Chapter 12: Falling Apart

Bluestreak winced as he transformed back at base, the night already half gone and his tank so empty he felt like he was going to pass out at any moment. In fact, his optics were blinking, his door wings were dropped, and his movements were just jerky from the lack of energy. He was sure he probably looked half-drunk if any human dared pass by.

Nearly tripping on his own feet, the youngling stalled at the crossroads in the hall of their temporary base, looking down each hall in a stupor. He knew he was low on energy and should go to the break room for some quick energon. Yet, if someone saw him in this state, he was sure he would get a berating he would not forget. Plus, he was so fraggen tired. He couldn't recall ever being this drained.

"Maybe I should just go into recharge," grumbled the youth to himself, barely even twitching when he felt Scorponok press into the bond. It was strangely comforting and yet at the same time he felt like he was being chided as if he were a sparkling. There were no words in the reprimanding, but the drone was demanding he go get something to drink and then rest.

Beside himself, Blue found his servos following the drone's demand, only to stall and whine aloud, "But I'm more tired than hungry. I'mmm gooin to bed."

Okay, he was slurring now. It was time for a warm berth to pass out on.

Scorponok, cursing the inability to swear at his youngling with real words, pressed back into the bond. He was telling the other that he needed energon. True, it wasn't something as bad as being an Empty, but solar energy just gave a buzz to keep moving. It did not support the system but tricked them into feeling full. If a mech did not intake, stasis lock could occur. True, he was sure one of the elder Autobots would happen upon the youngling long before it got that bad, but he didn't need anyone questioning his young Master … especially when he was so emotionally unstable.

Yes, Scorponok would admit it. Bluestreak, though soft and kind and innocent in his own way, was very broken in other ways. He could feel the fear at night creeping in like parasites under plating. Even with Kup about to calm most of the nighttime fears, the youth would twitch and whine only to be soothed back into full slumber by the older spark. Scorponok would never admit it, though he really had no real voice regardless, but even though Kup stole away time with his new Master, he ultimately kept the young bot from tumbling over that edge.

The slagger sure snored loudly though. How the young Master recharged through it, he would never know. But now was not the time to dwell on that.

Chirring in an irritated tone, glad that humans didn't usually come this deep into their underground base (thought they were fun to mess with … he had dug more than one pit just to watch a human fall in it when bored), he decided to risk it. Generally, he did not enter the halls nor anywhere except his young Master's suite, but he was feeling lucky. Pressing against a nearby vent so he could squeeze out, he twitch slightly at the sound of his many legs clicking against the flooring. He quickly made his way over to his Master and stalled before him, chirring again as he pointed a claw in the direction behind the young mech.

Bluestreak stood there a moment, wings dipped as if confused before he grumbled, "B-bbbut I'mm tired."

Scorponok chirred again, tone more demanding if that were possible.

"Nope," said the youngling as he made to step over the drone. The scorpion-bot, in turn, merely shift further back, stalling the youth from putting his foot down or risk stepping on him.

Bluestreak frowned, his low-powered processor trying to keep his foot up while at the same time trying to find a new place for his foot. He, unfortunately, had no balance for such a thing and soon he found himself falling, his drone merely sidestepping out of the way. It might have been a hilarious sight for anyone but the mech now on the floor. Personally, to him, it was like slow motion falling and before he knew it he was looking up, face to face with many red eyes … all of them were judging him.

Sighing out of his vents, he wanted to grumble that Scorponok was right. Before he could even say a thing, Scorponok's head slammed upwards, his many eyes focused on the gunner's back. Before the gunner could even blink, the drone's form was suddenly rushing back into the vent that he had crawled out of, his tail suddenly tugging the vent shut even if it was slightly mangled.

Bluestreak barely even had time to tilt his head backwards at an awkward angle when suddenly Ironhide and Bumblebee came around the corner. The scout stalled quickly, his beeping giving way to a low whine of concern. The other youngling was soon ahead of Ironhide and kneeling down, helping the dizzy gunner up.

Ironhide knew better than to be concerned though, his hands crossing over his chassis as he shook his head. He knew that faded optic look anywhere. He had seen it too many times during the war. "Really, kid? You nearly ran yourself dry instead of calling for assistance? I'd smack you in the back of the helm if I didn't already know Ratchet was going to do it."

Then, before he could even protest, the grey mech was slung over the larger bot's shoulder like a sack of potatoes, the larger mech grunting, "Primus, did you get heavier kid?"

Bumblebee, still knelt on the ground, was about to follow after, but stalled. He heard a grinding noise below his knee. Looking down, wondering what was in the newly built and nearly pristine hall, found his helm suddenly titling. Was that dirt and stone? A little dirt got into the base, of course, but this seemed out of place.

Picking up a stone, noting that it was probably shale, he titled his helm, lighting up the dim hall with his headlights to get a better look. Was this leading from the vent?

Standing up, walking a few paces forward, his headlights lit up the vent … and its bent metal. He couldn't help but notice more dirt and with a brief scan he saw it … There was a hole in the metal venting down there. He had noticed that the vents now pulled in a far more earthy scent lately, but this was concerning.

Standing up, resisting the urge to rip the vent off and stick his head down there, Bumblebee tried to act like nothing was wrong and strolled after Ironhide. He would tell his caretaker first. He would inform Prowl, but just in case it was nothing … he would have Ironhide look at it first.

He hoped it was nothing. He would hate to help find a new base. Not that any of them thought staying by the dam was going to be long term. It was just … nice … to have something akin to a home.

…

Bluestreak whined as he clawed at Ironhide's back as he tried to squirm away … especially when they walked past the break room. He knew that he should just be glad that no one seemed to have seen his drone, but that still left other issues. They were heading to Ratchet's make-shift medical bay for one. He didn't want an exam. Despite Barricade's somewhat reassuring words, he just didn't want to deal with Ratchet. He hated medical bays. The smell, beeping and tools made his armor prickle like he was back on that battlefield … medics waiting for him to offline so they could pick him over for parts.

If they even waited that long.

Regardless, he soon found himself deposited on a makeshift berth, Ratchet working on what looked like someone's dismembered arm in the corner. The medic quickly covered up the piece with a tarp. It took one glance in Bluestreak's direction, and Ratchet was cursing and grumbling before coming forward with a sludge that all mechs feared.

Medical grade.

If there was one way to describe it, it would be like drinking metallic sludge that was congealed and pasty while trying to be liquid at the same time. Yes, energon was mixed in, but there was no shortage of peta-flesh in there also. It didn't matter how many times you had to take it, one never stopped hating how it dripped down throat tubing like sludge. There was also the horrible bitter metallic taste of raw peta-flesh.

"Noooo, I don't wanttt it," whined Bluestreak as he tried to stumble off his berth, Ironhide grabbing him around the middle and pulling him back onto the berth.

"Well, maybe if you hadn't tried to run yourself dry," barked Ratchet as he threw a scan over the other. "I don't even know how you managed to get yourself that dry. Don't you keep extra reserves or cubes with you?"

Yes … if Barricade hadn't drank all of them.

"Usually," he whined. "Please don't make me drink it."

Ratchet gave him the look. The look could not be dissuaded or reasoned with. Not even Prime could deny Ratchet's look. And so, grudgingly, he took it and grudgingly he had to tilt his head back after drinking said horrible concoction in order to not evacuate his tank.

Egh … so slimy.

Door wings twitching, a gagging noise escaping the youngling, Ratchet heartlessly offered him another one. Taking it in hand, giving the medic a horrified look, he didn't know what was worse: a second cube or the frown on Kup's facial plates as he entered the room.

"Frag kid," grumbled Kup as he walked up to the berth, watching as Ratchet ran a scan over the youngling's form. "You said you went for a drive. What happened?"

"What indeed? Your reserve tank was also affected," said Ratchet, eyeing the younger mech and his now twitching and energized form. He knew there was still the odd Con around such as Barricade. The enforcer could be desperate. It was barbaric, but rather than risking becoming an Empty, sometimes mechs would forcefully tap another's tank and steal their reserves. "Were you attacked? Did a Con try to siphon your tanks?"

Bluestreak, who had started drinking the next nasty cube due to Kup's glare, suddenly spurted it all over his caretaker. Kup stepped back with a small curse as the youngling squeaked, "What, no?! I … just … I wasn't paying attention to my fuel levels. That's all. I was racing around in the desert and … forgot."

Ratchet did not look convinced as he motioned for Bluestreak to finish what was left of his medical energon. This time he waited for the youngling to gag the whole thing down before he spoke, ignoring the cursing caretaker in the background as he wiped off what he considered pure evil.

Bunch of sparklings, all of them.

"Forgot," said the medic as he waved for the youngling to open an access port in his wrist. "Or unnoticed?"

"Unnoticed?" asked the youngling, confused. Part of him barely even noted that Ratchet had gently grasped his wrist to find the medical port himself since Bluestreak made no moves to release it. The youngling nearly jumped out of his own armor when Ratchet clicked open his plating, finding a rarely used access port. Bluestreak nearly jerked his arm away when the medic unspooled his own jack, ready to plug in and do a diagnostic.

He did not need the medic in his programming. In the past, he could hide trauma, but this was no longer just about him … he had a drone to keep secret. A Decepticon drone.

"Ugh? What are you doing?" said Bluestreak, giving a slight tug of his arm, only to stall when Ratchet spoke.

"A diagnostic, of course. Bluestreak, I don't think you understand. You are very, very behind in your upgrades. Do you have any idea what that can do to a spark? A youngling?" said Ratchet in all seriousness, trying to push the point across. This youngling was why Kup and Prowl were pulling bodies from the ocean's bed after all. "Your spark changes the older you get. Most sparks get larger and start throwing off more energy, though some might condense. If it condenses, it means a form supports less systems and a lighter frame is needed. If it gets larger, as most do, it throws out extra output. This can fry systems, even ones needed to function. A spark might even snuff out of it gets too crowded in the spark chamber. This can even effected bond formations. Then there are even rarer happenings like the spark changing frequency meaning all support systems need to be recalibrated. I won't even go into mental strain. The spark and the CPU are closely linked. Glitches will happen if needed updates are not done."

Ratchet's next words bit into Bluestreak's spark. "You don't want a glitch like Red Alert, do you?"

Shifting, not wanting to look at the medic, Bluestreak slowly shook his head. No, he didn't have any idea how bad it was. He didn't want to.

"Now, don't fight me with this youngling. I'm worried that is why you didn't realize you were so low today. There was no way you ran your tank down that low from a drive. I think it's been low for days now and your system were fooling you, telling you that you had sufficient levels. In fact, I'm going to make sure you are fueling from now on. Every day, you come in here before morning shift and I'll be giving you a cube of medical grade."

The youngling, who had been uncomfortable already, actually jerked. "What?! Medical grade? Every day? Oh come, I forgot to fuel, Ratchet. That's all."

"It's better to be safe than sorry. At least until we get the more important upgrades done," said the medic as he pulled up a makeshift stool, sitting on it as he unraveled his jack, taking the wrist in hand before he plugged in. Bluestreak jolted immediately, almost cringing away as the medic pressed into his systems, trying to gain clearance. Reluctantly, because he knew there was no way he could deny the medic, he let the older mech through. He hoped that Scorponok's programs were well enough embedded that they would be overlooked.

Sitting there a moment, merely looking at nothing as his optics blinking in intensity for a few moments, Ratchet nodded and groused, "Yeah, I already see that the virus programs are outdated, and there are a few oddball programs just bounding around like they don't know where they belong. There's a virus too? If it is. It's already tried to integrate. I'll give you some boosts to see if that gets rid of it. If not, I'll have to quarantine it manually. Your sensors are way off balanced as well. It's like they are trying to carry more weight … Wait, or is it just trying to compensate for a future upgrade? Are you supposed to be upgrading that large? I was thinking Prowl's size, but …"

The medic frowned and threw a partial glance towards the tarp in the corner, Bluestreak looking that way as well.

"What's under the tarp, Ratchet?" he asked, suspiciously.

The medic, only looking the youngling in the optic for a klick, turned his attention back to the anti-virus program he was downloading into the youngling's systems, his words grumbled, "Nothing you need to worry about youngling."

It was then that a sickening realization hit him, the youngling nearly jerking away, "A-are you going to use … used parts on me? Used parts! L-like from someone that deactivated?!"

Kup, quickly coming over, patted a hand the back of the youth's helm to try and calm him. "Don't worry, kid. No one you knew or liked. Just keep all calm like for the medic."

Bluestreak, looking ready to have a panic attack, suddenly felt a line of calming code washing over him. It was a digital sedative that basically told systems to slow down. He had had liquid sedatives, but never a coded one. It made him feel fuzzy and instantly calm and warm inside, any worry instantly gone as Ratchet unplugged from him. His HUD pinging at him that he just had several folders placed into his system and that they were all unpacking for integration. Most were updates as well as some files meant to help organize his code. Nothing evasive, but slightly worrisome … if he had the ability to worry. He felt warm now, calm, not the least bit bothered even though Ratchet was now checking the plating near his joints, tugging and prying as he did an external scan of his peds.

The youngling, generally having thought of a reason to escape long before any medic even got this far, sat still for the most part. He barely noticed that Ratchet was grumbling and mumbling parts he was going to need. He had just had Ratchet tug on his arm, testing a loose joint, when he slid behind the youngling. Sitting there, dopey, Bluestreak was trying to listen to Kup's current story about a soldier that never got his joints checked. Apparently, during one battle, one of his limbs fell off and he had to beat the Decepticon to deactivation with it. Bluestreak rather doubted that, but his systems were just too warm and fuzzy to care, even with Ratchet tugging on things. Those practiced hands were rather gentle for the most part, picking between plates and cleaning out grit if he ran across it. If there was a human equivalent to it, it would be like helping him groom. It was nice and placed him even further into a slight daze, before he felt those hands tug at one plate he did not want touched. It was the plating covering the feeding port between his door wings.

Going stiff, wings snapping down and smacking those prying hands away, Bluestreak found himself instinctively snapping, "Don't touch that!"

He regretted the action immediately.

Ratchet, right over his shoulder, was still for a moment as he watched those door wings bow downward and keep that way, refusing to move which was odd for a Praxian. They were a very expressive type of mech, their door wings giving away their emotions when nothing else did. It was weird to see them so stiff, so defensive.

Immediately, Ratchet's field reached out slightly, the medic asking, "Did that hurt? Was it a sharp pain? Dull? A shock?"

Trying to relax his wings, especially when Ratchet started to rub his hand over the wings to try and get them to relax outward again, the youngling shook his head, trying to think of something as he peeked over his shoulder. "N-no. It's just … it's just I … I … I-"

Bluestreak's mind went blank, or it might have been the sedative, ether way with Kup and Ratchet's optics bearing down on him, he said the first thing that came to his head. "I'm ticklish there. Just like Prowl."

Kup immediately snickered. Ratchet just seemed confused. Prowl wasn't ticklish. Was he?

Shaking his helm, moving on to the next shoulder, Ratchet grumbled, "I'm having a hard time imagining that, but let's continue. I have some tight framing here. Your protoform is obviously trying to expand, likely meaning you'll be getting a much larger frame than I thought. Most of it looks new though. Hmm, might have been a recent jump in the spark's energy maybe from a lack of stress and regular energon. Either way, well this seems loos-woops."

There was a sudden jarring, the sound of ripping metal as Ratchet reeled back with a surprised choking noise while trying not to fall on his aft. For a moment the three mech's just stared at Bluestreak's shoulder guard which was meant to take the impact of his rifle … well, where it had been. Bluestreak, if he wasn't half doped up, might have started panicking. Instead, he started to poked at the now revealed and sparking wires.

Hmm, stingy.

Ratchet, the piece of armor still in hand, stood there a moment looking back and forth in surprise. Kup looked equally surprised and horrified until Ratchet shrugged slightly and placed the piece of armor on his tools tray. "Well, that happened. A few more transformations and that probably would have popped off anyway."

Coming forward, lightly wapping Bluestreak's finger from poking at his own internals, the medic grumbled, "Yep, that protoform is really swelling. I should loosen some of his armor plating. Maybe remove some of the smaller pieces."

Kup became stiff, his words biting. "What? What if he gets attacked?"

Ratchet rolled his optics. "He obviously is going on light duty. He will not be leaving the base with how worn his systems are anyway. Calm down. Let's just … reattach this."

Bluestreak merely giggled as he was informed to lay down on the berth. He had been so worried a few klicks ago … now he had no idea why he had ever been worried at all. Nope. Nothing. Hmmm, was Ratchet always so green? Or was it more of a yellow puke color? Hmmm? If he started poking his face … would he turn a different color?

And why was Kup a mech? Was he always a mech?

…

Elsewhere, down the hall, another youngling was wearily leading his caretaker to a hole in the base. Generally, given that the base was partially under the Hoover Dam, this would automatically be concerning, but given that this was located underground more so than part of the dam itself, leaks were not a huge issue.

Well, not of the water kind. Information leaks though, that was another type of leak entirely.

Finally standing before the grate, Bee turned his headlights on and beeped, motioning towards the damaged vent. Ironhide immediately frowned, the larger mech throwing a scan over the damaged grate. He even got onto one knee and rubbed some dirt between his large digits. Hands coming forward, the grate came off without any issue. Then, only partially cautious, he stuck his head in. After a few moments of staring and scanners bouncing around in the damaged vent did Ironhide come back with a sigh.

Looking at the youngling, Ironhide could only grumble, "Well, it probably a good thing we are soon to be getting' a new base … it looks like we have a bug problem. A big, big bug problem."

XXX

Paw07: Woot, an update! No much else to say.