Cybertronian time measurements according to 'The AllSpark Almanac':
nanoklik ~ a second
cycle ~ 1,5 minutes
megacycle ~ 2,6 hours
solar cycle ~ a day
orbital cycle ~ a month
stellar cycle ~ a year
Blurr's optics were tightly closed as he trudged, waist-deep, through the dense liquid. Something metal hit him on the helm; a deafening rumble rang through the air, echoing.
His optics shot wide open. He backed away at what he saw, nearly toppling over.
Ultra Magnus, Sentinel Prime, Jazz, Kup, Wing Saber, Warpath, and so many others were dangling over the liquid's surface. A rope strung through their helms suspended their lifeless, devoid of colour frames in the air. He looked away, sickly, cold horror settling into his spark.
Where am I? What's happening?!
Wherever he looked, the horizons were empty. The land was nowhere to be found. All he could see was this never-ending liquid. Exhausted, his gaze returned to the hanging frames. A barely perceptible movement, a blue colour against the grey, caught his attention.
Streams of blue liquid ran down the lifeless frames. Blurr realized numbly it wasn't just any liquid, but...
Energon...
It slid down the grey platings, finally reaching their pedes... and falling into the liquid surrounding him.
His optics widened in stunned shock.
The pressure of the liquid suddenly became unbearable as he realized he was standing in the source of life, draining from their dead frames. His mere presence here felt like desecration.
"Primus, please, help me!" he screamed into the void, feeling their Energon wanting to swallow him whole and-
Blurr's optics shot open as he onlined with a start, panting for cool air. His frame trembled as remnants of the nightmare were running through his processor, and for the moment, he didn't know where he was.
Something warm and relatively heavy draped loosely around his waist, confusing him further. Looking down, he noticed a black arm lying limp on him, and that sight immediately pulled him back to reality.
Warmth crawled over his faceplate as memories of recent events resurfaced inside his processor. He glanced at the bot lying right next to him - Prowl, that was the name, was, luckily, still recharging, resting on his front. Without missing a beat, he freed himself from the unwanted embrace before sweeping his gaze around. Bumblebee was splayed on the berth, not far away. But the bedding... didn't look like he had remembered.
Now it was soiled with interface fluids.
Interface fluids… So, that really happened…
His spark nearly leaped from his chassis when Bumblebee rolled to the side.
No, no, no, he couldn't face them after what had happened. The mere notion of confronting them made him shudder. He slid off the berth quickly and quietly. His engine stalled when a warm liquid trailed down his legs.
Instead of looking down, he focused on the door. The door that had been shut the previous solar cycle was now wide open in front of him. Bracing himself, he trotted out of the room.
A basic corridor, just as barren as the berthroom, stretched out in front of him. There was a stair entry at the end. On his right side, he could see a closed door. He ambled towards it, his servo reaching out to the opening button and...
His frame froze midway. What if someone - Shockwave - was still here? They - he - would hear the hiss of the opening door. Energon in his circuitry ran cold and then boiled at the sheer thought of that Decepticon.
Reconnaissance was in order, it seemed. He closed his optics for a moment, filling his ventilation system with fresh air, regaining his composure.
With slow, careful steps, he made his way through uncharted territory, covering the distance between him and the stairs. His spark pounded quicker under his chestplates with each step he took as he descended to the lower floor.
Blurr found himself in yet another corridor once the stairwell came to an end. His optics scanned the area, taking in everything. Nobody was in sight. He vented out the air in relief.
Even though the gentle buzzing of his internal fans was the sole sound reaching his audials, he remained covert. Turning to the right, he almost sighed at the sight of an Energon dispenser. An Energon dispenser? Was this some kind of mockery on the Decepticons' part?
After all, these monsters didn't care about the well-being of their victims, now did they?
He averted his gaze, focusing back on the task at servo. Step by step, he tentatively approached the arch leading to another room. Having heard nothing, he glanced inside.
Still, nobody was within sight. But if his job had taught him anything, it was there was no such thing as being overly cautious.
With a leaping spark, he entered the room, optics sweeping over the space. A video screen on the wall, a couch, and an end table next to it, all sized for a typical Decepticon, just like the berth. And still, no windows. As he glanced to the right, another arch greeted him, much to his annoyance. How many more rooms did he have to go through? Was this apartment endless, a never-ending corridor?
He stepped softly until he could peer into the next room, and after deeming it empty, he entered. A rather sturdy-looking closed door caught his attention, standing at the far end of the room. As he approached it, he realised it had to be the main entrance to the apartment-prison. But... there wasn't even an opening button or a handle of any sort. Maybe the door console was on the other side?
But Shockwave and whoever had put them here must have left somehow, he noted, as he looked at the door once more. He pushed at it with everything he had, but it wouldn't budge. As a last resort, he gave the door a test kick. The way his pede hurt indicated that escape via the door was out of the question. With this, there was just one space left to explore: the room near the berthroom.
Blurr scaled the stairs with much more ease than he had been descending them. As he reached the higher floor, he let out a soft sigh, just before a trail of distinctive bluish fluid on the floor disturbed his view. His engine stalled, his faceplate flaming hot. Most of the fluid was right next to the berthroom entrance, where… he had been standing before.
With a quiet groan, he examined his legs. Dried interface fluids stood out against the shiny paint job covering his inner thighs. His lipplates pressed into a thin line. A scarcely audible sound reached him as his optics drilled into the nearly undetectable flaws. Snatched up his helm, he swung his gaze from side to side.
My processor must be making things up...
A few cautious steps took towards the locked door, as he chewed at his lipplates, his pedes steering clear of the indecent stains on the floor.
His digits eventually found their way to the button. They lingered there, digit-tips just grazing the surface before resolutely pressing on it. With a hiss, the door got out of the way, revealing a dimly lit chamber, dominated by a considerable tub.
Wash racks. Exactly what he needed at the moment, he noticed wryly. And with that, the reconnaissance was done.
"No Decepticons in the apartment, then?" came a calm voice, causing his spark to miss a beat.
He whipped around to the source of the sound.
With a faceplate like an enigma, there he stood, Prowl.
He was relieved at first it wasn't a Decepticon, but his relief rapidly changed into embarrassment. His optics dropped to the floor, but his temperature only rose higher as his gaze stopped at that blasted bluish trail. He looked up again. He thought he was going to faint on the spot when he noticed scratches on Prowl's chestplates. The scratches which he made, in all likelihood, if his foggy memories weren't deceiving him.
Had Prowl noticed them yet?!
Primus, why?!
He cleared his intake, not quite looking at Prowl. "I carried out the reconnaissance. No Decepticons in the apartment."
Prowl cocked his optical ridge. "Are you all right?" he asked, studying him with a slightly concerned look, the sort of pitying concern reserved for crazy people. His jaws set.
No, of course, I'm not alright! We're prisoners of war! We've been drugged, made to interface against our will, and only Primus knows what's in store for us! And we can't transform! A-and no one is going to save us! There's no hope for us!
Noticing that Prowl was still waiting for an answer, he nodded quickly and said, "Yes. Why?"
Prowl shrugged, indifferent. "Nothing."
And just like that, he walked towards the stairway.
His optics darted between Prowl and the dried fluid on the ground. "I- I'll clean it. The floor, I mean," he blurted out before he could stop himself. Embarrassed, he dashed towards the wash racks.
Prowl grunted something, in acknowledgement probably, and without further nanokliks, Blurr pressed the button. The door closed with a hiss, sealing him alone in the small room. He locked it soon after and glanced at the shut door one more time, before exhaling deeply.
His own actions had him shaking his helm in disbelief. Why was he so bothered by this drug-induced incident? Whatever had happened, it was neither his fault nor of his own volition. Worrying about it was unreasonable. Besides, what was the embarrassment of interfacing with near-strangers compared to the situation's implications?
Trapped here, at the mercy of Shockwave or another Decepticon of unknown identity. And without the Elite Guard, who would save them?
The answer seemed to swim in the back of his processor, as he clutched the tub's edge with his trembling servos. His cooling fans turned frantic, as his venting became too shallow to cool his systems. There was no hope, no hope at all! His helm sagged, his vision stopping at the winged Auto-brand.
All dead...
A sob threatened to escape his vocaliser as his chestplates tightened. Coolant pooled in his optics until it welled up and fell to the tub. Primus, he wanted to scream.
Loud, careless pedesteps thudding down the corridor prompted him to snap his helm up. His engine stuttered, and he almost instinctively wiped his faceplate.
Eventually, he looked around for a bottle of detergent but couldn't find it. Biting his lipplates at the thought of how much time he had already wasted, he jumped into the tub. He grabbed the hand shower and switched on the solvent without further ado. The warm liquid poured over his thighs, taking on a blue tint as it rolled down, soon pooling around his pedes.
His optics widened at the sight, and before he could think or stop it, his servos were thoroughly scrubbing the plating covering his legs and everything between them. Then he let the solvent wash over him from top to bottom, removing any lingering dirt or dust.
After a longer moment, he switched off the solvent and stood motionless in the tub as the liquid dripped down his frame.
The sight, the sensation coaxed the scenes from his nightmare to resurface. A vision of Energon surrounding him like an unyielding ocean flashed across his processor.
He shook off the last drops and stepped out of the tub. He raised his helm proudly, thrust out his chestplates, and strode out of the wash racks...
...but as soon as he saw the fluid on the floor, his shoulders dropped.
He had said he'd clean it. Perhaps he wouldn't have made such promises if he knew there wasn't even something as simple as a sponge. But the word had been spoken, and Blurr was a bot of his word.
Cursing himself and wincing inside, he got to work.
Blurr stopped dead as a very peculiar view unfolded before him.
Surrounded by Energon cubes, the couch served as a barricade for Bumblebee and Prowl. He cocked his optical ridge as the two tossed the cubes at the main entrance in the next room.
Has Shockwave's drug damaged their processors? Or is it the natural behaviour of maintenance bots?
"What are you doing?" he asked sharply. "Why are you painting the door with Energon?"
The bots immediately turned around and gave him a puzzled look.
"Energon is explosive... or was," Prowl stated simply.
And I was concerned with their opinion of me? They're simpletons.
"You don't know much about Energon, do you? No one utilizes explosive brands in residential structures these solar cycles," he scoffed, waving his servo dismissively.
Prowl looked up at him, his faceplate an enigma. "Being in stasis for 50 stellar cycles wasn't exactly conducive to learning about Energon," he said arrogantly. "Neither was being stuck on Earth."
He clenched his jaws, and before he could unclench them to correct Prowl, Bumblebee chimed in, "How do we open the door, then?"
Blurr flicked his optics to him. "Those doors are impenetrable. We'll have to look for another structural flaw to exploit," he explained, striding up to the couch.
His gaze stopped again at the Energon cubes, his tank shyly asking for fuel.
His servo functioned of its own accord, reaching out for the cube. An emanation of Primus, trapped in the vessel, their source of life, shone in all its glory. His digits wrapped around the cube, savouring the coolness underneath them. He inhaled sharply as the sight of Energon dripping from the grey frames flashed through his processor.
"Does it mean we can punch our way out through the wall?" Bumblebee asked eagerly, sprawling on the couch, snapping him back to reality.
He debated on what to say, studying the cube. Was there a catch to it? In this parody of good treatment coming from the Decepticons?
Closing his optics, he tilted the cube, cursing Shockwave and all the other Decepticons. Life-giving Energon filled his depleted tank, sending a gratifying tingle through his engines and other inner mechanics.
"Essentially, yes," he replied eventually, opening his optics.
Prowl lurched on the couch. "What are we waiting for, then?"
"First of all, start drinking your fuel instead of throwing it against the walls. Then we'll figure out our next steps."
The two bots exchanged glances before drinking the Energon with some hesitation.
Blurr finished his cube, studying his companions. Vague nervousness painted their features, and they looked quite... uncertain. Did they somehow miss the fact he drank the same Energon as them and was fine?
Rolling his optics, he fetched himself another cube, putting the empty one on the end table. Instead of resuming his position, he settled for sitting on the couch armrest.
But before he could begin refueling, he had to ask, "What's wrong with you?"
Bumblebee set his cube aside with something he could only describe as relief. "It's been some time," he mumbled. "Almost forgot what it tastes like."
What is he talking about?
"It's been some time? How were you refuelling on Earth?"
A faint smile tugged at Bumblebee's lipplates. "Oil, gasoline, sometimes axle grease." He gave Prowl a smug grin with his last remark but the said bot paid him no heed, too engulfed in sipping the fuel.
He arched his optical ridge in curiosity but ultimately opted not to pry. Instead, he pointed out, "Surely, those couldn't have been better than Energon."
"No, Energon's just more... I don't know, robust? Intense? Like, too intense for my tank..." Bumblebee grumbled, pushing the cube further away from him.
Blurr let out an indignant noise, rolling his optics. He hadn't even had a chance to drink his second cube, thanks to Bumblebee's dim-wittedness. "What, are you trying to tell me you've weaned yourself off Energon?" he asked, exasperated.
"I don't know! I mean, can you even do that? Maybe Prowl and I have switched to a different source of energy after drinking Earth stuff for so long?"
His engine growled of its own. "No, you haven't! It's Energon, not some gasoline, that runs in your circuitry!" The sight of blue streams, clear as a memory, ran through his processor. "Why would you feel bad after drinking Energon? It's only natural for us! Just-just stop it!"
Both Bumblebee and Prowl looked at him with puzzled expressions. He scowled back at them, straightening his backstrut.
Finally, Bumblebee piped in, breaking the silence, "Stop what?"
"Stop pretending there's something wrong with the Energon," he snarled, his grasp on the cube tightening.
Prowl raised his optical ridge, and there it was again, this- misplaced concern on his faceplate as if there was something wrong with Blurr, and not them! It only made Energon in his circuitry boil further.
Bumblebee giggled, and he snapped his helm to him instead.
"Something amusing?" he asked icily. His cube was nearly cracking under his grip.
Bumblebee cast him an impish look. "Your behaviour, Zippy!" And with that, he erupted into laughter. He stared him down until Bumblebee regained his composure, and Bumblebee asked, "You're in a bad mood, eh? Or is this just how you are all the time?"
Blurr barely contained himself from slapping that annoying little bot across the faceplate. How could he act so carefree? Instead, he began refuelling, glaring.
"We want to locate the wall's weak places," Blurr instructed his companions, pacing back and forth. "You might injure your servo if you strike the incorrect location. So, knock on the wall and listen. A deep, hollow sound means you are good to go. When you find such a spot, notify others. Do we understand each other?"
The two bots nodded.
"I'll check the ground floor; you take care of the first floor. Go," he ordered, and off they went, without any complaining, much to his surprise and satisfaction.
He started off with the hall. Seeing the spilt Energon, he immediately regretted the duty he had set for himself. He gulped, tapping against the wall. His optical ridges furrowed at the flat sound. He repeated the process a few inches further. Again, a flat sound.
I'll never speak to Ultra Magnus, Jazz, or any other Guardsman.
Blurr froze. His lower lipplate trembled, and soon shivering spread throughout his entire frame. Squeezing his optics shut, he shook his helm, trying to shoo unwanted thoughts away.
With a racing spark, he returned to his task. Knock. Flat sound. Knock. Flat sound...
After not even half of a megacycle of knocking on the walls followed by flat sounds, he was done.
"Our little endeavour turned out to be a total flop," Blurr summarized from his seat on the end table, which he had moved earlier in front of the couch.
Once again, they had gathered in the vid-room. As it turned out, the two bots had been no more successful than he at their task.
But what hope could any of them have had? Punching a hole in the wall? It sounded more like a dream of a faulty processor, spiced with despair, than anything else.
Well, he had dreamed up false hope for himself before.
"Maybe someone will come and set us free? Long- Shockwave did... his thing. I mean, they can't keep us here forever, right?" Bumblebee asked, swinging his legs off the couch.
He regarded him for a moment. "Those are Decepticons we're talking about. They are capable of anything, as they have proven more than once already." But never mercy.
"At least, they left us in a fully, well, nearly fully furnished apartment. And we have unlimited fuel. And a video screen!"
He nodded absent-mindedly, pondering Bumblebee's words and their implications. Each thought was more ominous than the last.
Prowl piped up, "That suggests they want us to continue functioning. They also made sure we wouldn't go anywhere."
"More experiments, maybe? The last one was quite fun," Bumblebee said with a self-satisfied smirk on his faceplate.
A weary sigh escaped him, frustration taking over. "This isn't the time for your inappropriate nonsense."
"The last time I checked, it wasn't the time for being all doomy and gloomy, either." Bumblebee stuck his glossa out at him.
Blurr crossed his arms. "Your clownishness does you no credit."
"Oh, don't get your circuits in a bunch, Zippy."
He inhaled deeply, annoyance rocketing through his circuitry now. "Once again – my name is not Zippy! But if we're going to use nicknames, should I call you a slow dolt?" he asked, looking daggers at him.
Bumblebee huffed and puffed in indignation. "I'm not slow!"
"Can we focus, please?" Prowl asked, pinching his olfactory sensors.
"Tell that to your friend," he replied, glowering at Bumblebee. Of course, the annoying little bot couldn't sit up straight and had to sprawl across his section of the couch, like a misaligned pile of scrap metal.
"In any case, Bumblebee's idea doesn't seem too far-fetched."
His optical ridge cocked in disbelief. "You can't possibly be serious! Providing us with the means of survival could be a coincidence or an oversight on their behalf. More to the point, Decepticons aren't like you and me; they're brutal beasts, unfamiliar with pity. They don't care about our lives or needs in the slightest!"
"I wasn't implying they do. But you cannot deny that if they wanted to kill us, they could have done it already and yet they hadn't," Prowl pointed out.
Blurr propped his helm on his servos with his elbows on his knees. What was he supposed to think at this point? Regardless of how logical Prowl's reasoning seemed, something about their circumstance disturbed him. Well, Shockwave testing some... aphrodisiacs on them, because he couldn't call it anything else, was disturbing enough, but still, there were worse things that could have happened to them. The fact they were still here instead of in an actual prison or a mass grave posed a real question. So, maybe Bumblebee could be, right? Or partially right? On the other servo, did Shockwave have the right to waste time and resources to keep them here? And to test some idiotic drugs, no less? It was all too strange.
I should have been shot to the helm. Just like them.
His Energon ran cold. His optics widened as the memories played before him, one flashing quickly after another.
Arriving in the Metroplex. Getting captured by Shockwave. That strange feeling, like a stab to the spark, hearing the voice of the Prime you trusted with your life, coming from a cruel stranger, worse – out of a Decepticon.
"Cybertron to Zippy! Hello?"
Bumblebee's words yanked him back to reality, but his spark continued to spin madly under his chestplates. Slowly, he spotted the yellow frame standing right in front of him. He whipped his helm up, almost falling from the table.
"Y-yes?" he mumbled, briefly catching Bumblebee's optics, staring into him with confusion.
Please don't ask if I'm okay.
Because he was positive that if he did, something inside him would snap and spiral out of control. With horror, he caught a glimpse of the opening mouth, the dark lipplates parting to speak up. He couldn't let that happen.
Before Bumblebee could utter a single syllable, he piped up, "I need to recharge!"
Primus, was that awkward. But not as awkward as bursting into tears around them, he reminded himself.
Bumblebee stared at him, a mixture of shock and disbelief on his faceplate. He got to his pedes, forcing Bumblebee to step back.
"Excuse me," he spoke, pushing past Bumblebee and turning his steps towards the corridor.
It wasn't long before he heard them trotting behind his back, much to his annoyance.
Once again, his core temperature jumped several degrees at the sight of the dirty bedding.
Nevertheless, he strode into the berthroom as if he wasn't affected by what he saw.
Blurr put out a servo to pull the bedding down but hesitated at the last moment.
How had it come to this? None of this was supposed to happen.
He had been so certain his quest would be a success at one point. And now he was here, losing composure at seeing the berth where he'd been interfacing. Against his will, no less. Primus.
"We can flip it over," Prowl offered as he turned up at his side, snapping him out of his melancholy.
A gasp full of indignation left him. "No! It's dirty! Take it off!"
Prowl cocked an optical ridge at him, but his expression showed no further emotion otherwise. "Technically, only one side is dirty."
Bumblebee forced his way between them, patting him on the shoulder. "To be honest, I don't care. It's just dried transfluids and lubricants, no big deal."
"What?" he exclaimed, disgusted, shaking Bumblebee's servo off him. "I'm not going to recharge on it, regardless of which side is up!"
Bumblebee ignored him completely. "Besides, it's the fruit of our hard work – harder for some, but you get the picture," he said with a smug grin, so smug he wanted to strangle that annoying little mech.
"Touché," Prowl deadpanned.
Rolling his optics, he grumbled, "Vector Sigma…"
He all but jumped when the yellow arm suddenly wrapped around his shoulders.
Then, he froze, as Bumblebee chuckled into his audial, "Don't get your circuits in a bunch, Zippy! You've definitely contributed to the condition of the bedding, in one way or another. The point is-"
His engine drowned out Bumblebee's words with its furious growling as he wrenched himself out of the unwanted hug. "Do you ever think before you say something? And don't touch me, you're not my buddy."
Bumblebee recoiled. "Gee, what a grouch! I was just being friendly, you know," he mumbled. "And, just so you know, as long as you're here with us, we're your buddies, whether you want it or not! C'mon, who doesn't want a pal like me?" Bumblebee grinned at him expectantly, his optics shining.
In some ways, that brat reminded him of Rodimus Prime. Blurr wondered if the bot was even still alive - he wasn't a member of the Elite Guard, after all. But then again, did he have any luxury of hope? Oh, and what about Dug Base? Wheelie? Red Alert? Primus…
"My life has truly reached its apex," he finally muttered, his voice laced with wry tones. His spark ached somewhere deep. He groaned with resignation, his shoulders slumping.
The filthy bedding continuously filled his sight as the three of them kept standing before the berth.
"Awww, don't be sad, Zippy. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade! Or something like that."
"I don't even know what you're talking about," he muttered flatly, turning away from the berth as he took a few steps forward.
Bumblebee continued, "Neither do I! Sari used to say that. But I'm pretty sure it means making something good out of something... err, not good."
Blurr whipped around again.
Primus, what am I doing?
His optics stopped at the two bots sitting on the edge of the berth. "This isn't just 'not good!'" he barked, his tone taking on a high note. "This is tragic, disastrous, hopeless, horr-"
Prowl cut him off. "At least we're still functional."
How could they act so casually? Energon boiled in his circuitry. "You really don't get it, do you?" he snarled, his servos balling into fists at his sides.
Prowl's attention turned to him with such intensity it would make a less brave mech flinch. He could swear Prowl was glaring at him, even though his faceplate remained impassive.
He held Prowl's stare. "As we speak, Autobot civilization, our civilization, is on the verge of extinction. Or worse."
Saying it out loud hurt him more than anything. Yet, Prowl let out an indignant noise, as if he'd never heard anything more ridiculous in his entire existence. His spark dropped, but his optics narrowed.
"You think I don't know that?" Prowl asked gruffly.
He bristled all over and glared at him. "Your behaviour doesn't reflect it," he replied frostily.
"But whining about some filthy bedding does?"
"Oh, forgive me for wanting to recharge on something free of interface fluids!" he hissed, trotting to Prowl in favour of jabbing his digit at him. He didn't even wince, just blandly looked down at the digit poking him.
Then, Prowl's optics twitched in vague annoyance before he gracefully leaped off the berth, prompting Blurr to take a few steps back.
Stupefied, he watched as Prowl snatched the filthy bedding from the berth, with Bumblebee still on it. Bumblebee groaned, barely avoiding being dropped onto the floor. His optics tracked the rolled-up bedding as it flew to the corner of the room.
"Happy?" Prowl asked flatly, assuming his previous spot.
The growl from his engine resonated through the air. His optics narrowed to tiny slits as he glowered at Prowl. What was wrong with those two bots?! He hated them so much!
"Happy?" he snarled. "Do I look happy to you?"
Prowl's previous bland expression was now bordering on stupefaction.
A tense silence hung in the air before Bumblebee piped up, "Zippy, you nev-"
"SHUT UP!" he barked, and Bumblebee flinched. "How dare you ask me that while the entire world is collapsing around us and you think you're doing me a tremendous favour by taking the dirty sheets off the berth!" His Energon was boiling in his circuits, the buzz of his cooling fans filling the otherwise quiet room.
Prowl glanced at him as if he had lost his processor, and he growled in return. The audacity of those maintenance bots! If he could only be locked here with someone competent instead of them.
He was the most stable - the sanest mech in this blasted room, and none of those looks were going to change his opinion.
For a long moment, neither of them said anything. He turned around, not wanting to face the two, his systems cooling down. Shaking his helm, he started to walk away, wanting to be alone.
Unfortunately, Bumblebee piped up with a loud "Hey!", bringing him to a halt, despite himself. Seething, he pivoted on his pedes. Bumblebee looked at him with a frowned expression before flopping heavily onto the berth, his arms scattered across it. Prowl plastered his servo to his forehelm, leaning forward.
Primus, what is it now? Is there no end to their antics?
Yet, against himself, a frisson of worry tightened his chestplates. As annoying as those two bots were, he'd rather deal with this situation together with someone than alone, let alone with two rusting corpses.
It seemed like it was now his turn to ask that question. "What's wrong? Are you two all right?"
Prowl grunted affirmatively, though his posture was far from assuring so.
Bumblebee, on the other servo, without a trace of resentment, made his condition known almost immediately by groaning out, "I'm so sick, Zippy!"
Panicked, he balked at him. "Sick?!"
"It's from that Energon," Prowl groaned.
He shook his helm. "How many times do I have to tell you that Energon does not harm our species? You're Cybertronians, right?" Honestly, at this point, he was starting to doubt that. As an afterthought, he added, "It must be a side effect... of, uh, that drug." Warmth crawled over his faceplate, his gaze dropping.
"Then why are you okay?" Prowl asked with scepticism.
He wrung his servos, not properly looking at him. "Surely there is a logical explanation for this..."
"There is," Prowl pointed out firmly. "Bumblebee and I are feeling sick from the Energon."
"After everything, I just told you..." he began, throwing his servos up to the sky before Prowl cut him off.
"Do you really-" Prowl paused abruptly, covering his mouth with a servo. Then he ran out of the room, nearly knocking him over on the way.
He snorted in frustration, glancing in the door's direction before resting his gaze upon Bumblebee on the berth. As muffled, distant sounds of retching filled his audials, his optical ridges lifted.
"Shouldn't you go too?" he asked, pointing behind him with his thumb.
At the question, Bumblebee looked at him, somewhat panicked, before doubling over, his helm between his knees.
Too stunned to look away, he watched dumbly as the poor bot expelled the contents of his tank, soiling his yellow pedes, the floor, and probably a few other places with unprocessed Energon.
Primus...
Speechless, he stared at the liquid pooling around Bumblebee's pedes. Bumblebee coughed a few more times before he straightened up.
Wiping his mouth with his servo (ugh), Bumblebee looked at him. "Hm. Should have." He shook the unprocessed Energon from his pedes, prompting his expression to twist in horror. "I'm feeling a lot better now."
Primus, preserve me.
"Please, go to the bathroom and wash up. Oh, and tell your friend not to come puke in here. You two have a bad tendency of contaminating everything around you..."
"Good idea... Hey, I hope you're not some kind of neat freak, huh?" Bumblebee said as he walked out of the room.
Blurr tiredly rubbed at his faceplate. With a soft sigh, he walked towards the crumpled dirty bedding and grabbed it by the clean corner. Listening to the indistinct chatter going on in the wash racks, he dropped the material on the puddle of unprocessed Energon.
How come I'm stuck here with two maintenance bots, yet I have to clean up everything? he wondered, taking care of the mess on the floor.
Bumblebee and Prowl eventually came back, slightly wobbly, and went straight to recharge.
He climbed the berth and sat on the opposite side of the recharging bots, his backplates resting against the headboard. So, not only was he imprisoned, but he was also stuck with the two bots that found even the most basic primal act of drinking blasted Energon to be problematic.
With a tired sigh, he rested his helm against the headboard, placing his servos in his lap. Then his optics grew, his engine stalling. The plating beneath his servos was... scorching. But why would it be-
Oh, no.
He began to recognize this sensation. The sensation his frame had become aware of long before his processor had, apparently.
Primus, not again!
It wasn't as strong as the last time... But did it really make a difference? It was still there, an unwelcome intrusion into his senses. And probably not only his senses, he realised glumly.
Well, if Shockwave's goal was to humiliate him, he accomplished it admirably.
Notes:
Poor Blurr is surrounded by idiots XD Anyway, this chapter is a bit like the calm before the storm.
Blurr, Wheelie, and Dug Base are indeed canonically friends according to the Allspark Almanac. Red Alert mentioned Blurr fondly in one of her entries if I recall correctly, so I assume they're friends too. The Almanac says nothing about Roddy knowing Blurr, but I think it's quite possible they know each other, both being involved with the Autobot military.
Kup, Wing Saber, and Warpath are all officially and canonically members of the Elite Guard.