Chapter 30: The Butcher
Sari had onlined with a scream.
Ratchet was still patting the young femme's back as tears streamed down her face, her form calming down from its earlier hyperventilating as she looked at the shadows in fear. Patting the wing nubs on her back, guilt rolling around in his spark as he thought once again about the card he had been given last night, Ratchet asked again, "What was the dream about, Sari? Was it about the final battle on Earth … or maybe the lab?"
Wiping her cheeks, swallowing thickly, she almost begged, "N-no. Ratch can you just turn on the lights? I-I don't like the shadows."
He merely nodded his head and did as she asked with a silent command to the habitation suite.
Glad for the light, Sari choke-sobbed again and wiped away more tears. "It's just a nightmare I keep having about this shadow creature. He keeps taunting me. I've told him to frag off, but it doesn't help."
Nodding, Ratchet rubbed her back a moment more and then asked, "Shadow huh? We'll get a night light for your room if you want?"
"I don't need a night light," laughed the femme bitterly as she rubbed her eyes again. "I just need my dream journal. It makes the dreams go away. Plus, it helps me remember what he's up to."
Nodding, wondering if the shadow had to do with her father's 'death', Ratchet asked, "What was it about? I'll remember for you until we get you a digi-pad to write in. I could probably refurbish one of my old medical journals today."
Swallowing, rubbing her wrists, she nodded. "Okay, well … The shadow's a jerk for one, but he basically just wants me out of the way. He really, really dislikes the blue star and the small golden star that twirls around it. I don't know why, but I think he is afraid of the golden one the most even though he's young. He keeps trying to hurt him and scare the older … sun. No, spark. Yes, I think it's an older spark and not a sun. It's like the shadow is trying to kill the young spark by killing the parent one. He is afraid of what the golden spark will become when it gets older. I think. Or maybe he's afraid of what the golden spark will find. I honestly … it makes my head hurt."
Frowning, almost afraid of the femme's eerie words, the medic patted her once more on the shoulder before stating, "I'll remember for you. Now, come on young femme. Time for your afternoon energon."
The femme made a face making the older mech laugh as he stood up and offered her a hand off of the high berth. She accepted it with a grumble as she hopped down and followed him into the main room. The medic quickly prepared her an identical cube to the one he had tried to feed her yesterday before putting it before her. He even put a spoon in it like last time.
She scowled at it as he sat across from her just like yesterday and started to read a digi-pad. She poked at the cube and then gave the medic a begging look. She didn't … she didn't want to eat this. She didn't want her Cybertronian side to get larger and stronger. She didn't … want any of this.
Yet, her stomach whined, painfully so. She hadn't eaten anything in nearly two days.
With a sigh, she relented.
Picking up the spoon, all too aware that Ratchet was now watching her eat the gelled energon and additive's mix, she took the first bite. She nearly gagged from the texture, but not the taste. It was like heavy sand or mud with a side of slime, but it did taste good. Soo good. She had always been ADHD with her food, seemingly never knowing what exactly she wanted, but this seemed to satisfy every taste bud. Soon, she was spooning up the cube until the next thing she knew … she was to the bottom, the spoon clicking.
She stalled, surprised with herself as she looked to Ratchet. Had this always been what her body wanted? Was she, in the end, more Cybertronian than earthling?
Ratchet, sharing her gaze, seemed pleased though.
Slowly, he nodded, murmuring, "Good to see you have an appetite for it, kid. I did add some sweet metals though for taste. I was honestly worried that it wasn't going to take or that we would have to put you on sparkling fuel, but I'll get you some more if you are hungry."
Shaking her head, part of her not wanting to actively add to her changes, Sari merely said, "No, I am good."
She was still terrified of her own body even though she would never admit it.
Though he didn't believe her, the medic accepted her word with a nod. "So young-femme, we need to talk about what's on the agenda today, hmm?"
"Nothing better to do."
"Well, I know you don't want to talk about it, but we need to get yours and Reboot's room set up. The youngling care center is going to be checking in and you two from time to time. Apparently they don't think I know how to slaggen take care of a youngling. So we need to set up your own space," he stated, pushing a small bowl of energon treats towards the femme. He wasn't much of a fan, more of a rusty metal fan, but young bots like Optimus or Bulkhead could never get enough of the gelled candies or shock orbs. He had even caught Optimus, when he thought no one was looking, stuffing handfuls in his mouth until his cheeks bulged.
Sari, like Optimus, pretended not to be interested, only to grab one and pop it in her mouth when he looked away for a moment.
"Now, Bee is going to be by today with some of your things from Earth. Bulkhead also volunteered to pick up two youngling-sized berths when they got back. I know you're probably not a fan of berths, but Bumblebee said he would pack a whole bunch of soft fiber-things for you," said the medic as he watched her pop another treat into her mouth, smiling when she looked up at him guiltily, her cheeks bulging.
Chuckling, Ratchet continued, "They set out to do that a few groons ago. So we will see them sometime this day-cycle. Until then, how about you help an old bot clean out that extra room?"
Sari, trying to keep her chewing low key, looked up at him like a chipmunk before she swallowed, smiling awkwardly before she grabbed one more. "Okay, these aren't half bad."
Chuckling even more, Ratchet asked, "Not hungry huh?"
She merely shrugged before grabbing another two, unable to look her caretaker in the optic. "I told you they were good. But seriously Ratchet, I know you think I'm a child and want me to live here, but I'm not a child. I don't need anyone to take care of me."
Huffing through his vents like that was the most ridiculous thing he ever heard, Ratchet got to his feet while offering her a hand down from the stool she was on. "Sari, I don't think you understand. Everyone needs someone to take care of them if they are a kid or not. Do you think I don't want you to take care of me? An old bot gets slow if there isn't a young spark to keep him on his toes. Now, you going to sit there and watch me rust or do you want to pick what side of the room is yours?"
Looking at the offered servo, something tugging in her spark, Sari decided to accepted it. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad being a child again. She could start over and she honestly didn't know if she had ever been an adult to begin with. Maybe it would be nice … to have someone take care of her. She loved her father, she really had, but she always felt like she had been the one taking care of him.
Yeah, maybe this wouldn't be so bad. At least Ratchet was unlikely to leave her alone for a very, very long time.
…
"Really, just pick one Bulkhead. We are burning daylight here. We need to go bother Optimus about the shadow thingy from Sari's room. Not whatever this is," griped Bumblebee as he paced in the background, Bulkhead standing next to a sales mech that was showing him berths. "And why are you picking youngling berths anyway? Sari isn't a child anymore. Get her an adult berth. Mini model, of course."
Dwelling on Bee's words, the slightly older mech pointed to two nice berths. One berth had yellow detailing and another one had black and white detailing. They both had comfortable padding on top that sparklings or younglings needed.
"We searched for that shadow and found no signs of him except that strange purple energon sample. Whoever he was, he's gone for now. Yeager said he would contact us if there were any more signs of him. He's likely the new villain on the street," said Bulkhead as he looked over his younger friend, a long time suspicion finally bubbling forth from his vocalizer. "… And what do you think Sari is exactly, Bumblebee? She needs a youngling berth. Not a mini."
Stalling, glaring for a moment, Bee went back to pacing and ignored part of the conversation. "What do you mean by the new villain? Like Lockdown? Headmaster? That's not a little thing Bulkhead. And why was he in Sari's room reading her dairy? It doesn't make any sense."
"We sent a report to Optimus," said Bulkhead, watching his friend pace and obviously ignore his query. "But apparently there was a break in or something in Fort Maximus, little buddy. I'm sure that … uh … takes precedence over some shadow guy. He will read the report and meet with us as soon as he can. I mean, a break in means we likely have a spy or … um … an information leak in command. That's really important. More than some strange shadow-jerk."
Bee winced, reminded briefly of Wasp. They never found the mech … or at least the thing he had become. He still continued to pace though, his hand brushing over the subspace where he had put the strange purple sample and Sari's dream journal.
"But what if it was after Sari?" whined Bee, worry evident.
Bulkhead sighed. He didn't really want to have this conversation in the middle of a shopping department, but he wasn't just going to let the conversation die either. It was so hard getting things out of Bee when it regarded his feelings.
"She will have us … like always Bee," said Bulkhead carefully. "But you still haven't answered me. What do you think Sari is exactly, Bee?"
Giving his friend a reluctant look, Bee tried to shrug. "What does that mean? She's Sari. My … Our friend."
Turning to stare, his subspace feeling somewhat bloated with Sari's things from Earth, Bulkhead sighed out of his vents. "Bumblebee, you know what I mean. I might be a little … slow … sometimes, but I am not blind. I know Sari can seem very … mature … about some things since her upgrade. I also know that maybe, one vorn, you'd like to have something … more … with her."
Bee stalled and blushed, going back to his pacing. He didn't deny it though. He didn't know how. A part of him told himself it was wrong, but his spark always felt so at peace around her at the same time.
"But she is still a child in many ways, little buddy," finally added Bulkhead, feeling like they should have had this conversation ages ago. "Ratchet is … um … adopting her I guess and he is going to treat her like a youngling. So you should as well. You understand, Bumblebee?"
Stalling, staring at his feet, Bumblebee nodded. Then, he painfully admitted, "I know. I know. It's just that she was a child and then she kind of wasn't, but was. Plus, she's organic. What if … she doesn't have that much time? She's organic and they usually disappear in under a vorn."
Humming, nodding, Bulkhead admitted, "She has a spark though, doesn't she? She's not going to just fade in a vorn. Not if Ratchet has anything to say about it. So, little buddy, instead of presuming stuff, maybe you should ask. You probably have plenty of time."
Sighing, nodding, he admitted, "You're right."
"Of course I am," joked Bulkhead. "Now, don't worry about it. We have vorns to worry about that stuff. Instead, what do you think of these two berths?"
Looking at the two choices, Bee asked, "Sure that's yellow enough?"
Bulkhead could only sigh.
…
Luckily, it didn't take another groon to decide on two berths. The berths chosen surprisingly turned out to be the same ones that Bulkhead had initially picked. Not that he had told Bumblebee that. He didn't need to be stuck there another groon. It was already mid-day on Cybertron and Ratchet probably wanted Sari's room at least partially set up before nightfall. Bulkhead also wanted to ask about Sumdac. He really didn't understand everything the old medic was talking about, but apparently Sumdac was now Reboot?
Hmm, he'd have to ask for more details because that sounded crazy.
Quickly transforming, the mover bot behind them, Bee knocked impatiently and nearly screamed when Ratchet ripped open the door. He was covered in dust and had a glint of madness in his optics. "You are late! Get in here! You were supposed to be here groons ago."
Bumblebee didn't even get to squeak as his arms were suddenly filled with old data-pads, the young mech dragged inside a minute later. Bulkhead didn't even have to be told twice as he tripped inside, the delivery bot left outside looking confused as he moved his data-pad back and forth. He wanted to know who was meant to sign for this.
The delivery bot quickly regretted his actions thought when an aging medic glared at him. Oh, boy. Angry customers. Not good. Not good. The mover-bot, using the digi-pad to cover his face, quickly whined, "Don't hurt me, sir! I'm just a delivery bot."
Ratchet, caring little that he was scaring bots with his growling and yelling, put out a servo. "Well, don't make me wait all day then! I'm rusting here. Give me that and move those into the spare room. Then hook them up!"
Giving the pad to Ratchet, the medic quickly signed and paid for the two berths. The mover bot then stumbled in, nearly tripping on Bumblebee and Bulkhead as the two mechs tried to chat with Sari and move things at the same time. The young femme's optics were once again filled with tears as she tried to hug them and yet tried not be crushed by too many peds in the place. If anyone could have seen below her battle mask at that moment, they would have even seen a ghost of a smile on her face.
She had gotten some of her family back.
Sighing, Ratchet's ire somewhat washed away by the softheartedness of young bots, the medic was going to let them be and socialize. That is until Bulkhead's subspace suddenly exploded in a wave of horrible fluffy things, stuffed toys and blankets going everywhere.
For a moment, everyone stood there, blankets and clothing hanging awkwardly off all the bots present. The poor moving bot looked like he was a living curtain, two blue optics blinking in surprise from his pile; Bee had actually been knocked over by a giant stuffed toy; and Sari was standing there in horror … for one of her training bras was hanging from the ceiling. Ratchet didn't even think she needed one given her lack of maturity in even that department, but quickly decided it was probably a cultural thing.
Bulkhead, free of any clothing, merely rubbed the back of his helm. "Whoops, my bad. I might have over packed that subspace. Well, at least it wasn't the sub space carrying the books and welding equipment that blowed."
Ratchet almost wanted to ask 'what welding equipment', but figured he was going to find out soon enough … because Bulkhead's armor was suddenly rattling. Grabbing Sari while yelling, 'everyone get down,' Ratchet groaned. Today was not going to end well. Not at all, especially since had a date with a butcher.
…
Meanwhile, across the city, Sentinel had worked himself up into a near tizzy after his breakdown with Echo. He had been battling with himself all evening if he should stay or go. He hadn't been able to decide and yet … a private message from Optimus brought the world down around him. Optimus was asking for them to have energon some time after work tomorrow.
It seemed innocent and yet … All he could see was Optimus asking if the sparkling was his.
Was it his?
Was it his?
It was then that Sentinel, pain slowly blossoming in his chest as he full out panicked, finished packing his and Echo's bags. He just had to make one more stop and then no one would ever hear from him again.
...
Breakdown sighed and looked at the corner of operation room again. There was still nothing there. No Knock Out. Frag, when would that image stop haunting him? It obviously was a bad line of code. He had been scanning his own systems for groons and he still hadn't found anything.
Maybe it was a smart virus.
Maybe he would have to go to a real medic.
Breakdown bared his denta at the horrible thought and scrubbed his medical tools all the harder.
It had been a hard day. He had had a set of twins in. Both had had wing numbs and purple optics. The parents both thought they were full bred Autobots. Poor fraggers. Neither one knew if they had been fixed in childhood or if it was their parents' secret.
Well, their secret now...
He honestly didn't feel too bad for them. One was obviously a tower mech. He hoped the taste was bitter indeed. Mechs like him and their sway over the Council was why the Decepticons started the war to begin with … and why mechs now hide those war-build genetics in shame.
Not that Autobots were really taught younglings about the original reasons for the war anymore.
Breakdown sighed at the thought. One day the Autobots were doomed to repeat themselves. He could feel it in his gears.
Either way, the tower mech had been desperate and needed the issue fixed now. Oh what a disgrace. What a disgrace. He could still hear the panicky sire. Fragger needed a punch to the face. Especially when Breakdown, not the sire, had to smiled down at those newsparks and make one of their first touches agony. After all, it was best to clip wing nubs when the children were awake. That way their systems would recognize that those wings were gone. In the past, Breakdown used to do it when the sparklings were asleep.
He knew better now.
A few vorns after he had opened his clinic there had been a stream of suicides in the area. Young mechs and femmes were sure that they had wings and could fly. The local investigators thought it was some kind of virus or a cult following. What is causing this had been a local outcry. It sent mental health officials into a frenzy as well as medics that wrote anti-suicide codes. Breakdown, of course, found out quickly enough what was going on. He had noticed a pattern where no one else could. After all, he had snipped every single one of them of their rotors or wings when they were sparklings. He had wanted to be kind and spare them the pain of losing such a vital part of their anatomy, so he had put them under.
He know knew better. The CPU, the scarring memory, had to be there in those sparklings young minds if only to unconsciously remind them … they didn't have wings anymore.
He never could get over removing wing nubs. The young clicks and squeals of pain were nerve grinding, especially with twins. You could never move sparkling twins too far from each other without stressing their sparks that first vorn or two. So, while one sparkling was getting clipped, squealing and kicking out, the second twin would be reaching for its siblings trying pry Breakdown's fingers away. A useless endeavor for they would fall under his cruel tools a few klicks later.
It was spark-breaking to watch.
Then, after removing the nubs, the sire didn't want visors which were pain free additions to hide non-blue optics. No, he had to have each little optic broken out, little energon tears running down their cheeks as they squealed and tried to crawl away from him. They were too small though, to defenseless, and when they would reach out and cry to their creators … they would receive no salvation. The sire hadn't even had the tank to watch the whole thing. He ran out like a coward. He hadn't even been able to look down at those matching pair of perfect Autobot-blue optics when he picked them up. Poor things squealed when he had touched them. Not that Breakdown blamed them … they were both temporarily blind at the time and would be for a whole orn.
Frag, to be blind a whole orn, in pain and wingless ... it had to be horrible. It definitely had to be traumatizing. It was no wonder mechs and femmes called him a butcher. He deserved the title. He, not Knock Out, deserved a small prison cell.
Placing a hand over his optic, not wanting to look at the little shards of purple optic glass in the basin before him, Breakdown nearly jumped out of his own plating when suddenly there was a bing for the front door of his small clinic.
The mech stalled, stood up straight and covered the basin with its glittering little optic shards and droplets of energon. Unwanted programs and appendages always came through the back. Not the front. Official patients came through the front with scrapes, damaged plating, sour tanks and viruses. He honestly didn't get many real patients. It wasn't that he didn't know how to do all of those things, it was just that his little clinic didn't have that great of a reputation.
No surprise there.
Wiping his hands of cleaning solvent, the large blue mech made his way to the front door. It almost felt strange to walk into the main waiting area, especially when he saw another medic standing there. The clinic honestly closed about a groon ago, but given that he lived in his clinic … he was more than willing to take special cases at any time.
Standing behind his waiting desk, still wiping his hands, he looked at the old red Autobot. He was an older model, from before the war obviously. He had some recent upgrades done from the look of him, but he still had a damaged chevron. Old damage. Likely a war wound and a reminder of days long past. breakdown understood. His missing optic was a constant reminder.
That still didn't explain why another medic was in his clinic, especially since he looked well off and this wasn't the greatest of neighborhoods.
"May I help you? It's after hours, but if it's important I can help," said Breakdown, eyeing the other.
The older model eyed him as well, his frown heavy and dark. It was not a look Breakdown cared for, especially when the Autobot murmured, "Surprise inspection."
"It's kind of late for an inspection, isn't it?" asked Breakdown, paranoia rising to the surface. "And what happened the usual guy?"
Oh he knew the usual guy and his mate real well. Removed some ingrained battle programs off his mate when she came in from the colonies. She couldn't become a citizen after all with those programs. She hardly missed them though she did seem to trip more often and was now considered a klutz. A good femme. She took care of younglings in the youngling care centers. She had even brought him a few charity cases.
"They are busy," said the older mech, the Autobot eyeing the place with a critical glare.
Frowning, plates riling up in a show of irritation, Breakdown decided to just get to the point. "I doubt it. Now, what do you really want? Mechs, even inspectors, don't come here unless they want something specific. In fact, most mechs don't even care that this place exists. It's just some no-name clinic and I am just some mediocre no name medic. So get the frag out or tell me what you really want."
Ratchet … was not surprised by the outburst. He could see this was a mech beaten down by the war, a reminder resting where an optic had once been. A missing optic was not at all acceptable for a medic. It was one thing to have his chevron slightly damaged. It still functioned at acceptable levels. That missing optic though … It was just a reminder of pain, hate and blood. He did respect the straightforwardness though.
The old medic ground his dentas together regardless, his pride churning in his chest. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be making deals with this deplorable being. He didn't want Sari anywhere near this disgusting waste of metal and spark, but he had to remind himself that he was here for Sari and Reboot's wellbeing. He was here for them and he would make a deal with Unicron himself to secure a safe and good future for them both.
His words were biting nonetheless. "I am here for the butcher."
Breakdown, a bit surprised that the mech had been so forward with his unofficial title, twitched. He was starting to wonder if this was some kind of Autobot test. It wouldn't be the first time it had happened. That is until the old mech pulled out a small digi-card and handed it to him.
Ah, one of his cards. That explained a lot. He only gave out so many to mechs that he had done personal and discreet work for. He had the plain cards in the front, for the scraps and dents, and then there were these cards. The special cards each had a personal digital signature to them basically vouching for the mech that came in. After all, one could never be too careful when hiding things from Autobots. Primus forbid if they found out war-builds were intermixing their CNA with the general population. Oh the horror.
Taking the card, he immediately could tell that this came from Wavelength. He was a mech that worked in the security division for spacebridges. He was an aged mech with a few young-bots that were all grown up and set loose onto the world. He lost his sparkmate not long after. He had been a bleeding-spark ever since then, trying to help others like himself while sneaking materials in for Breakdown's clinic.
Everything Breakdown used wasn't exactly legal on Cybertron after all.
Nodding his head at the card, the blue medic immediately dropped his taunt shoulders. He didn't exactly trust the older healer before him, but he said warmly, "Ah, one of my cards from Wavelength. Good mech. Though I find it strange that another medic is coming to me … especially when you could do the work yourself."
Ratchet bristled at that, his denta grinding. "I would never disfigure a sparkling like you."
Breakdown frowned in turn, optics going bright. He wasn't in the mood for a verbal lashing on medical ethics, but he wasn't going to stand there and say nothing. "Well, someone has to do it, old timer. Would you rather more sparklings be abandoned on the streets because they have red or orange optics? They will starve if they don't move off planet. I've even heard that some mechs collect those unwanted sparks and sell them off-world as slaves or to-be soldiers. That is one reason Megatron's colonies have thrived: New Kaon and the Lost Colonies. They are filled with the Autobot's rejects. The lucky ones end up in places like Docker City. The lucky ones. So if you have come here to lecture me about medical ethics, you can leave. I keep families together. Can you say that much?"
Despite himself, Ratchet started somewhat. W-what? He didn't know half breeds were being sold off planet. And what of these Lost Colonies? He had heard the Decepticon's had banned together after Megatron's capture, but they were actually functioning colonies with … the Autobot rejects?
No, that couldn't be. Despite himself, he couldn't help but voice his thoughts aloud. "I've seen a lot. I think I would know something like that was going on."
"That's the thing," snapped the larger bot. "Autobots don't give a frag about your lessers, because you feel that there has to be a lesser class so that your glimmering towers have purpose! What use are the rich if they don't have someone to stand on?! Now, if you worked here with your lessers instead of the elites, you might know that."
Ratchet was silent for a moment as if he was listening to the larger bot's enraged words. Only when there was the silence of panting vents did he dare speak, his words grinding like stones. "Listen here kid. I worked on a repair crew. This glossy shine and upgrades are all new if only to keep me from rusting out. I have two younglings to take care of. So, now are you going to help me make sure they are both happy and well cared for or are you going to continue to spout nonsense?"
Breakdown, a bit surprised with the reply, grumbled, "It's not nonsense …"
Ratchet, nodded bitterly, was about to turn around and leave when the larger bot added, "But I never said I wouldn't help you. I take it you know what you want already or you wouldn't be here. How about you come into one of the exam rooms and we discuss it."
Standing there a moment, part of himself telling him to leave while he had the chance, Ratchet stepped forward.
...
"Wow … when she get's bigger, she's going to be a bombshell," said Breakdown when he got a hold of a schematic on Sari.
Ratchet glared.
Breakdown chuckled, catching onto the older mech's anger. "Not like that, old timer. I mean she probably will be a looker, but she will literally be a walking tank when she gets older. Not all of her battle systems are even online yet and it looks like she could take a chunk out of you … and yet … is that organic tissue?"
Slowly, Ratchet nodded. He expected for the rough medic to cringe away. Instead, he merely mumbled, "Never worked on a techno-organic before. They are pretty rare. What exactly do you want me to do with her to help her blend? I mean I could easily offline the battle programs, lock or remove the blades and switch-out the glide-wings, but as for the organic tissue … I mean, maybe a light acid could eat it away."
Nearly jumping to his feet, Ratchet barked, "You will do no such thing to her!"
Putting his hands up, used to angry creators, Breakdown tried to placate the other. "Alright, alright. Calm down. I can't even find her spark chamber anyway so its likely not a good idea. Her spark energy is probably bouncing around through her nervous system like electricity. Though … something seems to be forming right around the big muscle in the chest cavity. That might be it."
Ratchet, resetting his optic, forgot his rage and looked closer. Blazes, the unruly medic was right. When did that happen? Was that just from the medical grade he had been giving her? Is that why she had been acting famished today? There were small amounts of crystal in the medical grade to help heal spark casing damage or to thicken the chamber, but for her body to make such quick work of it … the Allspark certainly knew what it was doing.
"That wasn't there the last time I checked. I'll have to add more crystals to her diet," grumbled the old mech.
Nodding, Breakdown added, "Well, we might not even have to worry about her organic half. Her body might just adapt to where it's at. If it will be painful for her as its does away with the organic systems, I don't know. It matters if she ends up as a pretender-alt mode or not. The medics at Docker City might know. They deal with a lot of oddities."
Ratchet's spark couldn't help but twitch at the thought of Sari's skin slowly peeling off her face. And what was a pretender-alt? He nearly jumped out of his armor when a large hand patted his own. Pah. He was a medic. He didn't need to be cosset like a normal patient.
He couldn't help but pull his hand away, frowning.
Breakdown merely smiled though. Then, pulling out a digi-pad of his own while plugging it into Ratchet's digi-pad, he started a medical file for Sari. The large mech asked, "So, what is the femme's name and when can you bring her in? Anything else I should know for this medical file? Also, what exactly do you want done at this point?"
Swallowing, part of him uncertain why he was still speaking to the Butcher at all, Ratchet started in. "There's two of them actually. Sari is the femme. She was raised by an organic named Issac Sumdac. Apparently she scanned him, the Allspark was involved and most of the finer details escaped us. I'll do my best though."
Ratchet then went into as much detail as he could. Autobot command didn't even know about most of these things. It had been a unanimous decision because Ratchet didn't want Sari to end up in the Autobot Military Science Division. Ratchet … did not trust them. So, for the first time, details of Sari's life came to light to someone outside of the repair crew's team. He told the mech of a little organic girl that found out about her connection to the Allspark and then discovered she wasn't actually an organic at all. He even told Breakdown about her fool-hardy drive to upgrade herself and how Jazz had stopped her from damaging herself and fatally stabbing Bumblebee. He even told the mech about the passage of time and her lack of organic maturity.
Breakdown had stopped typing on his digi-pad ages ago, his lip curled into a confused sneer.
"Regardless," continued Ratchet. "Sumdac couldn't take care of Sari any longer. He was dying. Should have died long again. So he built himself a Cybertronian body and using the Allspark key, he tried to transform the electricity in his brain into a spark … but there was a fire."
Ratchet was silent for a moment as he thought of the soft cooling flesh of Issac as he had picked the body out of the machinery. He would never forget how human eyes turned white and void like snow killing off the life of the world. He hadn't mourned the human ... not yet. Not when there was Reboot.
Swallowing, his intakes feeling dry. The older mech added, "A spark did form. I do not know if he's Sumdac … or something else. Regardless, with that body, he will be treated little more than a child so he is my responsibility now as well."
Breakdown just looked confused.
Ratchet felt pressed to continue as the large medic continued to stare at him. "So, basically, as I am sure you know, I have to form a caretaker bond in order to be their care giver … I don't even know if either one can form a bond honestly. So I need fake documentation for that. I also need door wing attachments for Sari to hide her wing nubs. Something for her face obviously. Maybe some kind of holo-transmitter. I won't even go into the alt-mode question yet. She's too young anyway to have one by Cybertronian standards."
Breakdown still looked confused. He hadn't even moved since he had stopped typing.
Ratchet just felt irritable now, but couldn't help but ask, "Hey, did you hear me-"
Breakdown put up a hand and stated, "Wait, wait, wait … just wait … wait."
Ratchet sat there a moment watching that yellow optic flicker. Wait? He knew that look. "Breakdown? Are your logic centers about to … well … breakdown?"
The large blue mech waved his hands in front of the older mech as if collecting his thoughts before stating, "Nope, nope, nope. Silence. Wait, wait. My logic centers are freaking out a little. Just … wait … wait. Okay, no … wait. Alright. Mmm. No. Yes. There."
The blue mech signed, his optic stalling in its flickering. "The Primus-fairytail was cute, but it nearly shut me down. I was listening with my medical programming when you started. It almost overwhelmed my logic center. Now, what really happened?"
Ratchet now looked irritated. "That's what really happened, slagger."
Sitting there a moment, the blue mech got up, opened a drawer with a handheld scanner in it and was suddenly in the older bot's face, a scanning light glancing over his optics and helm.
"What the pit!" barked Ratchet, feeling the medical scans try to asses the status of his CPU for overheating or cold offline spots. He knew immediately what Breakdown had scanned for. "My CPU is not damaged!"
"Well, you sound raving mad, old bot. You sure you aren't going senile. Now, let me scan you? Hold still," said Breakdown as he tried to scan the old mech again.
Ratchet, a crafted medic unlike the upgraded medic before him and thus had more internal medical equipment, threw out a scan from his chevron, canceling out the privacy invading scan. Breakdown, at first looked offended and then glared. He was used to troublesome patients and medics always made the worst patients.
"You are going to let me scan you, old-bot," growled the ex-Con trying to use his bulk to look intimidating.
Ratchet huffed and merely stood up, poking the large mech in the chassis. "You are the one that nearly had the breakdown a klick ago. You should sit down and let me scan you. This clinic is barely up to standards and all the equipment is outdated. You probably have a smart-virus or a CPU injury from that missing optic. You sit down and let me scan you."
Breakdown balked and thought of the image of Knock Out he had seen about three solar-cycles ago. He seriously considered saying yes to the older medic, but this was his clinic and pride wouldn't allow him to accept such things. Instead, when the old Autobot started throwing a scan over him, he waved his hands in front of the other, throwing out a low rang of electrical interference in front of the chevron and messing with the results.
Ratchet scoffed and glared at the upgraded medical hands. Breakdown's hands were obviously lower quality compared to a created-medic that was born with his sensitive array in their hands, but the challenge was still there. Breakdown was basically saying he would not be backing down and that he was the superior medic here.
So, taking the challenge to prove himself the better surgeon, Ratchet slapped the sensitive blue hands away while throwing out a low EM pulse-scan with his chevron. Basically, if he was able to temporarily short out the other medic's sensors or hands, he would prove he was better qualified to be the head surgeon at a table. Usually, this type of hierarchy was already set up in hospitals or clinics, but on the field or on the street this could happen if one healer didn't actively relent. Thus, the more skilled hands were given control over the situation and the lower healer would act as an assistant.
Generally, Ratchet wouldn't dream of challenging another medic in his own clinic, but since there was a possibility of the other medic glitching, he accepted the challenge gladly.
Breakdown, his hands twitching in pain from the unexpected by truly harmless assault, almost pulled his hands to his chassis to protect them only to stall two thirds of the way when he realized that he had almost relented so easily.
Instead, the blue mech frowned, his hands becoming fists. "Really? Did you just challenge me in my own clinic? What are you two vorns old or something?"
Frowning, folding his hands over his chassis, Ratchet gripped, "I did, and you are younger than me. There's obviously something wrong with you if a story like that almost froze up your medical coding. Let me look at it? When was the last time you had a real medic look at you anyway instead of just scanning yourself? I know every medic hates it, but sometimes you need to have another medic scan your system for smart-viruses. So when did you have your last real scan?"
Breakdown huffed, pride battling with his medical programming. His programming was agreeing with Ratchet, especially since he had almost relented to the born-healer's skill. It had been a while … like since Knock Out. His medical programming wasn't exactly legal after all.
He had been a heavy-hitter before. He knew how to take a hit and keep coming. He wanted to brawl and fight. He hated this medical equipment sometimes because now his hands were technically delicate. Not as say Knock Out's, but he quickly learned to offline the sensors in his hands if he was going to start a fight … Not that most Autobots would even dream of starting a fight with a medic even if he was bigger than most of them. He hated Autobot hierarchy crap sometimes.
Squaring his shoulders, expression grim, Breakdown sent an EM flash back at Ratchet while slapping away those pair of hands. True, he wasn't a born-medic, he was upgraded into one in order to survive Autobot culture, but he was still younger than the old medic. He was sure he was better than some polished geezer.
Ratchet barely twitched this time, shaking his helm. "I see you haven't done many if any of these before, but do you really want to turn this into a bitch fight?"
Breakdown didn't really know what a bitch fight was, it was probably something from this Earth place, but he still glared defiantly. He nearly yip when Ratchet slapped his hands again, the EM burst biting and nearly making him physically cringe away as he resisted the urge to yield again.
Frag, that one hurt like the pit and the sensors in his hands nearly caused his optic to white-out from the sheer overwhelming backlash of data. Why were medical hands so sensitive?!
"Well? You getting on the berth or are we going again?" said Ratchet, his biting EM field just wanting to lash out again.
There was suddenly a ping at the back door though making both Ratchet and Breakdown jump. Breakdown almost sighed in relief.
He really didn't want to be shown-up in his own clinic. It would be degrading for one.
Glaring at the older medic, bring his medical hands close to his chest, Breakdown slowly turned his head and looked in the direction of the back door for a moment. It pinged a few mores times in insistence making the larger medic frown. He glared at the puffed up older medic before grumbling, "We aren't done with this discussion, but I have another patient."
Then, before the older bot could argue with him, he opened and shut the examination door in his face.
Stalking down the hall, his sensitive hands twitching, the ex-Con frowned. Given the time of night someone was likely in the throws of labor or needed an abortion. He cringed at the thought of a hard night and threw a look back at the closed door. The rooms were sound proof, he needed them to be with the crying sparklings, but would it be enough for another medic's programs not to hear the screams of a pained labor?
Probably not and he really didn't need hand slapping in between someone's legs when they were in the throws of labor.
Praying it was something stupid or easy he quickly opened the door and if he wasn't as large as he was, he would have been barreled over, a mech all but clamoring at him.
"Breakdown I need your help," whined Sentinel, his fans sputtering as the young alma struggled not to sob, his sparkling all but crying hard enough for both of them. Breakdown had never seen the little mech this broken up.
Quickly supporting the blue frame, wondering if it was Sentinel or Echo that was in trouble, he asked, "What's wrong Sentinel? Is it your spark? Echos? What's wrong. Just vent. Even I can see you are going to overheat if you don't calm down."
Ignoring his physician, the air hot from his panicking engine, Sentinel stammered over his crying sparkling's clicks. "They found out about Echo. I-I'm leaving. I need some medicine for Echo and maybe some pain medicine for me. My chassis really hurts and … and I can't cool down, but I need to go. I don't care if I have to move onto an organic infested colony. T-they are not taking Echo."
Not liking the way Sentinel's optics were blinking like he was about to crash. Breakdown tried to calm the younger mech. "Vent Sentinel. You are going to overheat. Now, what s going on? Who is going to take Echo? Why?"
Shaking his head, a sob in his vents, Sentinel all but barked, "Everyone! Now, just give me what I need so I can leave."
Frowning, wondering if Sentinel had worked himself into this panicked mess, he turned his helm to the sobbing sparkling. Echo looked terrified and with his weak spark, that was not ill advised. It could cause the sparkling to go into arrest.
Deciding he had to intervene now, Breakdown motioned towards the sparkling. "Sentinel, give me Echo. I need to check his spark activity."
Pressing backwards as if hit. Sentinel shook his head and looked ready to bolt. "N-no."
Puffing up his armor, the blue medic threw some authority into his voice. "Yes, you will. You are terrifying him! His spark can't take the stress and neither can yours."
Half hysterical, probably having ran half the way here. Sentinel almost sobbed, "You don't understand. Jazz, the others, they saw Echo. They saw him. I have to leave the planet. Tonight."
Putting his large hands out, Breakdown all but demanded. "Give me Echo, Sentinel Minor. Now before you hurt him or yourself. Give me him!"
Blue optics confused and hurt, terrified and yet trusting, he slowly handed over a bawling Echo with servos shaking.
Being removed from his parent-spark's clutches, the sparkling suddenly squalled, clawing and hiccuping for his creator. Surprised by the sudden desperation, Breakdown tried to coo the sparking, the EM fields in his hands lightly tickling down the sparkling's back as he tried to sooth the smaller being. Echo couldn't take this stress. It had been too soon since his latest donation. This wasn't good for him. Not at all. Neither of them were in any condition for large amounts of stress like this. Frag, what had happened? He knew Echo's emotions were based strongly on Sentinel's. What was Sentinel so afraid of?
Ratchet, apparently hearing the sparkling's desperation, nearly hurtled out of the room, his medical programs roaring online. He expect gore or horror or Breakdown ripping a pair of wing nubs off with his bare servos. Instead, what he saw made him stall. There was Sentinel Minor face showing signs of tears, a bag upon his shoulder, his entire form desperate and taunt. Then there was Breakdown … a bawling sparking or an immature youngling in his arms. The poor thing was nearly a copy of Sentinel and it was wailing and reaching for Sentinel with a spark-wrenching desperation.
Looking back and forth, part of him not wanting to know what was going on, Ratchet said the first thing that came to mind, "Sentinel, what are you doing here?"
Sentinel, shaking his head as if in complete horror, suddenly seemed to be overcome by his surgery, his secrets and his stress. Breakdown, about to ask how the two knew each other, barely had time to reach out with his spare arm to try to grapple the collapsing ex-Prime when his systems final gave out. In fact, the large mech nearly fell to the floor as he tried to grasp the sudden collapsing weight and the wailing sparkling in his arms.
Ratchet, unable to look away from the scene, finally seemed to snap out of it. He quickly came forward and took the sparkling from the overcome medic, trying to shush the youngling. His EM scans were already picking up an erratic and weak spark-beat … yet he couldn't look away from the youngling's face. Even scrunched up and bawling like his creator had just died on the floor, little arms reaching out, Ratchet could see just how much that little face … looked like Optimus Prime.
XXX
Paw07: This chapter is soooo long. I even cut stuff out for the next chapter. No surprise really. I got my geek on with Sari's techno-organic form. Part of me just wants to write a separate body-horror fic about her growing up … Maybe later as a separate story. Then there was the medic bitch fight scene. That just came out of nowhere … and it was perfect. Makes me giggle every time I re-read it. I also now have a head-cannon medic hierarchy thing going on. I blame the fic Rebuilding the Castle by GhostHost for the idea ever forming.
As for Sentinel, he finally couldn't take the stress anymore. And now Ratchet knows. What will Ratchet do? Will he do anything? Is he just too fraggen old for this crap? Or should I just make this a Sentinel/Ratchet fic like Peace Treaties and be done with it? XD
Anyway, next chapter we get a new character introduction and we might even seen an old friend we all thought was gone. .