"Ratchet! Jack!" Shouted Jazz, as soon as Ratchet stepped through the groundbridge into the Autobot-base.
"Ahh, Jack, you little jack-aft!" And he was angry, if his bunched up fists hadn't been clue enough. He bent down to Jack's eye-level, who was standing atop Ratchet's servo. "How could you, Jay-man? I trusted you to sit tight, but look, at what you did." And Jazz had more say, but Ratchet walked past him with a raised servo, intent on giving Jack his own brand of scolding.
But the teenager had other ideas; he was oddly impervious to the disappointed frowns of the two gigantic mechanical titans currently invading his personal space.
"Hey, hey! I didn't mess up completely." Jack held up his hands in a placating gesture, as if he could convince the angry mechs otherwise. "Look, I brought Ratchet back, just like you wanted!" Jack pointed to Ratchet, who moved the servo Jack was standing on further away from himself, as if Jack's pointing finger burned him somehow. "Jazz, come on. You got admit I-" Jazz's expression was so tight and livid that Jack shut up as soon as he saw it.
Despite being a teenager and the size of the average mech's finger; he did have some self-preservation instincts.
"Uh, right, okay. I'm sorry." He finally said. "You better be." Snarled Ratchet, wearing the same livid and tight expression Jazz had worn seconds earlier. "Anyway, you and Raf are staying the night, due to the extenuating circumstances. And don't worry, June Darby has been informed of the decision - and of your reckless behavior." Jack gulped and he was placed onto the base's main mezzanine, which spread out into a walkway connected to all the other rooms - each constructed with the utmost safety of humans in mind.
Jack hopped off Ratchet's servo, giving a lazy wave goodbye as he ran away, down the walkway to where Raf was seated, typing away at a computer. Raf leaned over to peek at Jack, giving him his best unimpressed frown.
And that was that.
Ratchet washed his hands clean of the matter - literally, as he visited his clinic's handwashing station before turning around to see what Jazz had been so keen about showing him earlier.
When Ratchet had first arrived through the groundbridge, his helm had lit up green with a pending commlink message from Jazz.
And he'd since clicked it open.
:"Ratchet, I need to talk to you ASAP. It concerns Bulkhead's processor.":
As much as Ratchet didn't want to admit it, Jack had done him a favor - forcing him back to base early - if Jazz's commlink message turned out to be something serious - and of course it was - Jazz was always serious with serious matters.
And Ratchet ought to be one of the first mechs to know, if anything crazy was discovered on the base.
:"Alright, Jack is put away. Raf told me he'll put him in 'time-out,' whatever that is. I'm on my way.":
Ratchet weaved through the maze-like walkways of the Autobot-base, his white form almost blending into the off-white walls. Jazz's room was the furthest away from the rest of the team and countless supply crates blocked his path, courtesy of Jazz having moved in fairly recently. The cluttered hallway gave Ratchet a sense of foreboding when he entered Jazz's vincity, and he was tempted to command the mech to clean up his mess outside - if Jazz didn't look so off-beat and angry.
"So, what have you found?" Ratchet asked, and Jazz grumbled from his office chair, servos tucked beneath his chin, his optics glued to a screen. He looked like he was...shaking?
'What. The. Hack.'
"Jazz? Jazz!" Sensing something was wrong, Ratchet ran up to him, waving a hand in front of Jazz's visor-optic to get his attention. "Are you're audials malfunctioning or-" Jazz grabbed Ratchet's waving hand, before sputtering out a muted laugh.
"Or?" Ratchet repeated.
Slowly, Jazz looked up at him - his expression was ice-cold and much too smooth, manicured for an explosive meltdown.
"I can't explain a thing yet, doc. You gotta see it all for yourself." Jazz huffed, as if to inject some needed levity into the room. "And my audials are fine. Thank you, very much doctor."
"Then, why are you so-" Ratchet paused mid-question as Jazz held up a finger; he pointed at the screen he'd been watching - and Ratchet took the closest chair besides him, intent on discovering just what had Jazz of all mechs, spooked.
"Ratchet, just watch." And Jazz hit the play button on the video.
[Jasper, Nevada: The Desert - Somewhere Sketchy - Bulkhead's Final Moments]
It the was the cliff.
Where Bulkhead had died.
He was there.
Looking up at the bright-blue cloudy sky, Bulkhead briefly wondered what it was like to have a flying alt-mode in a space so free and inviting.
'Its like an upside down ocean.' Bulkhead thought, though he couldn't swim either.
Miko was on his shoulder, babbling some happy nonsense Bulkhead tried to understand as she clicked vigorously the buttons on her pink cell phone; but eventually he lost track of the engagement with Miko, shifting to focus on where he was going instead - keeping a lookout for any Decepticon mining activity.
He bent down to pick up a metal fragment - a purple wingtip from a crushed vehicon-soldier. About three vehicons had been torn apart, left scattered across empty sand - mere trash to whatever that had killed them.
Strange, Decepticons typically weren't so wasteful when it came to leaving cybertronian metal lying around.
They. Recycled. Every. Single. Piece.
Bulkhead knew that.
"Uh, Miko? Have any ideas on what killed these guys? I don't see any signs of blaster-shots, and that's typically how Decepticons dispatch soldiers. Plus, they wouldn't just leave the bodies out here."
Miko hummed. "Simple, than I guess it wasn't the Decepticons." And Miko started babbling again, sounding like she was chewing a wad of bubble gum as she took a flash-shutter "shelfie" with her phone.
As much as Bulkhead loved his human friend Miko, he sometimes wished that she'd take serious situations ...well, more seriously.
They were in a warzone for frag's sake.
"Perhaps it was Arcee?" Miko said suddenly, and Bulkhead gaped in disbelief at the morbid idea.
"What!? No way! Arcee isn't an unhinged maniac! Who ever did this type of damage was completely bonkers - emphasize on the bonkers." Stated Bulkhead, picking up a dead vehicon's chassis to point out the distinct lack of "meat" beneath their armored-shells - they had been hollowed out completely, and it took a long time for a protoform to rot on an organic planet like Earth.
'Something has eaten them.' Bulkhead thought, running a finger along a split-apart leg, reminiscent of a butchered crustacean.
"And look, Miko! They are empty. Some monster ate them." He said.
And suddenly Bulkhead felt Miko tap his shoulder in a coded sequence, signaling she wanted to be transported into his hand for a closer look.
He looked over at Miko in relief, noting how she'd put her phone away; finally, the girl was paying attention to her surroundings and her eyes popped out wide in anticipation as she played with a fragment of dead-vehicon.
"It must've been the predacon then, right?" She looked up at Bulkhead for confirmation, but he shook his head. "Does it...eat mechs?" Miko supplied, and Bulkhead could only shrug. "I hope not."
"I know. What about-" He scratched his helm and chin, thinking. "What about Airachnid?" But as soon as he said it outload, it didn't feel right. "No. As much as a creepy glitch she is...I don't think...she's a cannibal?" It seemed a step too far.
Miko stuck out her tongue at the mere suggestion. "Well...then again, she is a spider..." Miko pointed out. "On Earth, our spiders are cannibals."
"No, Miko. I don't think so."
Miko huffed. "Why not? Why wouldn't spider-freak go all Hannibal Lecter on some mechs?"
"Ham-ball Nectar, who?" asked Bulkhead.
"Ack, nevermind."
And then Miko perked up, with another suggestion. "Wait, do you think an insecticon hive is out here? Maybe that's why the Decepticons stopped trying to tunnel into the cliff?" Miko was really paying attention now. It was hard to ignore a random smattering of dead mechs, in the middle of nowhere, for forever
"Erh, good theory Miko but-"
"Ugh, what's the problem now?" And Miko sat down cross-legged on Bulkhead's servo, looking insolent and hype-aware at the same time.
"But-" Bulkhead repeated, holding up a finger. "There's a problem with it, because insecticons don't eat meat."
Miko guffawed. "What? No way!" She wiped a non-existent tear from her eye. "You're telling me that those giant beetle monsters - emphasize on monsters - don't. eat. meat?!"
Bulkhead shook his head, seemingly settled on his assessment. "Yes Miko, the type of insecticons we've seen on Earth are...what's that Earth-word... herbivorous-models." He sighed, as if remembering better times. "Back on Cybertron I'd always take nature walks through the public crystal-flower gardens, and what little lime-trees remained to shade that area. Insecticons would always settle nearby to drink from a giant lake of natural ground-energon. They -" He shook his head, as if to remind himself where he was. "They always seemed peaceful. They'd drink from the lake, and I only ever saw them eat nearby metallico-fruits. I never saw them eating another mech-animal, or each other."
Miko went quiet at Bulkhead's story. "I wish I could've seen that. Crystal-flowers sound, well, amazing!"
Bulkhead laughed. "Tell you what, after we get back to base I'll show you some image-captures from my old databank."
...
...
...
...
[The monitor froze, loading another sequence of Bulkhead's final moments.]
...
...
...
...
CRACK
A loud noise, mistaken for a rock falling from a cliff's edge.
CLACK
It was something else.
Bulkhead fell to the ground, with no time to catch himself - it was as if he'd been struck by a thunderous missile. He gave an agonized yelp, as his helm hit against a sandstone wall - the mass crumbled away due to his weight.
The cascading sand blocked his vision.
TWACK
Another blow, this time he heard his belly hiss with wires and fluids.
...
...
...
One of his optics cluttered with static, but it was enough to see - the noise.
With a heavy servo he inspected his dripping side.
Something sharp had impacted deep into his protoform, piercing an oil tank - black was pouring out - a death-hit for every large model, like Bulkhead. From the metal jutting out, Bulkhead was able to determine that whatever had stabbed him looked to be a sharpened wingtip, scavenged from vehicon-remains.
...
...
...
His other, uncracked optic, began to clutter with static - soon, he'd be off-line.
But he saw it.
The noise.
It was a small thing.
An evil thing.
Blue, with the sleekest of legs.
Bulkhead looked up, clouds and blue-sky filled his single shuddering optic.
His murderer blended into the baby blue sky, the two indistinguishable to Bulkhead's failing processor.
At last, his voice-box hitched with his final words. "Blurr, it's you."
The little blue mech jumped up onto Bulkhead's chassis like a perching spare-row - his arms and legs had elongated to give him a sickly, skeletal appearance.
He didn't smile.
He didn't blink.
He didn't even move.
When his nightmarish jaws pierced into Bulkhead's spark-chamber, Blurr didn't move - but his mouth - tiny as it was - became caked in gore after a nanoclick, seen in Bulkhead's final seconds.
Sticky - sweet - processed - energon.
One moment Bulkhead was alive.
And then it was all a blur.