Chapter Eleven
20th December
0130hrs
Perceptor sat at his desk, stacks of digipads in front of him, the large screen of his research computer stretched out on the wall displaying titbits of information which he thought useful to the pertaining diagnosis he was trying to make. He'd discussed at length with First Aid the possibility of a splitting CPU personality format. The young medic was right, it was incredibly rare and Perceptor himself had only seen three cases in person and 6 others detailed in poorly formatted files in over 10 million years of research. He recalled Ratchet had seen maybe 8 in person and maybe 20 on file, but most of them crossed over. Wheeljack may have seen some, he wasn't sure, but it wasn't like he could inquire now.
Most of the information was sparse and poorly described, most of the files were damaged from time or virus or some other defect in the software or internal structure of the digi pad they sat within. Most of what sat before him came from human psychiatric literature, and several from similar robotic alien life. The raft of difference between organic and robotic life aside, given they had so few cases to go on, Perceptor was reserved to the fact they needed to use outside sources, if a diagnosis and subsequent cure came from these words, then marvellous, if not, nothing was really lost.
Chip had been most useful in providing a range of information and sourcing opinions from friends and family of his who were in the medical profession. As soon as had come out that Sunstreaker was claiming he was seeing "ghosts", the scientists figured very quickly that it must have been Sideswipe who had discussed the topic with Chip in such words that perhaps he, too, was seeing the same. As they were twins, with almost identical structures and CPUs, it was likely whatever progression Sunstreaker had passed through, Sideswipe might also end up with the same symptoms. So having him confined to the room, under watch, could prove useful to curing both of them.
The scientist had only a few hours previous, been given the report that both Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, in different cells, not having had contact with each other for at least a day, had started screaming the same words "spaghetti bolognaise". He was unsure of the significance of such words. He was unsure why they were yelling them, while they had no contact. He was unsure if being twins might have something to do with it. He was unsure if it was some kind of PTSD. He was unsure if it was CPU personality format splitting. He was unsure. And being unsure was something he didn't like. He was far from arrogant, but he was the best mind on Cybertron, before the war, and during it, and most likely, if he survived, he would be so after it. So not knowing, was rather… unsettling.
"How goes it, Percy?"
The scientist looked up from his digipads and down to the floor where the voice had come from.
Chip.
"I am finding this lack of information to be most limiting in formulating a diagnosis".
It was a rather blunt response coming from the Autobot.
"I wish I could help you more, Perce. Could I have a look over the twins' scans? I can't promise I'll find anything, but another pair of eyes is far from a bad thing".
"Indubitably".
The scientist handed the intelligent young human the digipad, as soon as the man touched it, the pad shrunk to a more human friendly size.
"I must say, Chip, you remain here a good deal of time post your designated cessation. Are you not feeling the need for recharge?"
"I'm tired, yeah, but this is really nagging me. I actually made it out to my car, and while I was sitting there, behind the wheel, debating whether I should turn the keys, all I could really think about was what's wrong with the Twins, and I don't like such thoughts that continue to natter away inside my head! And I just knew if I made it home, and got to bed, I'd be lying awake all night thinking what was wrong. So I figure, I might as well stay here, put my obsessions to good use, and see if I can help".
It was a lengthy explanation, something Perceptor was no stranger too, but it relayed the thoughts of the human quite well.
Chip locked the breaks on his chair and began to read through the large amount of information he now had at his disposal.
It was about twenty minutes later, well, twenty three minutes and four seconds to be exact, later that Chip spoke up:
"Spaghetti bolognaise?"
The tone he gave to the words could have been argued that he was speaking to himself more then anyone else. But Perceptor, more then happy, and uncharacteristically, to have a distraction from the seemingly go no where research, responded.
"Yes, the twins have both been screaming out those words for hours since when Sunstreaker came online, and Sideswipe began thirty six minutes later. We are not sure of the significance".
"Yeah, but its kind of a strange thing to start hollering about".
"Precisely".
Chip went quiet for a moment and then suddenly, giggled.
"Chip? You find amusement in something?"
Perceptor sounded rather irritated.
"Oh my. Perceptor! Spaghetti bolognaise! Years ago the twins decided to torment Ratchet more then usual, they loaded up a heap of that stuff into a catapult of some form and then it splattered it all over Ratch when he opened a cupboard in his medbay. I think it was back when you guys were still in the Ark… I mean, maybe its got nothing to do with it, but it's the only thing I can think that would have the twins screaming about it".
Perceptor was quiet for a moment. He leant back in his chair and brushed his chin with his thumb and index finger.
"It could stand to reason that if their CPU is splitting personalities that perhaps this split began many solar cycles ago, and that "prank" was an indication of its beginning. It could be hypothesized that those antics are an indication of the beginnings of a split".
"Well, and don't quote me, but I think one of the first things people tend to notice about someone developing schizophrenia is that they start doing things that are out of character".
The scientist stood and began to walk towards another large computer within his lab.
"I am formulating a theory, thank you for your assistance, Chip".
Which was as politely as possible that the Autobot could tell Chip to go home. Chip was feeling tired, and didn't take it personally, the scientist was not a very social type and his ability to relay his emotions or to ask someone to leave were not very tactful.
"Well, good luck, Perce, I'll check in again tomorrow, okay?"
Perceptor didn't respond, and was obviously too far gone into his current strain of research to notice the young human leave.
--
0240hrs
Chip arrived home and dumped his keys on the small table by his door. He lived close to the Autobot City, on a small subdivision that was growing in size to accommodate the increase in human workers returning to the facility. It'd been empty for quite some time after the attack, and the small town which housed the human workers and colleagues had taken the brunt of human casualties.
He enjoyed his home. It was quite and peaceful; most of the time, and its proximity to the city made it a quick commute to and from. Spike and Carly lived with their son closer to the major city, a good 1 and a half hours drive from the Autobot's city, but Carly had packed a tantrum when Spike had suggested they live on site after Daniel was born. She was a staunch supporter of the Autobots and what they stood for, and she was far from being a coward, but that didn't mean she didn't want her son to be blasted to dust when the 'Cons attacked because he was playing in the backyard of their house which was a few metres from the Autobot's city.
His cat, Einstein, lazily jumped down from the couch in the darkened lounge to come greet him, not from any affection of Chip, but for a feed of fresh meat from the fridge. The dry biscuits that sat in the dish during the day, well, the fluffy Tom wasn't going to tolerate that for very long. Chip rolled himself into the kitchen after having picked the ample pussy up onto his lap.
"I'm pretty sure there's a can of Tuna in here, would you like that Einstein?"
He chuckled as he patted the cat, it purred in response.
There was a smell in the kitchen.
It was a smell that didn't belong there.
No one had been in the house all day, in fact, he'd left the house at about 10am the day prior. No one had been here to cook and he doubted that Einstein and his little paws, no opposable thumbs present, would be able to cook up a big pot of spag bol.
The smell was undeniable.
"Spaghetti bolognaise".
He said simply.
The cat stood up awkwardly on the man's lap. It growled, not at the human. Its fur stood on end, its face scrunched up into an angry mess and it hissed loudly, before jumping down from the human and racing away to hide in some part of the house.
The temperature in the kitchen suddenly dropped very quickly. Yes, it was cold outside, but it had been warm in the house. It could have been explained away as the cold entering through the door when Chip came into the house, but that would be to simple for what Chip was starting to think was happening.
"Ratchet?"
He whispered. Realising how stupid that was.
He sat. He waited. The smell and the chill remained.
Somewhere in the house he heard a loud bang.
He wheeled himself out as quickly as possible into the living area and flicked the light on. Einstein was no where to be seen. The light then flicked off. The chill in the room was now almost intolerable. He threw the switch a few times, thinking it had just blown a bulb. It flicked on and off as usual. He took his fingers away from the switch and simply sat there, waiting, wondering. Every light in the house then flickered on and off for about 20 seconds not in any form of unison. Chip was a man of science, but even this scared all sorts of shit out of him.
He wheeled backwards to the door.
"Einstein…"
Somewhere within the room the cat meowed sadly.
"Ratchet… if that [i]is[/i] you, why are you doing this? I was your friend!"
A book flew across the room and smashed a vase off the table. The TV fell from the desk it sat upon, the iron sitting on its board was flung through the air until the cable pulled taut, it hung there, in the air, as if someone was holding it, then it dropped, landing hard on the carpet the water from within spilled out leaving a dark puddle.
"Screw this. EINSTEIN!"
The cat suddenly came bolting out from under the couch and jumped up onto his lap and the man escaped his own house.
Chip spent the night, with his rather smelly and angry and hungry cat, in his car. When the first rays of light smacked him in the face, he wondered if he should tell Perceptor.
--
0350hrs
Perceptor stretched his arms above his head, craning his head on its rotational plane to try and ease the strain it was under from the constant staring down at the information that didn't seem to be yielding any results.
He at first had wondered if the Twins' antics were a result of a splitting, but from their personnel files, it turned out they had always been like that. Either bored or just nasty pranksters they were always causing irritation to their superiors. And on Earth, the target of their irritation had become Ratchet, and Ratchet had been only too happy to throw tantrum after tantrum. Should the former CMO ignored their jabs, and just put up with their stupidity inflicted injuries, then the twins probably would have gone after another.
An internal alert informed him that he needed to initiate recharge within the next hour or he was going to crash. He sighed. Having found no more clues as to their behaviour, and his train of thought having yielded no results; he decided to obey his warning systems and go shut down for a time.
Perceptor walked along the empty corridor towards his quarters when his internal sensors alerted him to a temperature drop. It was an odd thing to happen given the temperature a moment ago was rather pleasant and there was no opening anywhere in the area that the air could enter to cool the place. The lights along the edges of the walls that provided mild night lighting started to flicker. Most probably issues with the city's environmental controls. Construction and rebuilding was still continuing and occasionally someone cut the wrong wire or welded shut the wrong vent or something somewhere went wrong and shut down some system in some compound. He sighed at the ignorance of those and reached his door.
After the sixth attempt to access his quarters he started to curse those who were responsible for the wiring and computer maintenance in the habit wing. It kept telling him the security code was not recognised and he had two more attempts before security would be alerted. He figured it would enhance his chances of entrance in a timely manner if a security officer did show up. Of course, some of the newer officers didn't know him and there were times when they told him he was lying and Perceptor had actually ended up spending a night in the brig when one of the new recruits refused to believe an Autobot could be so "pouncy" – Perceptor had refused to get into a fight with an over fuelled new recruit and so was labelled a spy and a coward.
Perceptor tried one more time and was inwardly relieved when he succeeded. The light turned green and all he had to do now was hit that green button and the doors would open into his quarters; he could recharge, and then wake in the morning, refreshed, and hopefully able to better address the issue that was at hand. Instead he heard a strange sound.
He wasn't able to give it an elucidation. It got louder. He turned to face the direction it was coming from and there at the end of the hallway was standing someone.
"I say, who are you?"
Perceptor asked, his vocaliser a little shaky.
There was an unexplained mist that seemed to be drifting outwards from the figure. Perhaps a broken pipe releasing steam or cold fog oozing in from the outside earthen planet.
"Are you fully functioning?"
He asked, wondering if the mist might have been coming from a damaged part of the mech.
The sound then became clearer; he was able to label it. It was a moan, a shriek actually. It floated along the nippy air until it embraced him. What then unsettled him the most was that he could see the wall panels behind the mech. The mech was transparent.
"Mirage? Are you stuck in your…"
He began to speak, inwardly knowing it was not Mirage. The large triangular wings juttering out from the shoulders an indication of that. Well, there was one wing, the other was broken at the tip and it ran down the metal as a large jaggered rip. The optics were glowing black, the head casing wasn't entirely intact and part of the CPU was seen, it was bleak and like the rest of him, see through. The torso was just as scuffed and mangled as the wings and arms, but the legs didn't exist, it was simply the mist around him. It floated towards him.
Perceptor gave a small cry of shock as he realised it was Thundercracker who was now tearing down the hall towards him, his very dead arms stretched out.
The scientist only just managed to get the door to his quarters open and fell inside. Clanging loudly as he struggled to turn and shut the door.
He was panting deeply, stressed, his body pulling in air in an attempt to cool down his systems. The scientist sat there, shivering, frightened. He managed to pull himself up and towards his berth. He lay down into the foetal position, pulling his blanket up over him and praying to Primus that thing didn't get in. He began to initiate recharge, nervously hoping it would work.
Science proved no comfort that night.
--
NB: Okay, so I know Thundercracker was reformed into one of the Sweeps or was it Cyclonus, I forget which, but in one of the season three eps you actually see his tomb, so I dunno, maybe his spark no longer exists in that twisted new structure.