Before the Prime was seen, he was heard-his voice bellowed across the ruins. "Ratchet! I need your immediate medical assistance! Protocol L-X!"

The unwitting Spike Witwicky was left bamboozled by the Autobots abrupt freakout. He had no other word to express the sudden frenzy that gripped every Autobot, or what else to call it when Bumblebee made a very unbecoming noise for a warrior and swiftly swooped him up into his arms as if he were a teddy bear.

"What in the world-!" Spike strained in a gasp as the air rushed out of his lungs. Then a more precedent feeling of his stomach dropping out took hold as Bumblebee leapt atop one of the many tumbled stone columns. "What's going on!" groaned the young man.

"Protocol L-X!" Cried Bumblebee, panic ringing in his voice. "Gotta keep you off the ground at all cost, Spike!"

"What?" Now he was thoroughly confused. "We aren't playing 'The Floor is Lava!'"

"What?" Bumblebee echoed back. "There's no lava around here. Spike, are you feeling okay? Did you touch anything that looked like mercury when I wasn't looking!"

Dumbfounded by the question, Spike gaped up at Bumblebee. "...What? I was talking about the child's game, 'Bee."

"This isn't a game, Spike!" Bumblebee snapped back in his fear. "This is serious!"

"What is happening right now!" Spike exclaimed in exasperation.

Presently their conversation was shelved as Ratchet sprang up to ground level from a lower area he had been inspecting over for Alicean's whereabouts. Sheer alarm was writ across his biochanic face as he shouted back in response to Prime. "Where's the outbreak?"

"Outbreak!?" Squeaked Spike.

In an effort to pull his hefty bulk up to ground level, Ratchet tore up mounds of earth and grass. Once he scrambled up, the Chief Medical Officer rushed towards the sound of Prime's voice and was halfway to the jungle line when the great noble red bulk of Optimus Prime emerged, cradling the unconscious Alicean in his arms. Ratchet ground to a halt, more sods of grass flying as he dug his heels in. His expression morphed into one of abject terror.

Immediate silence befell the ruins. Autobots froze in place, optics and visors flaring in their joint horrified disbelief at the state of poor Alicean. Although she was mostly cacooned by the Prime's thermal blanket, her face was exposed and her visage told the terrible story of what she had undergone alone in three days time. The young woman's hair, normally dark and thick and comprised of wild locks, was matted down and as thin and straight as silver thread. Strange silver bright liquid dripped periodically from the odd strand of hair. Her once delicate features had taken on a boney appearance. Her eyes had become sunken and dark and her cheeks hollow. The warm hue of her skin had given way to a ghastly white palor that the body tended to take when drained of an unsettling amount of blood. And when the sunlight hit off her skin just right, rather than it having a feverish glow there was instead a plastic sheen to it. Most unnatural of all her disturbing transformation was a blood infection spiderwebbing through her veins, up from her neck and fading across her cheek. The alien infection was a mercurial shade as harsh as iron. Where it was at its worst there were miniscule green lights dotted periodically along the veins that glowed eeriely beneath the skin and cast her deathly complexion in a sickly shade.

Optimus's bright luminous optics beseeched Ratchet imploringly. "It's Alicean. She's the outbreak." His voice was hollow as he held her out to him. "Help her, old friend." He hesitated a nanoklik before he added desperately, "Please."

The CMO was shaking his cranium slowly back and forth before he knew what he was about. Once he realized, Ratchet pulled himself out of his shock. He snapped his mouth shut then immediately opened it again to speak. "What-? How. How." His voice rose incrementally in fear and anger and frustration. "How did she-" he fumbled, flustered beyond measure and waved his red servos in sharp agitated motions in her direction. In another split nanoklik Ratchet found his rage and voice again in the same instant and seethed, "It was M.E.C.H. wasn't it, Prime? Bunch of trans-human psychopaths!"

"No, Ratchet."

"No?" Exclaimed Ratchet sharply.

"No." Responded Optimus tersely. His thick optical ridges knitted together with utmost worry and distress. "Ratchet, please, I have reason to believe she has been infected by a techno virus."

"Again, how." Ratchet stressed, completely flummoxed. He did, however, take several large steps until he was on them. "How did she- Nevermind!" He burst out suddenly and immediately assumed an authoritative role. "Is the virus hyperactive?" He pressed as he immediately set about scanning her over and collecting hair samples with the liquid into sterilized vials he produced from a subspace compartment.

"As far as I noticed nothing was being consumed as I traveled here."

"Consumed?" Spike barked incredulously after finally finding his voice as the shock began to wear off.

"That doesn't tell me anything, Optimus!" Ratchet replied severely, ignoring Spike completely. "Early variants were slow acting! You know that. What I need to know is if the Virus is active!"

"What is going on!?" Spike demanded, rising his voice to cut over Ratchet's loud authoritative tone. "How is Alicean...like that."

"Techno Virus, Spike!" Ratchet exclaimed heatedly as though it explained anything at all. "Techno Virus's consume organic material and convert that material to energy to replicate itself and spread. Most were slow acting but always transmittable! Stay off any organic surfaces until we figure out the strain!"

"Already covered!" Chirped Bumblebee.

"I know! Keep him off the grass! Or trees! Or-or anything carbon based! This is a nightmare! What isn't organic on Earth!? Oh, Pitt! And don't eat anything, Spike! Or drink for that matter!"

"Should I hold my breath too?" Replied Spike, half sarcastic, half concerned if he really would be safer inside Bumblebee's cabin if the situation was as serious as Ratchet was making it out to be.

"Don't be ridiculous, Spike." Blustered the medic with a curt dismissive wave of his red servo. "Techno Viruses spread by touch, not air!" And then Ratchet was on Optimus and asking a series of rapid fire questions that Spike could no't hear nor understand over the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears.

"Of course. Silly me." Sighed Spike dizzily. The speed with which the situation had changed from an anxiety inducing potential Decepticon kidnapping to straight nightmare fuel left him faint. "Bee', do you think Ratchet can fix her?" An edge of desperation creeped into his voice despite his attempt to remain brave. Bumblebee was opening his mouth to respond but Ratchet had overheard him and whipped around.

"Fix her?" Ratchet spluttered. "Look at her, Spike! She's twelve feet tall! What am I suppose to do? Cut her to pieces until she's five feet again?"

"Ratchet!" Gasped Bumblebee.

"Well!" His voice cracked as he threw his servos into the air. In a moment of clarity Ratchet seemed to remember himself and the image he was setting as the only viable source of hope in the moment. He sucked air in sharply through his vents and said with all the manner of a collected and brusque medic, "I can't fix her, Spike, but I can, hopefully, stabilize her if it's not too late. That's a big if. ...Not sure what kind of life she would have if I managed that."

"Ratchet." The Prime's voice was a calming yet grounding force.

"Yes, yes." The medic whirled back around on Optimus Prime and seized command. "Prime! Summon your trailer and set it for Medbay Mode. Jazz! Backtrack through the jungle path Optimus took and scorch earth everything within a quarter mile radius. Bluestreak! Go with him and melt anything with your acidic spray that doesn't burn! The rest of you-!" he expressed as he waved a servo towards the gathered Autobots, "Divide between Jazz and Bluestreak and help them stabilize the area!"

"Geez freaking Louise!" Spike exclaimed as he watched the Autobots descend into a frenzied madness. He was left carding his fingers through his mop of brown curls. "Doesn't that seem just a tad bit excessive, Ratchet!"

"No!" Snapped the Medical Officer. "Variants one through fifty-seven were suspectable to fire! Strains fifty-eight through eighty-nine were mutated to be invulnerable to fire except at the highest temperatures and could only reasonably be damaged via acid! Strain ninety and above were impervious to both! I need to know what Strain I am dealing with!"

Spike's brown eyes grew wider as Ratchet carried on. "How many of these Techno Virus Variants were there?"

A bitter laugh burst from Ratchet. At that point, Optimus had already summoned his trailer from subspace and had solemnly carried Alicean within. Ratchet stopped at the entrance and threw Spike a stern glare. "You can kiss Earth goodbye if Alicean contracted Variant Ninety-Nine."

Spike gaped stupidly after Ratchet as he swooped inside the trailer. "He's joking. Tell me he's joking, Bumblebee."

"I'm afraid he's not, Spike. This area is now a quarantine zone until Ratchet says otherwise."

"Bee..." Spike said quietly, feeling distinctly unwell, "If all these Techno Viruses eat organic matter what made Variant Ninety-Nine so bad?"

Bumblebee was unusually quiet. The biochanic entity tightened his hold around Spike, pulling him all the closer to his hard, warm metallico shell and mumbled, "You should have worn your suit after all."

"Bee." Spike tried again, firmer in his tone than the last time. "What is so dangerous about Variant Ninety-Nine?"

After a small hesitance Bumblebee glanced down to Spike in his hold. His large luminous blue optics had never looked so heavy under the weight of his age before. "Variant Ninety-Nine, from what I heard long ago, was vicarious, Spike, capable of infecting and devouring organic material and converting it to metal near instantaneously. It was impervious to fire and acid and, unfortunately, firepower."

"Firepower? It...what? How can a virus be impervious to weaponfire?"

"I am not a scientist, Spike. I couldn't say. I just always understood that it made Variant Ninety-Nine stronger. If you want more specifics you are going to have to ask a bot like Preceptor. He might know more than I if he is informed of the subject."

"Okay-, but why would the 'Cons make something like that? Especially something they couldn't stop? That seems so unlike Megatron."

Bumblebee pulled a face. "The Decepticons didn't make the Techno Viruses, Spike. ...The Autbobots did."

Spike gaped, gobsmacked by the admission. The silence that settled between them became awkward and heavy. In the end, a quiet and scared "...why?" was all Spike could manage to voice.

"Cyberforming technology." Murmured Bumblebee ashamedly.

Spike mouthed the word 'cyberforming,' taking a second longer than he should have to understand what Bumblebee was trying to say and then it dawned on him. "Oh." Was all he could find to reply. His mind raced with science fiction movies and books dramatizing the topic of dropping terraforming 'bombs' on alien worlds like Mars and instantly making them mini earths fully capable of instant colonization. He had never stopped to consider, if such a technology was ever realistically possible, how it could be implemented or the terrifying damage it could do to in the wrong hands or on the wrong world. Adjusting his world lens to account for Cybertronians developing cyberforming technology was logical. From all the stories he had been told of war torn Cybertron it made sense that Cybertronians would want to colonize and expand or restart again. He had just always assumed it would be on dead worlds like Mars, and not a lush world such as Earth.

As his imagination ran away with him over well intentioned Autobot scientists from long ago trying to help their people, and how that technology was now destroying his cousin and threatening his homeworld, Spike could still make out bits of Ratchet's voice as he called out orders from within Prime's trailer.

"Set her down there Optimus then strip. Yes, you heard me right. I said strip off your exodermal armor and enter quarantine showers over there. Each piece is going to have to be treated individually. -Where the pitt did you go? Where was she?"

The next three hours were some of the longest of Optimus Prime's life. Between stripping and the quarantine shower, Optimus recounted his strange and unsettling abduction by the Lazalt to Ratchet, Ironhide, Prowl and Jazz-whom was present for the officers debrief via comm-link. The retelling was interrupted periodically by urgent medical questions from Ratchet, who demanded to know if Alicean had been conscious at any point before they returned, to which Optimus had informed him no, and dutifully recounted the set up of the Egg Chamber to the best of his ability. Ratchet's facial features pinched in furious concentration as he wracked his central processor for any familiar procedure that could help him identify what had been done to Alicean, but alas, not even a ghost of a memory crossed his processor. When Ratchet was not interjecting into Optimus's narrative with his own professional inquiries, Prowl, Jazz and Ironhide were.

"There is an entire space age civilization slandering your designation and the Autobots with cybernizing genocide!" Cried Prowl in horror. "This is-this is terrible! The worst outcome any of us could have fathomed for a breech of Article Three! What are we suppose to do? What can we do?"

"Nothing." Replied Optimus rather numbly. "There is nothing we can do, Prowl. We do not have the numbers to enforce any sort of rule on a galactic scale."

"I know. But-its just..."

"Infuriating." Ironhide suggested for the stumbling tactician.

"Yes." Seethed Prowl in concurrence.

"I executed their leader." Optimus stated abruptly.

All optics fixed on him. Confusion and then slow realization dawned on their faces. Into the quiet that had abruptly and terribly seized hold, Ratchet spoke tentatively, his voice ringing disbelief, "You, what." Utmost concern etched deep into the lines on his face.

"You heard me." The Prime's tone rumbled darkly as he punctuated each following word cleanly and crisply. "I executed their leader."

"Primus." Prowl's optics grew wider and wider. "Why?" he lamented.

Optimus lifted his dark optics and fixed them on Prowl. "Need I explain beyond what I already have?"

Prowl stumbled to respond at all under the Prime's intense gaze. "O-Optimus...Prime, sir! You executed the leader of a space age civilization and you don't think the next logical step would be retribution? We can't defend against something like that!"

"They worshiped us as gods, Prowl. I somehow doubt we will face any sort of retribution at all. If anything, I should hope the action wakes them from their insanity."

Prowl began running his servos over his helm in an anxious fit. Mumbling incoherently to himself as he began pacing the length of the battlefield-ready-medbay. The optics of the officers pitied the young Prowl as he suffered the onslaught of a breakdown.

"If I may say so, Prime," drawled Ironhide cautiously, "if these religious nut jobs are anything remotely similar to Sunstorm or Star Sabre, which it sounds like they are far beyond that, then I can only assume they are having a religious conundrum and will likely either break or double down. Neither outcome I want to be within a star cluster of."

"It doesn't matter the outcome. Only the chaos that ensues." Optimus insisted coldly and withdrawn as if they were simply discussing tactics of yet another battle. "Incident was isolated. Top officials witnessed, I assume. They could keep it to themselves. They were arrogant to summon their gods, after all. But the surviving officials will fight amongst themselves. Their faith can break or down double. They will squabble. Maybe the incident reaches the wider population. Heavily distorted from truth, fragmented into various half truths. People talk. Whisper. Their society will face collapse or be forced to change. Maybe they will double down. Maybe they will interpret my actions as a sign that their leader was corrupt. From there they could change their society, seeing it was led astray, or that only their leader was mad and carry on. It really doesn't matter. And I really do not care, so long as the Lazalt stay as far away from Earth as possible."

"Prime..." The singular vocalization was soft, concerned, and full of worry. Optimus's attention drifted through the air and locked with Ratchet, who had spoken, but the Chief Medical Officer just stared back, face full of worry and uttered not another word.

"Why Alicean?" In the midst of the small space, Prowl stopped pacing suddenly. Optimus broke contact with Ratchet with a flinch. As if Prowl's inquiry had dealt him a physical blow. The tactician whirled about on the ball of his pedes and faced Prime down. "Why. Alicean."

"That's what ah want to know too." Concurred Ironhide, arms crossed, with his usual thick northern drawl. "I just don't see the angle."

Optimus directed his attention from Alicean to the floor. A torrent of emotions swelled across his exposed face and manifested with a self loathing grimace. "Their leader called her my chosen. And implied he believed he was doing my will."

"Your what?" Spluttered Prowl, his soothing cadence tripping over the implications.

Ratchet perked up from the midst of the compact Medbay built into the trailer, where he had been busy running one test after another on Alicean's comatose body.

"Chosen?" The medic scoffed. "Did they think you were training her to be a Prime or something?"

"Prime gifted her a fragment of the Matrix, did he not." Spoke Prowl, enlightened by the memory. "Perhaps that is the connection?"

"Judging by how backwards a lot of their ideals were on our culture, I am not so certain that is what they thought a Chosen meant."

"Then what importance did taking Alicean have?" Inquired Prowl of no one. "I cannot compute why they would take her. What could they have possibly thought a Chosen meant?"

"Neither can I." Admitted Ironhide ruefully. "But I don't think we'll ever get the answers to that."

Optimus cast his optics to the floor. "I think I do."

"What is your assumptions, Prime?" Asked Prowl in his soothing, measured way, attempting to hide his growing concern over the Prime's mental state and hide it well he did.

The Prime glanced aside but still to no one and mumbled, "I believe the Lazalt may have Chosen confused with the role of a sparkmate."

Ironhide barked out a short laugh that made Ratchet cringe and shoot him a withering glare. "Of all the things!" He declared. "Where could they have drawn that conclusion!"

"It's nothing to laugh at, Ironhide." Ratchet snapped off at the red mech. "Alicean's life is on the line!"

"I did not mean disrespect."

"I get it." Said Prowl thoughtfully. "Optimus has been Alicean's ward for many Earth years until Jazz took over recently. If we are to assume they have been monitoring us for some time, then they may have come to that conclusion."

"I do not believe that is how they came to the conclusion." Optimus admitted painfully slowly. "In actuality... Alicean and I have been, involved - for half an Earth year now."

The silence that descended the trailer was swift. Optimus mentally braced himself for what was inevitably to come. Ratchet began the new line of questioning.

"You and Alicean- What."

Prowl just gawked at Prime as though he has grown a second cranium. "By involved," he began tentatively, "you mean in the way Jazz romps around Portland in his holoform?"

"Yes." He admitted begrudgingly, hating the invasion into his private life but knowing he had to confess.

"Vector Sigma." Cursed Ironhide under his breath as he gave a little shake of his cranium.

/Now wait a nanoklik./ Interrupted Jazz. /Why do you all have to say it like that? There is nothing wrong with what I do on my free time.-/

"I didn't -" began Prowl.

/-And there shouldn't be any stigma for what Optimus Prime does in his. That is his business and his alone. I for one am glad you finally found someone to blow off steam with, Op. You've been...uptight for awhile now./

"While I appreciate your support, Jazz," sighed Optimus as he buried his optics in his large blue servo, "It is unnecessary."

"I don't understand what the allure is." Prowl blurted out of a sudden. "How can you form a lasting relationship with a human when they live out their whole life within the span of one Cybertronian year? The notion is illogical."

/What are you talking about, Prowl? You're friends with the Witwicky's./

"I have a professional relationship with the Witwicky's."

/All I heard out of that was 'afraid of attachment.' Prowl, buddy, let me be your wingman on our next joint shift off and I'll change your mind./

Prowl attempted to keep the grimace off his face but the mouth twitched up at the corner in distaste. "I can't believe you are seriously making plans when Alicean's life is in the balance."

/I-/ began Jazz, but he paused, catching himself and admitted soberly, /Your right, Prowl. Sorry, everyone. Gotta work on that./

"This has gone far off topic." Grumbled Ironhide as he crossed his arms over his broad chassis.

"You are absolutely right." Concurred Prowl tersely, hackled as he was by Prime's behavior and Jazz's suggestion. "When did your relationship with Alicean start?" Prowl demanded to know, his voice taking on an edge. "Was it just six months ago or has it been ongoing?"

"We officially started six months ago."

"Before that?"

"Nothing." Prime snapped back. "We were nothing but plutonic."

"I cannot compute." Exclaimed Prowl. "What happened six months ago that changed your relationship? -Wait." Optimus glanced up as realization lit up Prowl's face. The same notion hit Ironhide and Ratchet at the same moment. The mech's glanced between one another knowingly and then at Optimus Prime. "The holomatter upgrade?" Concluded Prowl.

"Glitchy holomatter upgrade." Linted Ratchet as he worked. "Got Prime and a handful of others trapped in holoform for awhile. That the incident that changed things?"

"Perhaps." Mumbled Optimus guardedly.

Prowl shook his cranium at the Prime's moody disposition. "Prime. I am suppose to be informed of these things for security reasons. Why else have I had to put 'bots trailing all of Spike and Buster's flings? -Wait a nanoklik..." Prowl exclaimed in exasperation and ran his servo over his helm. "Alicean's recent blow out with you makes so much more sense! I thought she had just got wandering wheels again. Did you two have a lovers quarrel?"

"Something like that."

Prowl muttered something under his breath as he buried his cranium in his servo to rub his optics. Ironhide was stoic, feeling for his commander and glancing to the side as Optimus slowly unraveled his fiercely guarded private life to his officers. Ratchet was doubly quiet, though his jerky agitated motions as he worked belied his frustrations with the whole situation.

When Prowl came up for air, he said slowly and with an edge of exhaustion, "What are we going to tell Spike and Sparkplug?"

"Keep it simple." Groused Ironhide. "They don't have to know the details that Alicean may or may not have been abducted due to her fraternization with Optimus Prime. Informing them of that tidbit could jeopardize our relationship with the Witwicky's and we cannot afford that. They are our most loyal allies on this planet, and with Sparkplug's connections, we cannot afford to loose them over this."

"Get out." Snapped Ratchet off abruptly, catching the officers by surprise. There was a moments pause as the officers stared, confounded, but Ratchet, rigid in his poise, held fast. "Get. Out." He repeated firmly then stared hard between Prowl and Ironhide. "Both of you. Get. Out! This-all of this-can wait until we are back at the Ark. I need to concentrate. I need quiet. Get. Out! Leave Prime, Alicean and I alone!"

They hesitated only a moment, then Prowl and Ironhide nodded concurrence and began backing out of the trailer. "You are right, Ratchet." Prowl replied calmly as he glanced between Alicean then quickly away from the infected human. he focused instead on Prime before settling on Ratchet once again. "We can shelve the technical discussion until we return to the Ark."

"Make sure no one bothers me or my patients." Ratchet insisted.

"Certainly, Ratchet." Replied Ironhide in a placating manner. "We'll guard the front and let you know when we are ready to head out."

"Good. Do that."