It was very dark.
Ratchet fought to keep his optics online. His head was pounding in an effort to stay awake as he waited for his optics to adjust to the sudden lack of light, even though he was certain there was a bright flash just a moment ago.
His vision was blurry. He saw many Cybertronians running back and forth through the darkness. Ratchet understood that there was no light, but he couldn't remember why. His audio receptors were slowly reactivating, and the first things he heard were shouts and screams of pain.
With a great deal of effort, Ratchet pushed himself into a kneeling position, wondering why he was so weak all of a sudden. He looked around, seeing many offline frames scattered all over the ground. Medics were rushing back and forth, trying to help anyone who was injured, but still alive. One medic ran towards Ratchet, hoisting him to his feet and scanning him for any damage.
Ratchet remembered that medic. He had worked with him once before, when the Gladiatorial Area quickly got out of hand. Both Ratchet and the medic had to restrain one of the gladiators, who's Energon had been replaced with High Grade, causing him to go out of control and try to attack the audience.
The medic shook Ratchet's shoulders, returning him to the present. The medic stared Ratchet directly in the optics, his mouth moving before Ratchet even registered a voice. "-chet, are you functional?"
Ratchet blinked, assuming that some of his systems had yet to reactivate. "Motor...?"
The medic, Motor, let out a deep breath of frustrated relief. He rubbed a hand over his faceplate, before repeating his question. "Are you alright? Can you move?"
Ratchet nodded, looking around at the destruction around him, trying to figure out what could have caused such devastation. He remembered an argument, over a pile of Energon. The damaged needed Energon, but they weren't given any. They had a gun. They fired. Energon. Explosion. Rooter.
Rooter.
Ratchet's optics widened and he turned back to his fellow medic with concern clear in his voice. "Motor, have you seen Rooter?"
"No," Motor replied, glancing over the destruction with a frown. He turned back around. "Ratchet, if you're well enough, I need you to tend to the wounded."
Ratchet seemed hesitant to move, then his forearm shifted and a slab of metal moved aside to reveal a scanner. Motor nodded in satisfaction as Ratchet began walking to Cybertronians and scanning for injuries. The scanners blue light shone red as it ran over a nearby Cybertronian frame, signifying an extinguished spark. The corners of Ratchet's mouth twitched downwards, then he turned to another body. He completed another scan, with the same results.
So many were dead. Detached limbs were scattered everywhere. Most faceplates were twisted into expressions of pain and agony, if they weren't already shattered. Only few had gone out with a look of peace.
A few more medics drove up, spreading out to cover more ground. Two of them almost immediately found some survivors, and they quickly tried to repair major damage to their Energon lines. One medic gestured for Ratchet to search the other side of the room, as they felt they had everything under control.
Barely a moment after the medics excused Ratchet, one of the survivors offlined. Letting out a short grunt of frustration, the medic left and tried to help the other survivors, once again demanding that Ratchet left. Ratchet gave a nod of acknowledgement and went away, scanning over bodies as he walked to another area. The scanned glowed a continuous red, unable to detect any sign of life, and Ratchet continued frowning.
As he reached the end of the room, Ratchet noticed that it was considerably darker there, the only light coming from his own scanner and a large hole in the wall closest to the other medics. The explosion caused a lot of collateral damage, throwing Cybertronians to the other side of the room in its wake.
Ratchet's scanner came upon Oiltrack, who seemed to have been tossed away by the blast. Oiltrack's arm and head were both missing, though after a moment Ratchet spied them a few steps away from the chassis. A closer inspection of the head showed a gaping hole, revealing a severely fried processor. Ratchet wondered, rather darkly, if it was like that from before or after the explosion.
If Ratchet had any hope of repairing Oiltrack before, that hope was crushed when the rest of the processor zapped with electricity, burning itself out and leaking a sickly green liquid. Ratchet scowled as he left Oiltrack's remains, heading farther down the room as the scanner glowing a steady red briefly flashed blue.
Ratchet blinked, starting towards the direction the scanned detected life. The scanner stayed red as Ratchet held it over corpses, trying to find a survivor. He continued walking, staring forward as a familiar small and red figure slowly came into view. Ratchet paused in alarm before swiftly moving forward.
"Rooter!" Ratchet exclaimed as he knelt down next to his fellow medic, quickly scanning over her frame. He scanned again, even though he knew that the light was never going to glow blue around Rooter ever again. Ratchet wished that he was in shock, because the weight he felt in his spark was enough to leave him motionless before his comrade.
Even though he knew it was hopeless, Ratchet scanned Rooter again, the red light trailing up and down he chassis before it flickered blue. Ratchet froze. He stayed still for a moment before he began narrowing down where the light was changing. The scanner was focused on Rooter's arm, shifting between red and blue before remaining the latter when held over her hand. Ratchet grimaced, assuming that his scanner had been damaged from the explosion. He slowly reached forward, deciding to find the source of the possible life signal anyway.
Ratchet gently opened Rooter's hand, revealing a small, unborn spark that shone brightly in the darkness. Ratchet stared at the spark in a mixture of shock and awe. He had never seen a spark living without a frame or protoform to carry it. Ratchet couldn't understand how something that seemed so fragile could have lived for so long on its own.
Ratchet slowly reached forward, carefully picking up the spark as it flickered in uncertainty before regaining a steady glow. Ratchet held the spark close, limiting the amount of light visible in an attempt to hide it. Ratchet slowly stood up and walked over to Motor, wondering how his fellow medic would respond.
Motor glanced over at Ratchet, who was clutching his arm to his chest. Motor raised and optic ridge as he directed another medic towards a Cybertronian at risk of offlining. Ratchet stopped in front of Motor, waiting for the mech to finish what he was doing. Motor looked at Ratchet's arm with concern. "Are you injured?"
Ratchet shook his head. He paused, trying to think of a way to inform Motor of what he had found. After a few moments, Ratchet gestured with his free hand for Motor to follow him. Motor watched as Ratchet walked behind a large piece of debris, briefly wondering if the assistant medic had a few screws loose before he went after him.
Ratchet waited impatiently for Motor to join him. Once Motor reached him, Ratchet did not speak. He only held his clenched hand out, opening it just enough for light to shine through. Motor took a step back in surprise, his optics widening. "Is that...?"
Ratchet nodded, looking at the spark's light dancing along his frame. "An unborn spark."
Motor frowned, watching as Ratchet viewed the spark with interest. Motor glared at the light, disgust written on his features. It was wrong. An unborn spark was wrong. Sparks should never leave the Well without being contained inside of a protoform. Motor transformed his hand into a saw, reaching towards the spark with his blades spinning.
Ratchet quickly snapped his hand shut and backed up, staring at Motor in shock. "What are you doing?!"
"It left the Well before it was ready, Ratchet," Motor explained, annoyed at the assistant medic naivety. "It will be a defective if it lives."
"Your point?" Ratchet growled, anger clear in his voice. He sounded insulted. "A life is still a life, even you should know that! You're a medic, for Primus' sake!"
Motor noticed multiple pairs of optics glancing over at him and Ratchet. In an effort to calm Ratchet down, Motor gently placed a hand on Ratchet's shoulder, leading him away from the death and destruction.
After they got a good distance away from anyone who could hear them, Motor and Ratchet slowed their pace, aimlessly walking side by side. They remained silent for a while, Ratchet still unconsciously holding the spark close, as if it was the most precious thing in the world. Though, Motor assumed it was more of a medic's instinct than actual compassion. Motor grimaced, once again trying to reason with his fellow medic.
"Listen," Motor started, his tone forcibly softer than before. "I know it's alive, but it will only suffer once it gets a body."
"You don't know that," Ratchet argued, his voice low. "It could end up just fine, and you would have murdered it."
"Slaggit, Ratchet, don't you understand!?" Motor abruptly stopped, forcing Ratchet to face him. "Even the High Council tells us to extinguish unborn sparks! It has to die!"
Ratchet hesitated. He thought over what Motor had said. A moment passed, before Ratchet straightened his posture and glared directly into Motor's optics. "No."
Motor pinched the space between his optics in frustration. "It's not your choice!"
"Oh, and I assume it's yours?" Ratchet countered, looking absolutely livid.
Motor growled, trying not to let his anger get the best of him. He knew that Ratchet was, for a lack of a better term, 'young'. At least, younger that most of the medics he worked with. The stress of his job had changed Ratchet's personality dramatically, and Motor could only wonder what any more tragedy would do to his fellow medic.
"No," Motor replied. "No, it's not. But it isn't yours either."
Ratchet's expression softened, though the action was barely noticeable. His grip on the spark loosened slightly, enough for it's light to be visible to both mechs. The spark continued glowing brightly, oblivious to the conflict taking place around it. Motor let out a slow breath of resignation.
"... You don't have a choice, but," Motor said quietly, unsure if he should tell. "... I know who does."
Ratchet blinked, listening intently, even though a frown remained on his faceplate.
"... The Guilds of Cybertron," Motor explained. " They decide what happens to everyone. They're the ones who made you a medic, remember?"
"I do," Ratchet responded, thinking of when he first came online. A group of Cybertronians had sent him to a Guild designed for medical training. He had tried his best, but...
Ratchet shook his head, clearing his thoughts. It wasn't the time or place for reviewing his past.
Motor continued. "You can ask to return the spark to the Well of All Sparks. They probably won't let you, though."
"Optimistic as ever, I see," Ratchet said sarcastically. He closed his hand again, the spark no longer visible.
"Ratchet," Motor had a serious look on his faceplate. "They might not even let you through the door, and extinguish that spark right then and there."
"I have to try," Ratchet said, holding the spark tighter. "I won't let anyone else die."
That explained it. Motor finally understood why Ratchet cared about the spark so much. Ratchet just lost someone. It was possible Ratchet felt guilty, though Motor couldn't understand why. There was no way that what happened to Rooter was even possibly Ratchet's fault. Ratchet found a living spark, someone he could save, and Ratchet was determined not to fail.
"The Well is somewhere beneath Protihex," Motor's voice went quiet, so no one else could here. "Since we're already here, you just need to go down an access tunnel."
Ratchet nodded, and Motor walked over to a wall. A screen opened up out of the wall, and Motor pressed a few buttons, causing the screen to flash blue. The wall began shifting, and large chunks of metal retracted simultaneously to reveal a passage way. Motor gestured for Ratchet to enter, and Ratchet responded with the tiniest hint of a smile before he went into the Cybertronian underground. Ratchet didn't even flinch as the door slammed shut behind him.
The passage was dark, dark enough that Ratchet could see the spark's light slipping between his fingers. It was unnervingly quiet the only sounds coming from the shifting metal inside the walls, and Ratchet's own steps. Ratchet didn't mind, though. He preferred silence. Ratchet continued forward, a slight glow from the other end of the tunnel used as his guide.
As he approached the other side of the passage, Ratchet mentally prepared himself for his confrontation with the Guilds of Cybertron. He knew he would have to watch what he said, as an insult to the Guilds would no doubt lead to the spark's destruction, or his own forced resignation and relocation.
When Ratchet reached the end of the tunnel, he saw a large guard standing in front of a huge doorway. The guard wore heavy armor, in case the Guilds were attacked, even though that event was more than unlikely.
The guard stared down at Ratchet, speaking with a deep voice. "Why are you down here?"
Ratchet didn't falter. "I need to speak with the Guilds of Cybertron."
The guard stood straighter, as always, prepared for an attack. "Why do you seek the Guilds' guidance?"
"A spark left the well before it was ready," Ratchet said, his hand opening so the guard could see he wasn't lying. "I want to discuss the spark's fate with those responsible for it."
The guard thought over the situation. The mech in front of his was definitely a medic, obviously not a threat to the Guilds. The spark itself, however, was wrong. Why anyone would want to discuss the life of a wrong spark, the guard didn't understand. The medic still held the wrong spark close, waiting for the guard to respond.
"What is you designation?" The guard asked, making sure the medic was a medic, and not a rebel, even though there had never been a rebellion for millions and millions of Solar Cycles. Ratchet nodded, then spoke.
"My name is Ratchet," He replied, the spark still held out for the guard to see. "I have been assigned as an assistant medic at the Protihex Medical Center."
The guard stepped aside, only to access a nearby monitor, inserting the given information and starting a search. It only took a moment for every file that had any connection to Ratchet to appear on the screen. The guard apparently had unlimited access, immediately opening and going through Ratchet's personal file. When everything checked out, the guard pressed a few placed on the screen and the door slowly opened, creaking in protest from lack of use. The guard stood back, arms crossed while watching as the medic walked through.
Ratchet's optics quickly adjusted to the sudden change of lighting as he stepped into the huge, brightly lit room. Heads turned to the entrance and old, yet intelligent, blue optics looked over Ratchet, emotionless. Ratchet stopped in uncertainty, and one of the Guilds' members spoke up. "Step forward, medic Ratchet."
Ratchet briefly wondered how they knew who he was, then he internally scolded himself for such a stupid question. The Guilds of Cybertron had chosen his name and what he would do when he first came online. Acknowledging the Guild member's request, Ratchet took a few more steps before he ended up on a platform in the middle of the room.
"Why have you requested an audience with the Guilds of Cybertron?" Another member asked. Ratchet paused, knowing full well that he was horrible at communicating with others. He would have to think about what he said before he said it.
"... It is you who decides a Cybertronians fate, what will become of them after the rise from the Well of All Sparks and gain a form," Ratchet believed that was probably the most poetic thing he had ever said in his life, and he doubted he would ever say anything like that again, ever. If anyone spoke like that around him on a daily basis, he was sure he'd end up having a conniption fit.
None the less, he had the Guilds' attention, and he intended to keep it.
"I... have something here that concerns you," Ratchet slowly opened his hand, and the spark practically exploded with light, brighter than ever. The Guilds of Cybertron did not speak, only stared at what was in the medic's grasp.
The Guild member's voice was still as steady as before. "An unborn spark."
Ratchet nodded, watching the spark as he spoke. If Ratchet didn't know any better, he might have believed that the spark had been listening to him, latching onto his every word. "I do not know how it left the Well, or how it arrived on the surface, though I am certain that I disagree with the actions required after one escapes."
Ratchet looked up, his optics scanning over the crowd. He stood straighter before them.
"It is said that an unborn spark should be extinguished on sight, that they should never get the chance to experience life. This spark is already alive, just without a physical form," Ratchet continued, the spark glowing brighter with every word. "I only have one request."
Ratchet went silent, optics once again viewing the Guild members as they watched him and waited to see what he would do. Ratchet's tone was completely serious, and would have been laced with malice if he were speaking to anyone else.
"Let this spark live."
The Guilds of Cybertron were not pleased, to say the least. They had recommended, even encouraged, the immediate destruction of any unborn sparks that have left the Well of All Sparks before it was placed inside of a protoform. The negative affects of keeping one alive outweighed the good, and that was known best by Cybertronians with a medical background.
Yet, to the Guilds' surprise and confusion, a medic stood tall before them while holding an unborn spark as if it was the most precious thing on the planet.
"...Very well," One of the Guilds' members said in resignation. "The Guilds of Cybertron will honor your request."
Another member stepped forward, reaching out to reclaim the spark. Ratchet gave a victorious smirk. He was about to place the spark in the Guild members hand, before they suddenly stepped back.
"But," The Guild member continued, vocal tone dropping dangerously low. "If this spark becomes a defect, you will be held accountable. Is that understood?"
Ratchet frowned, evaluating the situation. It was rare to find an unborn spark, much less have one survive fir longer than a Cycle after onlining for the first time. Ratchet would be forced to take the blame if something went wrong. Ratchet briefly wondered if saving the spark was worth it, before internally scolding himself for even thinking that it wasn't. If Ratchet let the spark live, at least it would have a chance.
"... Yes," Ratchet answered, straightening his posture and speaking with complete certainty. "I understand."
The Guild member nodded, roughly swiping the spark away from Ratchet. Ratchet glared in return before the Guilds gave him a gesture of dismissal. Ratchet held back an angry remark, then spun around and stalked out of the chamber. He could not believe that someone would treat a spark so cruelly.
He strode back through the tunnel, arriving at the main entrance faster than he had left it. He punched a code into the access panel, growling as the password failed multiple times before Ratchet kicked the door in frustration and it snapped open. Ratchet blinked in confusion before he dismissed the door's action as a glitch and walked out. Motor was no longer there. Ratchet hadn't expected him to be. Motor was probably assisting the other medics with the explosion victims.
Ratchet though back to the Guilds. That spark, if something went wrong, Ratchet would be blamed. There were no recorded documents of what should happen to an unborn spark after it gains a form. If that spark dies...
Ratchet wouldn't think about that. He started walking back to the Protihex Medical Center, planning on helping as many patients as he could before recharging for an Astro Cycle or two, something to get the spark's fate off of his mind.
He only hoped everything would be alright.