Hello everyone and welcome to the second story arc! I hope you're enjoying the story so far cause it's only going to get bigger from here. If there's stuff you like or stuff you didn't like, please leave a review so I know what to keep doing or to change! (I'm a former creative writing major- critiques are kinda my life :P) Enjoy the next part!

With his head held high, a grin on his face and a slight spring in his step, Ratchet made his way to the medbay that next day. He was feeling confident—the two guards, Aeroknife and Astrotrain were their names, he discovered, had seemed all too happy to help, though whether it was because of the credit reward or simply the chance to beat the slag out of someone, he wasn't sure. Regardless, he had no doubt that the two big mechs would be successful in bringing Meister to him. Whether the mech was still functioning after they did it was yet to be seen.

Still, his spirits were high. He had at least managed to convince Spec to kick his thrusters on long enough to float up and get his ID unstuck from his desk, but even then, Ratchet was sure he only did it to keep him alert at work. A mech who was low on a fuel was a mech that couldn't focus and Spec wouldn't allow that. So with his tanks fueled, Ratchet walked into the medbay.

If he was expecting to be greeted with the usual indifference of the rest of the medical staff showed him, he was sorely mistaken. All optics were on him as he walked in and Ratchet noticed there seemed to be a gathering around where his work bench usually stood. His optics automatically went to the ceiling and found that his work bench had been removed, but as Ratchet pushed his way through the throng, his good mood disappeared like metal under an acid pellet.

His work station had been returned to its original place on the ground, but with two extra additions cuffed to each side of it. Aeroknife and Astrotrain glared up at Ratchet from the ground, their wrists cuffed to the berth by a set of magnabonds. Astrotrain tried to shout something at Ratchet but his voice was muffled by the metal plate that had been welded over his mouth. Undeterred, he swore and cursed at Ratchet unintelligibly as the young medic approached his workbench. On the chrome surface of the table, a message had been scrawled and Ratchet's optics nearly fritzed, his anger skyrocketing as he read it.

The key's on them… somewhere.

"Who the slag was on duty last night?" Ratchet snapped and glared around the room, though not surprisingly, no one answered. He growled in frustration and grabbed his wrench off of his work table before hucking it as hard as he could into the surrounding group. A few surprised mechs just barely ducked out of the way but Ratchet was too livid to care about the enemies he might be making. "I'll check the fragging security tapes if I have to—WHO was on DUTY?" he roared.

A smug looking mech shrugged as he stepped forward—Ratchet couldn't remember his name, though he knew he'd learned it. "Me'n Forcep were but we didn't see a thing. We turn our backs for a breem to double-check supplies in the store room and when we came out, they were there. We already checked the vid—doesn't show slag. One second they're gone, the next they're there."

Ratchet felt an ache forming behind his optic as a litany of swears poured from his vocals. "We already tried overriding the locks—you could maybe try cutting them," Spec said helpfully even as he headed back to his own work station, waving it off as Ratchet's problem now that he was here. Some of the other medics took his lead and headed back to their duties, though a few continued to linger nearby, just wanting to watch the spectacle.

Ratchet felt his anger ebb as he looked helplessly around at them before swallowing and daring to meet optics with the two guards cuffed to his station. Astrotrain continued to shout and snarl behind his gag while Aeroknife's red optics were narrowed into slits, promising death. From the looks they were giving him, Ratchet was afraid he'd burst into flames if he so much as touched either one of them.

"Do either of you have any idea where the key is?" Ratchet dared to ask.

Astrotrain howled and stomped a foot against the ground in what Ratchet could only guess was an elaborate 'no' before proceeding to tug ferociously at the cuffs, scooting the heavy table across the ground a bit and making Aeroknife's scowl darken as he was jostled in the process.

"Primus, if you hold still for a second, I'll find it and let you out," Ratchet snapped. Astrotrain's system growled, but he settled down a bit, stiff as a rock. The last thing Ratchet wanted to do was get close enough for the mech to kick him, but to find the key, he had to enter the danger zone. Slowly, he crept forward, craning his neck to get a good look at both of them to see if the key was anywhere in sight. He didn't have a lot of hope—Meister wouldn't be kind enough to put the key in an easy to reach spot. Soon, he resorted to dipping his fingers under armor seams, searching for any trace of the key card.

Astrotrain's expression tended to change from furious to mortified, depending on where Ratchet's fingers explored and his frame twitched as he resisted the urge to kick, his hands flexing behind the cuffs, as though itching to strangle something. After a few agonizing minutes of searching, Aeroknife sighed and shifted uncomfortably, folding his legs to try and ease the strain on his arms. Ratchet didn't pay him any attention, still focused on Astrotrain until Aeroknife kicked his back. Ratchet swore as the force of the big mech's kick nearly sent him tumbling into Astrotrain's lap. He was about to shout something unpleasant at the bound guard, but Aeroknife had his pede lifted up, showing the key card stuck in between two armor plates on the underside of his treads

Ratchet felt Astrotrain relax before his litany of muted swears started tumbling from behind the gag again. The young medic ignored him and quickly plucked the keycard from Aeroknife's foot and unlocked his wrists. The big black mech wasted no time in reaching up and tearing off the strip of metal welded over his mouth, leaving raw scrapes on his faceplates.

Ratchet winced. "Primus, I would have gotten it off for you," he said but Aeroknife just glared silently before tossing the metal strip at Ratchet, plunked it off of his chassis and promptly walking out of the medbay. A kick in the knee and a muffled curse from Astrotrain reminded him that he still had another prisoner attached to his work bench, and he was just as eager to be rid of them as they were to be rid of him.

He swiped the keycard and barely had time to register the click of the disengaging locks before hands were wrapped around his throat, his head slamming against something hard. He vaguely wondered how he'd gotten onto his work bench so quickly before Astrotrain bared down on him, determined to choke the lights out of him. Ratchet felt the delicate components on his neck bend under the strength of the big triple changer and he gagged, flailing and kicking fiercely to try and dislodge the mech.

Suddenly, Astrotrain froze and Ratchet saw the glint of a laser scalpel pressed against the mech's neck, just over one of his main energon lines. "Let him go," Spec said, red optics narrowed.

Astrotrain let go of Ratchet immediately and the young medic coughed violently, trying to clear out his wheezing intakes. The triplechanger roughly yanked off the gag over his mouth, not caring that it took a few layers of his faceplate off with it and snarled. "Mech set me up," he growled. "He didn't tell me it was a Spec Ops mech."

Spec snorted and kept the sparking blade against the mech's neck. "You have a datapad and a working processor—I hope. You could have accessed the base records as easy as anyone. Just because you're too big of a glitch to check doesn't mean you can take it out on my work droid, got it?" He gave Astrotrain a shove towards the door. "Make like your friend and get the frag out of my medbay or I'll use your parts to replaced what you damaged in him," he said and jerked a thumb at Ratchet.

Astrotrain looked like he might protest but with one last glower at Ratchet, he decided it wasn't worth it and headed for the doors. Spec flicked his laser scalpel back into subspace before looking at Ratchet, heaving an exasperated sigh. "I told you not to bother with Meister," he said even as he pushed Ratchet's shoulder to get him to lie back down on the work table. He tilted Ratchet's head back with a tap under his chin and looked at his neck, leaning in close to examine the dented components for any severe damage.

Ratchet just closed his optics and focused on sucking air in through his vents, knowing Spec would set him straight. "He'll never attack you himself—at least not while you're looking, but Meister's got an uncanny ability to make others hate your slagging cogs," Spec murmured. He grabbed a datapad stylus from Ratchet's drawer before jamming it under a dented piece of metal on his neck. He popped it outwards with a quick twist before tossing the stylus back in its drawer. Ratchet gasped as his main airway opened up fully again and he dragged in a few ragged breaths, his frame relaxing against the table. Spec patted his shoulder. "You'll be fine," he promised. "Just… don't get yourself killed, alright?"

Ratchet sat up and rubbed his sore neck, shaking slightly as he watched Spec head back to his own project. Whatever thinly veiled humor that had been in the medbay had disappeared as everyone kept their attention doggedly on their work and determinedly away from him. Ratchet gingerly got off of the table and looked down at the message scraped into it. A dark look crossed over his face as he grabbed small sander, usually used to smooth rough edges on armor and scraped it over the surface, erasing the message in a whirl of sparks and metal chips. As the last jagged letter disappeared, so did his thoughts of Meister and, along with it, his hopes of seeing the outside world.

When Ratchet didn't play his turn, Meister backed off. The couple of times Ratchet glimpsed the mech in the mess hall, he would flash that perfect superiority-complex-slag-sucking grin, before ducking out of sight. There wasn't a doubt in Ratchet's mind that the mech had heard of Astrotrain's recent attempt to kill him and was undoubtedly feeling very smug about it. No matter how badly Ratchet wanted to slap that self-satisfied grin off his face, he'd given up. He hadn't survived this far just to be killed by a sadistic Spec Ops mech in his version of entertainment and three days off simply wasn't worth being choked by Astrotrain again.

It wasn't two days after his near death experience that he realized just how desperately he needed those three days of freedom.

No claxons sounded, no air raid sires, nothing to warn the medical staff other than the quiet hiss of the doors and the scraping thud of pedes as a group of mechs were herded into the room. They all looked the same; dirty, battered, covered in grime and fluids, but one mech caught his optic. Maybe it was because he was being carried in by two others or maybe it was because he had the trademark door wings of a native Praxian, but either way, Ratchet motioned for him to be laid down on his work table.

His spark sank as he took in the damage. The mech had been shot through in three different places and was leaking badly, the majority of his fluids coating his armor. By some miracle though, he remained conscious. He turned dim blue optics up to Ratchet and through the grime and energon spattered over his face, Ratchet recognized him. He'd never known his name, but he recognized his face as one of the mechs he'd seen on the shuttle from Praxus. Not a university mech, but a regular civilian who'd been stolen away from home just like the rest of them. On his shot and scorched chassis was a sloppily painted Decepticon sigil that stood out an ugly purple against his brown paint.

His hand reached up and grabbed Ratchet's as the medic gently touched his chassis to examine the charred holes. "I recognize you," the mech wheezed, his voice laden with static and pain. "You… tried to save that mech in the shuttle."

Ratchet swallowed and nodded—it had been awhile since he'd thought about Ion and he wasn't sure how much he wanted the topic to be brought up again. "Yeah, that was me," he murmured. "I'll do better by you though, okay?" When Wheeljack and Perceptor had been taken away, he'd though every link to his past had been cut off from him. Yet even now, three deca-cycles later someone had shown back up and opened the hole he'd been trying so desperately to cover up. He gently started patching the mech's injuries but the hand grabbed his again.

"Don't," he whispered, voice hoarse with pain. "Let me go."

Ratchet frowned. "It's okay—I'll have you fixed up soon, just hold still," he said but the mech held onto his hand with a surprising amount of strength for his condition.

His optics unfocused as he looked at a spot on the wall, staring at something that Ratchet couldn't hope to see. "T-they made us kill those mechs," he whispered, his optics overly bright. "They made us."

Ratchet stopped, his free hand in his desk drawer, searching for his sander. He looked at the mech in surprise, "What? What mechs?" he asked.

The mech continued to stare at the far wall and for a moment, Ratchet thought he couldn't answer. Then finally, "Took us back to Praxus," the mech choked out, his hand tightening painfully on Ratchet's hand, making him wince. He was obviously delirious, but the mention of Praxus sent a chill through Ratchet's system. "The city is gone—they burnt it all down." His vents stuttered before he whispered, barely loud enough to be heard. "We gunned them down… we gunned them all down."

Ratchet's vents stalled and he stared at the mech in horror, unable to even comprehend what he was saying. The mech's frame shuddered in pain and Ratchet snapped himself out of it. He had a job to do. "Hey, it's okay—"

The mech grabbed Ratchet's collar and yanked him down, his optics wide and frantic as they refocused on him. "They made us!" he yelled weakly before he slumped back against the berth, the pain overtaking him. "Primus forgive me… they made us…"

"Hey, just take it easy. I'm gonna take care of you," Ratchet said, struggling to keep the tremor from his voice as he pried his hand out of the mech's grip.

The mech's hand fell limply back onto the table even as she shook his head. "Nononono," he moaned. "P-please… you have to help me."

Ratchet swallowed and nodded. "Sit tight. I'll get you patched up," he said and patted his shoulder.

The mech's swatted his hand away, his vents sputtering. "I don't want this," he gasped, his voice taking a frenzied edge again. "Don't let them use me again."

Ratchet's spark seemed to freeze as he understood. Uncertainly, he looked over his shoulder. Spec was busy helping another mech on the other side of the bay, far out of audio reach. Ratchet swallowed quietly even as he looked down at the broken mech. "What do you want me to do?" Ratchet asked quietly.

The mech's optics focused on Ratchet's face. "I don't want to die one of them," he said quietly. "I'm already dying a murderer… don't let me die a Con."

Ratchet met the mech's optics, seeing the pain and guilt lurking behind them. He swallowed and nodded, easily sympathizing with the feeling. "Okay," he said quietly and quickly grabbed a bottle of sterilizer. It was a stronger, less refined brand than they'd used at the Academy and stripped the paint off of anything it was applied to. Ratchet's hands had been stripped of their usual red in places from being in contact with the stuff, but it went to good use as he doused a rag with it and wiped away the purple sigil on the mech's chassis. The paint was cheap and came off easily, only taking a little of the brown underneath away.

The mech craned his neck to look down at his chassis before slumping back against the berth, a weak grin spreading over his cracked and battered faceplates. "Thank you," he whispered.

Ratchet didn't know what to do—it was already too late to save the mech at this point, but it didn't feel right to leave him in his last moments. The Praxian looked up at him as his vents sputtered and died, a sure sign that he was on his way out. "There's one left," the mech wheezed even as he reached into subspace, pulling out a scrap of paper with hastily written numbers scrawled over it. "Here," he whispered and handed it to Ratchet. "I tried to go back for him— tried to run but they gunned me down too." Ratchet swallowed as he looked down at the paper, realizing that the numbers were coordinates. The mech's frame shuddered against the berth and his optics started to dim. "Please," he gasped. "Help him."

The dying wish had barely left his vocals before the mech's system shut off, his spark too weak to sustain it any longer. The mech slipped offline quickly, his face going slack. He looked almost peaceful now that his face wasn't contorted by pain and guilt. Ratchet sighed, trying to swallow the sick feeling in his tanks, even as he subspaced the little scrap of paper.

"Did you know him?"

Ratchet tensed instantly, coolant beading on his helm as he turned around to face Spec. The mech regarded him levelly as he wiped his stained hands with a cleaning rag. He couldn't tell how long he'd been standing there. Ratchet swallowed and shook his head. "No… I didn't," he said quietly. "Primus… I don't even know his name."

Spec sighed and shook his head. "Don't ever try to learn it," he murmured and tossed him the rag. "It's just gonna be another name that hangs on your spark." Ratchet swallowed thickly even as he caught the rag. He wiped the traces of the mech's fluids off of his fingers, looking down at the Praxian's offlined frame.

During his three deca-cycles in Kaon, he hadn't been certain of anything until now.

In his spark, he knew what the mech said was true. Praxus was gone. But somewhere in the ruins, a mech was still alive.

And he needed to find Meister.