrenaline with no other constructive outlet, he lashed out on Ratchet. "What was that?" Wheeljack demanded, optics narrowing suspiciously at his servo.
"It's nothing!" Exclaimed Ratchet.
Without warning, Wheeljack lunged across the office and dove over the desk. Ratchet shouted but could not move fast enough to get out of the way. In a nanoklik, he found himself tackled to the floor and pinned under Wheeljack's surprisingly heavy frame.
"Get off me!"
"What's in your servo?" Growled Wheeljack as he wrestled Ratchet for the small, flat steel grey oval.
"None of your business!"
"If you're shooting up or imbibing it is my business!"
The struggle was brief but fierce. With Wheeljack straddling him, Ratchet's mobility was compromised. In the end, Wheeljack triumphed and wrenched the grey metallic oval from Ratchet's grip, which Wheeljack discovered was a small personal flask.
"Aha!" Cried Wheeljack as Ratchet grimaced and thunked the back of his helm on the ground in defeat. Immediately Wheeljack retracted his battlemask into his helm and gave the opening of the canister a whiff. "Engex!" Exclaimed Wheeljack as his head panels flared an angry red. "You've been sneaking engex while on duty!? When did you start this again? And tell me you're not abusing your position and dipping into our medical stocks!"
Ratchet cringed and responded meekly, "I swear, 'Jackie. I haven't touched our medical supplies. ...Can I ask how you figured out?"
"So you can get better at hiding it the next time? Tch." Wheeljack flung the flask across the office where it collided with the wall nosily before it bounced across the floor. He then seized Ratchet's shoulders and hauled him up as far off the ground as he could go while he was still straddling him. He got in Ratchet's face, his mouth pulled back to expose his denta. "Your tools. You only get sloppy and loose focus on your patients when you're on something. Primus, Ratchet. How long have you been off the transport? Tell me this was just this one time. Tell me this is just because of what happened with Optimus."
Ratchet's optics turned downcast and said in a whisper. "I wish I could say it was."
"Slag." Wheeljack cursed, letting Ratchet go. "Fragging slag! How did I miss it?"
"I'm not drinking heavily."
"That's how it always starts with you! Then it isn't enough! Then it becomes more frequent or the dosage gets heavier. Sound familiar? Good, you slagger. You should have said something to me. You're suppose to say something to me when you get the itch. I can't express how ...how disappointed I am with you right now."
"I can imagine."
"I should kick your aft for this."
Ratchet refused to look him in the optic. "I'm sure I deserve more than that."
"Damn fragging straight." And he jabbed his pointer digit into Ratchet's chassis. "You're our only qualified doctor, Ratchet. What the pitt are we suppose to do if you go back down that road?" Reprimanded Wheeljack, his engine revving angrily and so loudly that Ratchet felt the vibrations in his frame. "You know you get careless when you're on something. Slag, I've already found a mess of yours." Ratchet's attention shifted back up to Wheeljack's and waited with the resignation of a mech going to execution. "You failed to notice that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's Cybertonium levels are low." At the mention of the lacking mineral levels, Ratchet went lean in the face. Wheeljack's features twisted up. "You knew about the problem?"
"Yes." Said Ratchet slowly.
Wheeljack spluttered for a few nanokliks, then growled, "That makes it worse!"
"There's nothing I can do about it."
"What slag are you trying to sell me? Of course there's something you can do about it -Give the damn Badland Terrors a supplement. Frag, Ratchet."
"I can't."
"What do you mean you can't?"
Gently, Ratchet's red servo wrapped around Wheeljack's black one. Very calmly and levelly, Ratchet said again, "I can't fix the imbalance with our Cybertonian levels...because I don't have enough in supply."
It took priceless nanokliks for the information to sink in to Wheeljack's processors. "Our...?" He repeated slowly. "What do you mean our? It's not just the Twins?"
"It's everyone. Autobots...Decepticons..." Ratchet cycled air noisily through his vents, and when he opened his mouth again a flood of words came pouring out like a sinner at a confession booth. "It's a simple problem that came about because we were in stasis for so long without proper containment and direct feed to keep our systems in balance. Honestly, I'm surprised none of us terminated during the long stasis. ...Maybe we did, and Optimus just didn't say anything. Maybe he used the Matrix then. I don't know. Prime was the first to online."
Wheeljack gaped, then blinked, then slowly sat up. "Is it...bad, that we're out of supply?"
The longer the conversation drew on, the longer the stress lines on Ratchet's face grew until he looked very worn down and very tired. "Very."
"How bad exactly...?"
Ratchet was silent for the longest time, still holding onto Wheeljack's servo and refusing to let go as he mulled over how to say what had to be said. "Well... first signs of Cybertonium depletion are marked by forgetfulness, poor servo-optic coordination, trouble with critical thinking, minor aches, bouts of sudden temper or, on the other specturm, depression, and fatigue. Does any of that sound familiar, Wheeljack?"
"...yes." He murmurred as he reflected back over their years on Earth. "I always thought it was strange that the Decepticons had trouble nabbing up Spike and Buster. Tch, they got Alicean that one time because she tore the muscle in her leg."
"That was a glaring red flag." Nodded Ratchet, then added, "Can we have this conversation anywhere else other than the floor?"
Still reeling from the revelations out in the Medbay with Prime's frame and now Ratchet's confession about the Cybertonium levels, Wheeljack numbly got off the doctor and helped him to his pedes.
"Have you noticed other symptoms?" Prodded Wheeljack with deep worried optical ridges.
"I have. I've noted more frightening symptoms. Particularly, in Megatron himself. He has always had a terribly excellent memory, but when I heard that he kept calling Ironhide Bumblebee...Well, how do you mix up those two? Especially when he knows who is who."
"Frag." Whispered Wheeljack. "I laughed about that when I heard..."
"Hm. Since Reactivation, I keep seeing the symptoms in everyone. And it's getting worse."
"What are signs for later stages?" Asked Wheeljack helpfully, his tone desperate, Ratchet knew, too try and help solve the problem that he had already given up on.
"Before critical?" Sighed Ratchet. "Involuntary transformation or an inability to transform between modes accompanied by any secondary programs that rely upon the Transformation Cog to activate against your will-like a glitch. Take, for instance, Rumble. Such a latter stage may include his pile-driver arms activating without him meaning too. Or Sideswipe's drill arm. Fatigue becomes more prevalent and mood swings more erratic. Oh, and the aches throughout your frame become apparent and painful as your body attempts to auto-cannibalize itself to obtain the minerals it needs. Although everyone may not show all systems, extreme fatigue and pain was noticed in all clinical studies."
"And critical?"
"By then you would be trapped in whatever mode you were locked into. Arrested of any drive or purpose due to exhaustion and pains. You would succumb to stasis and then termination. ...We're going to off-line, 'Jackie."
"But...What? How? How could this have happened? Terminating! From, from a mineral deficiency? A damn fragging mineral? Not some glorified termination on the battlefield, but because of a deficiency?" To each and every question, Ratchet just nodded his cranium in the positive. "What about the new generation?" Wheeljack exclaimed, growing antsy and shaking Ratchet. "The Dinobots and Combiner teams? What about them? They're just vorners, Ratchet! They've barely begun to live! They-they..." Realization lit Wheeljack hard and the mech stilled. "That's why you objected to creating the Dinobots and Aerialbots."
"Yes. ...I still had some supply then, enough for some new faces but not enough to fix everyone. It...didn't seem fair picking and choosing between us like that. And how would we? Certainly Prime and the officers would get treatments, though Optimus would have objected I'm sure, but who else? How do you choose that? Would we have resorted to a lotto, of all things?"
"So you just...let us use our limited stock for new sparks!?"
"I didn't want us to use what we had. Period."
"This was never brought up in a meeting! I never once heard about this! Not even when you and I built the Dinobots and Aerialbots! You never said a word, not even to me! Tell me, Ratchet. Primus." Pleaded Wheeljack, his vocals choking full of restrained emotion, "Please tell me, that you didn't keep this to yourself all this time. Tell me you at least told Optimus Prime."
Ratchet's mouth hung open, then said hesitantly, "Not...exactly."
"What do you mean, not exactly?" Snapped Wheeljack.
"I identified the deficiency early on and brought it up in an aquisition request to Optimus Prime. When we began receiving supplies from the humans, Cybertonium wasn't among the packages."
"Why didn't you say something?"
"I did! And I was told at the time that the humans reported that such a substance was unknown to them."
"Come on!" Growled Wheeljack desperately. "Didn't you push the matter, Ratchet? I'm sure the humans must have it, but their calling it something else? There has to be another deposit of it on Earth!"
"'Jackie...I scoured through Earth's databases. Compared every known mineral to Cybertonium's structure and appearance. Nothing fit. I...I fell into a desperate place then as the reality of our situation set in. I've lived for millions of years, the majority of that spent in war, the other half in stasis, only to awaken and realize all of our time was up as if, as if we all had cybercrosis! I, spiraled, 'Jackie. I'm not proud about it. I had the first glass of engex to calm myself but it didn't erase the choice I had to make. Should I tell everyone? It wouldn't have changed the outcome. And if I had, morale would have plummeted."
By the end of Ratchet's spew, Wheeljack was running his servos over his helm in a fit. "So you just stayed quiet?!"
Ratchet shrugged apologetically and uselessly. "Ignorance is bliss...Right? Someone complains about aches and I just prescribe pain suppressors. Try to make our final years as comfortable as possible. ...I will admit, I was on the fence for the longest time. I wanted to tell someone, anyone, you. I really wanted to tell you. Almost told Prime how serious the issue was once or twice. But when the Constructicons were forged, and then the Combaticons and Stunticons, Dinobots and Aerialbots-I couldn't. I felt I couldn't say anything to anyone."
"Why did that change anything?" Asked Wheeljack carefully.
"I wanted them to live, 'Jackie. Beyond the constraints of this struggle. You and I both lived through Simanzi. I still get sick contemplating how many generations were consumed in that campaign. How many innocent vorners on both sides were cold forged and whose lives were thrown away as if they meant nothing. And how many of us, how many of our generation and older were ground up and spat out all the same. Everything changed after Simanzi. Experience and knowlwdge became priceless..." Rambled Ratchet quietly, before his voice rose again. "When the new generation was forged here on Earth I-I just flashed to Simanzi. Every time Megatron got the Matrix, I went cold and died a bit on the inside just thinking that that could be the moment we could be faced with a second Simanzi."
"Ratchet..."
"I couldn't say anything, Wheeljack. Not even to you. For them. For their future."
"A future without us."
"A new generation removed from our madness that would be free to grow and learn right."
"...And in this-pax utopian dream of yours, how long would the new Earth generation have to live before they succomb to the deficiency?"
"By my educated guess?" Said Ratchet tiredly. "I estimate that they will live long and, hopefully, fruitful lives. By the time they begin to suffer a Cybertonium deficiency, I imagine humanity will be extinct, Earth will be a vastly different world and, frankly, I hope ignorance will be blissful to them. With the new generation growing up on Earth, they are accustomed to the idea of mortality. I hope they never realize that immortality was robbed from them. I hope they will just shrug and tell their own pretty white lies that they've just grown old."
"Grown old. Tch." Mimicked and mocked Wheeljack. "And Phage? What about her? She wasn't forged by us."
Ratchet hung up. "I...I have no idea how long she could live, Wheeljack. I don't know what the Lazalt are like, or their lifespans."
"So she could end up outliving all of us? Did you consider that? Did you consider the possibility that she'd be alone, maybe on some alien world far from here in this distant future, with no one to call a peer let alone a friend?"
"Or she could live the same or less!"
"More pretty white lies you're telling yourself?" Snipped Wheeljack.
Ratchet gaped at Wheeljack, stalled in a moment of confliction. For a long time Wheeljack said nothing, studying Ratchet's optics intently, and processing. At long last, Wheeljack said quietly and grimly, "Is this why Optimus lost to Megatron today? Because he was inhibited by a Cybertonium deficiency?"
"Megatron would have been too."
He didn't see the punch coming until the smart sting exploded across his face. Before Ratchet knew what was what, Wheeljack planted the disoriented doctor in his office chair. Wheeljack loomed over him and trapped him in the chair by grabbing the arm rests. "I should report you." Wheeljack rumbled darkly. "You would be stripped of your rank and position so fast your processor would spin."
Ratchet could already feel his face swelling from the blow. "I never wanted to see Megatron outlive Optimus, I swear Wheeljack. This...this wasn't a malicious attack. It just...I mean...Primus."
"You want to envoke our creator's designation now? Really? How about I paraphrase a snippet of wisdom from the Covenant itself: Bad things happen because good mechs do nothing. That's exactly what you've done Ratchet. You sat on this information for seventeen Earth years when we could have devoted our efforts to solving this issue. Dare I ask how much time we have left?"
Once again, Ratchet let his cranium sink towards his chassis and replied, "Maybe three or five Earth years if we're lucky."
"You slagger."
"You don't understand, Wheeljack!"
"Oh, I think I do."
"I...I...can't...keep doing this. I fix every one up just so you can go back out there and get yourselves blown apart. Maybe you end up back on my medberth, and maybe next time you come back in too many pieces for me to fix. Then, for those who I can't save Optimus Prime uses the Matrix just to revive everyone so we can all go on fighting and dying all over again so we can go on protecting Earth. That's...that's our mission now, isn't it? Just, protect Earth. From the Decepticons. As if they were a serious threat."
"Ratchet!"
"I know! I know what they've done. I know what they did to New York, but look at them. They're trying to survive on an alien world, same as us. Just we landed right with the Witwicky's. Meanwhile, Megatron and the Decepticons hide away from humanity. What does that say? That Megatron is weary of the eleven billion carbon based creatures because at any point Optimus's goodwill propaganda could sour and those creatures out there could turn on us in a nanoklik and hit us with weapons that don't harm them but are banned weapons of war to us! Hiding in the ocean? That seems the most logical thing out of all of this-get out of the little alien hordes way. And it's funny that there's only about a hundred of us and billions of them-but they're scared of us and we use that to our advantage until it just doesn't anymore. How many more years could Prime hang the threat of the Decepticons over Earth's governments once the energon raiding stopped? Because we both know that ended years back. Megatron got what he needed. They built a stablized base. He's moved to the next phase, which is them trying to get off this planet. Right? Or, cyberforming Earth, if the Battle of New York was any indication-which helped Prime's position of power with the humans I guess. I just..."
"You're rambling."
"I guess I am. It's just...ask yourself why? Just once. We destroyed Cybertron, and for what? Because we disagreed over how to govern ourselves? Because Optimus and Megatron refused to meet optic-to-optic? We all went mad then and just...kept on at it. Then, finally we came to this star system. We were suppose to terminate when the Ark crashed, 'Jackie. But here we are. Four million years removed from that fateful event. Cybertron's a rogue planet lost somewhere in the depths of space and that seems rather poetic, doesn't it? A grave world in the void. And here we are, the core elite of both factions, trapped on an alien planet surrounded by alien life. Life that wouldn't be here if the Ark hadn't crashed, because we would have stripmined this system to feed Cybertron and our war. Another nameless planet and just a numbered system we would have left in the long line of system's both sides have plundered. Sometimes it feels like a slap in the face, you know. Earth. And all its life and light. Eleven billion humans, and Optimus wants us to protect them all, as if we few could." Scoffed Ratchet. "You know, I heard Bumblebee ask onetime, well, he asked this question to Prime, if we aren't all trapped in limbo and needing to atone for our sins."
"And you figured that atonement would come by not reporting this issue?"
"I guess I did. An opportunity presented itself and...I just concluded the only way I could help remove this plague was, just... to end everything the cowards way, because nothing else seemed to work. I can't fix what's up here." And he tapped the side of his helm with a digit. "Stubborness, beliefs, that's not something I can touch. It's not something I can fix. This issue...the Cybertonium deficiency..." He drooped his cranium, letting it lull on to his chassis as his whole frame slumped and suddenly his chair seemed to swallow him where he sat. "It's the only medicine I can see to the madness. I just...I hadn't thought...I'd hoped the Decepticons would have just...terminated down below in their seabase first. With the symptoms Megatron and some of the Decepticons had shown I had thought they would go first. I had banked on it...Figured even we would just stop hearing from them and then Prime would get itchy and send recon down there, like Sea Spray, and we would get a report back that they were all off-line."
As Ratchet's long spew trickled to a stop, Wheeljack said, "Except it didn't happen that way, did it Ratchet?"
His optical ridges creased together. "I can't compute why."
Sadly, Wheeljack slowly shook his head. "When did the doctor become the harbringer of doom? And me, an inventor of a multitude of horrendous weapons, trumpet life?"
A ghost of a twitch threatened the corner of Ratchet's mouth but never took root. Rather, he lifted his heavy cranium off his chassis and stared up at Wheeljack from under the rim of his chevron adorning his helm as the shorter, stout mech loomed over him. He whispered, brokenly. "...Was I wrong, 'Jackie?"
"On so many levels, doc."
A pained expression consumed Ratchet's face. Lubricants threatened the corner of his optics. "I don't want to see any more termination, Wheeljack. On either side. I just...can't see a peaceful end anymore."
He shuffled uncomfortably and glanced between the broken medic and the closed office door. "I should report you." He repeated his earlier threat.
"I would deserve no less."
"Yeah...except I know you, Ratchet. I know you have a good spark. And it leaks... As much as you try to hide it at times I know it does. And it leaks for eveyone."
"We're all Cybertronians. At the base of our code and metal of our frames, we're all brothers."
Wheeljack vented heavily. "Is there any Cybertonium left?"
Ratchet nodded towards the wall behind him that held a sliding shelf stock of medicines. Wheeljack moved to inspect as Ratchet spoke. "There's just a raw chunk of mineral left. Not enough to make a single supplement if I wanted. It was all that was left over after we forged the Aerialbots."
Wheeljack found the bottle with the small lonely chunk of green crystal inside. He plucked it from the shelf and turned the glass bottle over fervantly in his servo.
"Wheeljack...? You never said what you were going to do."
His attention jumped to Ratchet. "I'm going to fix your mistake and we're never going to mention this again-to anyone."
Ratchet blinked. "What?"
"You're clearly not in your right frame of mind, doc. Overworked, overstressed, and a lack of cybertonium messing with your critcial thinking processes, right? Well, simple fix to this if you had just said something sooner-the Duplicator down in the Science Bay. Yeah, that one." He flashed Ratchet the bottle. "I'm going to make a quick jog over there and fix our situation right now. You'll have so much Cybertonium within the hour you won't know what to do with it. Ha! Judging by your reaction you forgot about the Duplicator."
"Wheeljack, stop!" And Ratchet lept to his pedes. "You can't do this, 'Jackie!"
"Are you serious? I have the solution to this problem and your telling me no?"
"Didn't you hear a word I said?"
"Oh, I did. And like I said, you aren't in your right frame of mind." And with that, Wheeljack twirled the bottle and made it disappear in a haze of blue light as he stashed it into his subspace.
"Give me the Cybertonium back, Wheeljack!"
"So you can what? Destroy it? Absolutely not!"
"Wheeljack!" Ratchet's engine revved angrily.
Wheeljack met the volume of Ratchet's angry rev and louder as his blinkers flared to a red. "Don't make me weld you to your l chair, because I will! And when I'm done with that, if you keep on spouting this traitorous talk, see if I don't change my mind and tell Prime."
"Prime is terminated, 'Jackie!"
A wide devious grin split Wheeljack's face. "Naw, see, that's why I-"
The office door hissed open once again. Both mechs flinched and whirled towards the entrance and found Prowl stood in the doorframe. He swept the office over with a critical once-over. Immediantly his attention landed on the discarded flask, his optics backtracked the trajectory to the wall and followed the path back to Ratchet and Wheeljack, both of whom had stalled up on his entrance. Ratchet was wide-opticed and Wheeljack quickly recalled with battlemask with a snap! One of Prowl's fine optical ridges arched carefully high as his attention landed on Ratchet's swollen face.
All at once, Prowl said, "The punch sober you up, Ratchet?"
"Uh...err, yes."
"Good answer. If it hadn't I would have clocked you myself. Now, if this little intervention is over, have you debriefed Ratchet on the Twins finding?"
"Was about to." Said Wheeljack.
"What finding?" Asked the confounded Ratchet.
Prowl's refined features twisted up in a tight frown. "The finding where you failed to notice that Optimus Prime is still functioning."
At the break of the news, Ratchet stared, then blinked, and went on staring. "That's not possible." He said at last. "The damage alone..."
"I inspected Prime's frame myself and it's not gunmetal grey. Explain that."
Ratchet blinked again, his processor churning over the news. Slowly, he began spewing out a hypothesis, "Optimus Prime has survived some...extreme violence to his person in the past. More recently, when the Decepticons cut him to pieces during the Battle of New York. I can only presume that the frame has not gone gunmetal grey for the same reasons as before-Matrix energy courses through his systems."
"You fixed up Prime then. Do. It. Again."
Ratchet shook his cranium. "Megatron took his cranium. And you saw his chassis. The spark core was extinguished."
"Funny thing, that diagnoses, Ratchet. See, was a peace officer once, and as you know, I still serve security with the Autobots when I'm not being called on for tactical intelligence. I've seen my fair share of cold frames and I can tell you, after cross examining Prime's frame, the spark chamber does not exhibit signs of metal burn assosicated with a spark implosion due to a breach or destablization of the internal systems. In fact, the interior chamber is clean."
"But...that can't be."
Prowl cocked the same optical ridge. "Tell me Ratchet, did you actually determine cause of termination or assume."
"Don't you dare look at me like that! Everyone out there saw the kind of damage that Megatron did! No one could fault me for-"
"That's right, Ratchet." Prowl said calmly, holding up his servo, palm up, for peace. "No one can and no one will. But I need you out on the floor to properly diagnosis the finding and figure out what the pitt is going on. Assuming you're functioning well...?"
"I'm functioning."
Prowl's optics swept from Ratchet to Wheeljack, who nodded his agreement. "Ratchet can perform, but uh...I'll be right there too."
"Whatever needs to be done do it and get out here. Now."