Switchshade flinched back, shredded servos that now lacked claws a poor defense against the merciless assault. Still, he tried to shield his helm, one optic already torn from his faceplates, the energon dripping from above his optic ridges dripping over the single remaining optic and nearly blinding him. Large portions of armor had been torn violently from his frame, one of his pedes was mangled beyond repair, and both doorwings had been torn off as well. Rivulets of energon poured off of him, and still he staggered back, his single remaining red optic flowing with lubricant and energon at the agony coursing through his frame.
Lord Optimus Prime stood before him, an expression of unspeakable fury on his faceplates, as Arcee and Bulkhead tore Switchshade to pieces together. Ratchet stood by, arms crossed in front of his chassis, a blank look on his faceplates and in his optics, as if he did not even see what was occurring right in front of him. "My lord, please!" Switchshade's damaged vocalizer could barely force the words out, and yet still he tried desperately to beg for mercy, for his offlining to be immediate, rather than to have this torture drawn out.
The Prime's cold, ruthless optics met Switchshade's single remaining one with disgust and apathy. "You don't deserve the right to beg for mercy. You endangered Miko, Rafael, and Jack, you threatened Agent Fowler, and you are nothing more than a worthless Decepticon. Not even that, any more. Traitor to your own people, how could you think we could ever trust you?" The Prime's deep, rumbling, angry voice bore no trace of anything resembling mercy, and then, just when the black mech thought that the pain could grow no worse, Arcee and Bulkhead stepped back, and Lord Prime stepped forward.
"No, please, no, no more, I beg you, please, no, please, no, no, no!"
"No!" Switchshade's optics flew open, his spark racing faster than it had since his capture, utterly frozen in place and venting heavily. A slight ache in his back alerted him to the fact that he had not escaped the Nemesis unscathed, although now that his processor registered the pain, he realized it had already been treated, and expertly so. The monitors on his sparkbeat, as well as his desperate cry, had alerted Ratchet to the fact that his most recent patient was once again in the world of the conscious, and the old medic hurried to Switchshade's berthside.
The dark mech's optics darted around the room, a small part of his processor categorizing it as a medbay of sorts, but when he caught sight of Ratchet, his processor was wiped blank, and within kliks, he was off the medi-berth, on the floor, wedged between the corner of the wall and the side of the berth, servos held over his head as his frame trembled. The ache between his doorwings worsened with the sudden violent motion, but it was well worth it to find a temporary refuge from that terrible, dead expression in the medic's optics.
"Switchshade!" Ratchet's voice was shocked, but there was no trace of the expected rage, nor did his field teek of anything other than surprise and concern. Suddenly, the bulky white and orange mech was kneeling several pedesteps away, concerned blue optics trying to catch terrified red. "Please, no, please, no, no, no, please, please…" Switchshade muttered rapidly, shaking even harder. "Kid, you need to calm down… Kid? Switchshade!"
The black mech's optics flew up to catch Ratchet's involuntarily at the command in his voice, and he stared at him in mindless terror. "You had a bad memory feedback during recharge. Whatever you saw, it wasn't real. You with me?" Switchshade vented heavily, his optics still locked on Ratchets, and struggled to make sense of what was real, the distorted memories still playing through his processor making it difficult for him to determine what had truly happened, and what had been only in his processor. "Ratchet?"
The medic nodded, slowly and carefully offering a strong gray servo for the terrified mech to grasp, and sharp black claws clutched onto it as if it were the only thing keeping him functioning just then. "Ratchet..." The mech in question nodded again. "Yeah, kid, I'm here. You think you can try to stand again? We need to get you back on the berth, so I can take a look at that damage to your back again-I'm betting that little dive you took didn't do your self-repair any favors."
As if he had not even heard the medic speak, Switchshade continued, removing his servos from Ratchet's, and instead grasping his forearm plating desperately, holding his gaze with terrified, sparking red optics. "Ratchet. Please. I-I can't do that again. I give you my word-I swear I meant no harm to the humans! I would not have harmed F- Agent Fowler. I would never have moved to harm a human under your protection. I meant no harm to Miko, or Rafael, or Jack, please, please I swear. I-I… I know I must bear the punishment for my actions, but please, Ratchet, please do not let them… I can't… Please…" He quickly dissolved into incoherency in his terror, and Ratchet could only kneel there, his forearm plating almost denting under the pressure, as the black mech begged.
"C-Come on, now. Let's get you back onto the berth." The medic had seen enough in his long lifetime to drive anymech insane, and he used his formidable experience in messy situations to compartmentalize for now, focusing on the first tangible problem that he could fix. Switchshade had gone limp, his entire frame loose and his faceplates and optics blank with terror. The younger mech meekly allowed the medic to lift him from the floor and resettle him back on the medbay berth.
Ratchet quietly asked him to lean forward so that he could more easily reach the damaged plating on Switchshade's back, and his patient immediately complied. As his skilled, gentle servos carefully set to work welding the weakened plating back together as it had been before Switchshade's panicked flight had torn open the first welds, the medic began to speak quietly.
"Switchshade. We are not going to hurt you. Optimus will not see you harmed, nor does he blame you for the presence of the children on that mission. Bulkhead should have been more clear and firm in his instructions, Arcee never should have left the base, Cliffjumper and Bumblebee should have spoken up or remained behind, and the humans should have listened to Bulkhead and remained here. In fact, in all of this Pit-cursed mess, the only mech who showed a scrap of sense was yourself. Are you hearing me, kid? You will not be hurt, or… punished."
Switchshade cycled his optics several times, the medic's gruff voice oddly soothing as he kept up a steady monologue of reassurance and comfort as his gentle servos removed the pain from his back. He couldn't find the words to reply, however, and when Ratchet finished, sitting back to look his patient in the optic, Switchshade dropped his gaze. "I-I hear you, sir."
"Ratchet."
"R-Ratchet."
The medic sighed at the clear disbelief of the younger mech, though he could hardly blame him for his blatant distrust. "We'll work on that."
A sudden beeping from a computer monitor sounded, and Ratchet rose to his pedes, glancing back as Switchshade carefully stood as well. "You should be fine to move now, but take it easy, and don't put any unnecessary strain on those welds until your self-repair can take over and finish the process." Switchshade nodded, and then quietly followed Ratchet as he hurried back out to the main room, the medic moving to his computer, which had an alert on it that baffled Switchshade. The black mech moved stealthily along the wall until he was wedged into a dark corner, half-hidden in shadows and yet still able to see most of the room pretty well.
Whatever was on the computer startled Ratchet, and he muttered gravely, "It can't be…" The medic looked a bit closer at the schematics, and then raised his voice, "Optimus!" When the Prime entered the room, Switchshade cowered back even further into his corner, bowing his helm until his chin plating brushed his chassis, but the Prime was focused on Ratchet. "These are engineering specs for a space-time vortex generator." Optimus met Ratchet's optics, and put things together quickly. "Megatron's building a spacebridge, if he hasn't already."
Bulkhead and Bumblebee suddenly emerged from yet another hallway, and the sight of the green Wrecker and the Prime in such close proximity was enough to start Switchshade's spark racing again. "The sooner he leaves, the better." Bulkhead pronounced, in response to the Prime's statement. However, Optimus did not appear to share the sentiment. "Bulkhead, a spacebridge runs in two directions. Megatron may not be using it to leave earth, but to bring through his conquering army."
Understanding dawned in Ratchet's optics. "The 'main event' Megatron referred to?" Suddenly, the clever medic realized where, exactly, the Decepticon Warlord's spacebridge would go, and his next words were stated in disbelief. "But… the only place Megatron could possibly recruit that many fallen warriors…"
He didn't finish. He didn't need to. "Precisely." Optimus confirmed. "Cybertron."