The day had started off so normal. Boring, even.
Not a single Autobot in Team Prime trusted the distress signal the computer intercepted, even though it registered as an Autobot signal. They knew better than to waltz out with open arms, many Decepticons, and even predatory humans had tried that trick a few times. Those unwise enough to fall for it the first time never made the same mistake twice.
But if there was a chance of an Autobot seeking refuge, Optimus would always at least take a look. He'd never forgive himself if one of his soldiers was taken or killed because nobody showed up to escort them home. Ratchet, Bulkhead and Bumblebee joined him in investigating the signal.
Hope had swelled up in the lot of them when they came across an escape pod at the end of a ditch, half buried in the dirt, covered in the branches of trees it had smashed through.
"Careful, Optimus," Ratchet had warned Optimus as he cleared debris away, looking to uncover a door or a hatch.
Bulkhead hadn't noticed the smoke grenade that clinked against his foot until it was too late, and white clouds were billowing around them. "Autobots, fall back!" Optimus ordered, sinking a little, sheltering himself against the pod and scanning his surroundings for attackers. He felt something move beside him; he spun to face it, blaster whirring, and found Ratchet at his side, coughing.
"Shh," the medic wheezed as Optimus opened his mouth. "Voices, that way." He pointed past the pod and towards what had been a line of trees; everything had been engulfed in smoke. "We need to go, if they start firing-"
Something bright flew between them and struck the ground. It made a piff! sound and crumbled like a powdery snowball, only it was a vibrant orange with a purple center. As it struck, an explosion of orange and purple powder was cast over Optimus and Ratchet, engulfing them and coating their armor in orange dust. Now coughing himself, Optimus took his medic's arm and gave him a pull, leading the way as they transformed and fled from the pod, swerving to avoid the bright snowballs being hurled at them. They reached a line of trees, where the smoke was thinning, and transformed back, weaving through the thick trunks for cover. Ratchet slowed down for a moment to examine the colored powder clinging to his frame, rubbing his fingers and thumbs together to feel the texture.
"Bumblebee," Optimus exclaimed to Ratchet's right, and the medic pushed past him to kneel beside the scout.
Bumblebee too was coated in the strange orange debris. He had fled just as they did to escape the cloud, but now, he couldn't seem to keep his optics open, leaning weakly against a tree, knees shaking. "Are you hurt?" Ratchet's optics were running over his frame and he couldn't find a single scratch.
:Dizzy… Not feeling too good…: Bumblebee gathered himself up enough to look at Ratchet, before his knees gave out and he crumbled. Optimus slipped an arm under his and hoisted him up.
"Bulkhead, where are you?" He accessed his comm, and received no response. "Bumblebee, did you see where Bulkhead went?"
"Stay with us, Bumblebee," Ratchet watched the scout try to ground himself, optics slipping in and out of focus. "We need to get him…" He shook his helm; was he lightheaded? "We have to go, Optimus."
But Optimus was staring at him now, optics narrowing. Ratchet realized that he had begun leaning against a tree himself, and the world had begun dancing around him. The trees seemed to be swirling around him, twirling and twisting together in leafy spirals. He couldn't tell if he was still standing, all he really felt was his hands, shaking as they tried to grip onto the tree, seeking stability as every other part of him seemed to float in space.
"Ratchet…Ratchet!" Optimus sounded desperate. "Are… Are you…" Ratchet couldn't tell if Optimus sounded hazy and disoriented, or if it was in his own helm. He wondered if Optimus had even said anything, or if he was hallucinating.
What had happened?
Ratchet recalled vividly feeling the effects of being drugged at a bar by some creep, how inebriated and befuddled he had become. Ironhide had, thankfully, returned to his side and carried him back to their shared apartment, apologizing for leaving him alone to flirt with a server. This felt eerily like that night. Had they been… drugged? Why wouldn't Megatron stoop to psychochemical warfare, if his morality hadn't been stirred in the past century, why would it now.
Whatever that powder was, it was leaving Ratchet blacking out, and absolutely helpless to whoever was speaking nearby. He couldn't understand them, his processor was swimming, they could have been just making animal noises, and he wouldn't have known the difference.
He knew he had been moved, but to where or by whom was a mystery.
That is, up until he found himself recovering, slowly sobering up enough to find himself cuffed on the floor with his back against Optimus', below a single pale light.
This wasn't the Nemesis. The ship's color actually reminded him of the Ark, coppery walls with blue tinted windows looking out across open space. The pilot and copilot seats were several paces ahead of them, surrounded by blinking controls. Across the room from the controls were two hallways, and two vague silhouettes that Ratchet thought could be hallucinations. He didn't speak or move much, only glanced around for a moment, before elbowing Optimus in the back. The Prime made a sleepy noise of discomfort, shaking his helm to clear it. "Ratchet?" He murmured. Ratchet hissed a 'shhh' to him, but the pilot seat had already spun around, and red optics were watching them. He felt Optimus' frame stiffen against his back as he too became aware.
"Good, you're finally present. So… Optimus and Ratchet, right?" The pearly white mech with smooth, rounded plating rose from the seat to regard them, servos on his hips. A fluttering red cape nipped at his heels as he strutted to and fro, pacing to take them in. Ratchet didn't care for the way he smirked at them. "I'm genuinely pleased to meet you two. Big fan." He smiled, and dipped in a shallow bow.
"Who are you?" Optimus squirmed against his bindings to face him. His bright plating was blinding and disorienting to his spinning helm, and he squinted against it.
"And what the frag do you want?" His medic snapped, words a little slurred.
"I'm Alabaster, but you can call me Al, it's what my friends call me. Want to be friends?" His gaze locked with Ratchet's, and he received a few curses in return. "Well now, either way, we'll be spending quite some time together, so you ought to just call me Al. My other friends," he walked in a wide circle around them, outside of Ratchet's kicking range. He came to stand in between two other mechs, one on the back of a leathery equine creature with two sets of eyes and fangs that reached the base of it's chin. That mech was orange with black details, and long, jagged purple stripes. Two purple streaks ran down his face, emphasizing his fiery optics. He was grinning, fanged, like the creature he sat upon. He was leaning across it's neck, twirling a strand of it's greasy mane with one digit. "This here, is…" Alabaster paused, and spared the mech a glance. "Uh…"
"It's Roulette, today." The striped mech replied with a shrug.
"Roulette. Today, at least." Alabaster chuckled, shaking his helm. "You see, he's going through a bit of an identity thing… Changes his name a couple times a week. We usually just call him Beastie, for he is known, and feared, as the King of Beasts across many galaxies. He can tame anything. What species is that there… thing, Beastie?"
The striped mech glanced down at his mount, pondering for a moment. "I dunno, it's freaky though. Acidic as all Hell." He shrugged, pointing to the dripping teeth.
"And to my right, is Downpour, or Doctor Downy, as his buddies like to call him. He cooks the drugs. Genius, Downy is. Experiments with hallucinogens and substances from thousands of planets. He's got something for everything." Alabaster patted the shoulder of the other mech, a tall, slender pink mech with yellow and blue patches and swirls. His optics glowed magenta with no pupil. On his forehead, roughly painted on, was a third eye, white with a yellow and black pupil. The big white spot pulsed in Ratchet's helm, and his optics were suddenly seeing all sorts of colors, and he had to look away.
"I look forward to sharing my findings with you, Doctor." Downpour nodded to Ratchet, clasping his hands together. "I could even use some input from you. Perhaps we can help each other."
"You brought us here so I can make drugs with you?" Ratchet narrowed his optics, and Alabaster laughed.
"No, no… We'll have this conversation later. For now, let's keep it simple… who we are, and what we are going to do." Alabaster smiled wide at his companions, throwing his servos up. "Let's get started then, boys."
Roulette, Beastie, whatever, slipped off of his mount, unsheathing a prod from his hip. "You're a big guy, so how much… We'll try… That, here, tell me, will this fry your circuits or is it at a good setting?" He poked Optimus in the side, and the Prime convulsed, crying out. "Hmm… I don't smell anything burning, I think this will be perfect." The striped mech pondered aloud, watching unfazed as Optimus writhed at the searing pain, gasping.
"Stop it!" Ratchet exclaimed, but Downpour grasped his cuffs and pulled him upright before he could make any move.
"Shhh, save your energy for our work, Doctor. I need you to stay this angry for as long as you can." Ratchet thrashed as the scientist's hand closed around his throat, forcing him to look up into the three glowing eyes. They seemed to dance around on Downpour's face, and Ratchet suddenly felt much more dizzy, trying to track the whizzing third eye. It left him weak and shaky.
"Do you want to say goodbye to your Doggy? You'll see him again, but it will be a while, and I doubt it'll be the same. This is your chance." Ratchet tore from Downpour's grip, spinning to find Optimus' wrists chained to a harness on the creature. The Prime caught his gaze, hazy and disoriented, and full of fear. Beastie was sitting backwards on his beast, laying on his stomach and propping up his elbows on it's rump. "Say buhbye, Big Stuff." He smirked, waving his digits at Ratchet, before slapping the leathery muscle beneath him. The creature jolted and moved forward, stalking down the hall, dragging Optimus with it.
"Don't hurt him," the Prime called out, his optics on Downpour now.
The scientist slipped an arm under Ratchet's and pulled him down the other hallway, past several testing chambers, before they arrived at the laboratory doors. Drippy yellow and black eyes were painted all over the two halves, and they too seemed to roam. Ratchet swayed on his pedes, closing his optics, but they didn't go away, clouding his vision and spinning around him, something akin to airsickness rising in his chest. "Are you ready, Doctor?"
The doors snapped back, and Ratchet sighed in relief as the eyes vanished. He stumbled as he was guided to a table, and pushed back onto it, too loopy to register the shackle slipped onto his left ankle.
"I am so thrilled to spend time with you. We are going to make a lot of discoveries together."
Down the other hallway, Optimus was in a similar situation of distress. His plating was scraped and scratched from the long drag to the other end of the ship; one time he had tried to brace against the beast, but in a second it had twisted it's snakelike neck and spat at him. The saliva that had spattered across his armor had sizzled, peeling the paint back, and he didn't dare try anything else. The beast's dark eyes flickered back at him now and again. Defeated and curious, he peeked into the rooms they were passing by.
The hallway had widened, and he quickly realized that this end of the ship was a vast containment unit. They were passing cells, habitats, glass windows… Optimus made eye contact with several creatures he'd never seen nor heard of before. This eerily felt like a zoo, but these beasts were battered, scarred, shying away at the sight of them. Perhaps the King of Beasts was a collector of aliens, taking creatures from their natural habitats to shut up in this prison.
The Beast King was up ahead, opening a cell door. "What a good abomination," he cooed to the equine as he unhooked Optimus' chains from it's harness. "Now back to your kennel." He jabbed it in the side with his prod, and it released a high pitched squeal that pierced Optimus' audials. He thought it would sink it's burning fangs into it's master, and tear him apart for doing that, but it bowed it's leathery head submissively, stalking into it's cell. "What do you think of all my pets?" Beastie asked conversationally as he locked the door behind the creature.
"Why do you have them here?" Optimus debated rising to his feet, but having just witnessed the Beast King zap a compliant, obedient animal, he didn't take the chance.
"Besides the satisfaction of being the best animal trainer in existence? They are dangerous. They eat the enemy, they melt the enemy, they trample the enemy… whoever the enemy might be. They are great to have on your side when shit hits the fan. That's an Earth thing, right? I try to pick stuff up wherever I go. For a year, I called everyone 'clods,' but Al and Downy got real annoyed real fast." Optimus felt a pulse of fear as Beastie pulled out a small dart gun and loaded one shot into it. "This'll sober you up, so you're not high as frag when we get started. You probably still feel dizzy and light, huh?"
Optimus started to rise, but the dart flew from the barrel and lodged itself near his collar. Instantly, he was weakening, the sedation coursing through him faster than he thought possible. He crumbled back down, struggling to keep his optics open.
Beastie walked over to him, gazing down at him with a pointed smile. "I'll see you when you wake up in a little bit, Big Stuff. Don't worry, you won't be out for too long." Optimus wasn't sure if he was hallucinating or not, but he swore the striped mech opened a storage closet to his right, and stepped back in front of him clad in a flowing purple cape. Gold, swirly clips hooked it onto his shoulders. He lifted a crown, golden, crafted from several jawbones and red jewels, and placed it onto his helm. "You've got nothing on me, Prime." He purred and outstretched his arms in display. "I'm the King of Beasts."
Optimus slipped into a forced powerdown.
He awoke laying in sand. Odd.
He felt sober again, the world was no longer spinning around him, he wasn't dizzy, he wasn't disoriented. Shakily, he pushed himself up to his hands and knees, the sand that had seeped into his plating trickling out. It was bright and saturated, the sand was orange beneath him, the sky above him a vibrant blue. This couldn't be Earth, it's atmosphere was never this vibrant. Puzzled, he rose to his pedes, rotating on one heel to take everything in.
He was in the center of a vast colosseum, rows upon rows of seats stretching up towards the sky, a throne within a protective booth to his left, and on ground level, dozens of barred gates, harboring darkness and glowing eyes. The walls were decorated with murals of gladiators, beasts, and stained with what had to be blood, only in a variety of colors. Below the booth was a gate, barred and thick, but golden, and decorated with skulls and swirls. Optimus' optics narrowed as it opened, creaking and groaning loudly as cranks on the other side turned to part the double doors.
"Enchanting, isn't it? A marvel of architecture, and my personal happy place." The King of Beasts strode in, spinning with his arms outstretched, his cape twirling and billowing around him. "And what a beautiful planet… So many have been so honored to die on such a beautiful world." Optimus widened his stance, servos curling into fists, before attempting to transform them into his firepower. The moment the armor protecting his forearms began to shift, they ignited with pain akin to the heat of a smelting pit. It seared up his arms to his shoulders. He cried out, canceling the order, his armor falling back into place and leaving him with a burning ache. "Ah, good try, but you won't be able to shoot me. Or stab me, so don't try that either." The King watched him with a patient smile.
Optimus raised his forearms closer to his face, examining them. Upon his inspection, he found two chips embedded beneath the seams of his armor, one on each wrist.
"If you try any transformations, one, it'll stop you, two, it'll hurt like a glitch. You've learned that lesson, so shall we move on?"
"Where are we?" The Prime growled.
"Shouldn't matter to you, you're not going to be calling anyone for pickup. All that should matter to you is that this is my arena, alive and well, due to my hospitality. And you're sober. You're welcome." The striped mech pulled back his cape to reveal a long sword, it's handle decorated with purple and gold serpents, sheathed at his hip. He drew the shining blade, and tossed it onto the sand before him. "You've lived through centuries of war, you've clashed with Megatron plenty of times. You've got to be quite the fighter."
Optimus watched him with distrust and growing frustration. "Where is Ratchet?"
"Shhh, I'm talking." The King flashed a pointed smile his way. "In my arena, I don't tolerate fighting for the sake of fighting, or for sport. In my arena, we fight for something, or for someone." Optimus' optics flashed; he was a little too ready to engage with The King, take him down and find a way out with Ratchet. He was bigger than The King, he could overpower him, if he could just stay out from under that blade. Now if only he'd quit talking so they could begin. "Every day that you survive here, Ratchet will remain… relatively unharmed. He'll be alive and functional. Now- don't look at me like that, worry not, Downy isn't the torture type- you ought to give this your all, you don't want to bore me."
"Face me, then." Optimus rumbled.
"Me? Oh, Primus no. You'd tear my cape. I've seen what you're capable of, and you look about as angry as a hippo right now." The King started taking steps back as Optimus began advancing. "No… Need I remind you who I am?"
Behind him, a gate groaned, and Optimus paused long enough to look back. Stepping onto the warm sand, on four legs, was what resembled a feline. Fangs that reached past the creature's chin glinted in the sun, leathery armor rippled over muscles, a barbed tail lashed back and forth. Orange eyes were locked onto him. Optimus' battle mask slid over his face, and he dashed for the sword as the beast crossed the arena in bounding strides, charging with a yowl. The King had disappeared behind the grand doors, and Optimus was alone, sprinting for the shining blade.
Heavy paws struck his shoulder blades, claws peeling his paint, sending him face first into the sand beneath the weight of the beast. Jaws locked onto one of his pipes, and he rolled over, hard, elbowing the creature in it's ribs, feeling the crunch of a couple of them cracking, in a vain attempt to throw it off. The beast only dug it's teeth and nails in harder, clinging as it ripped the smokestack off. Optimus grunted in pain, thrashing to dislodge the jaws from another chunk of armor on his back. He laid flat on his stomach, reaching behind his helm with both servos, and finding the creature's skull. It thrashed wildly, releasing him as he managed to sink his digits into it's eyes, wet goop coating his fingers. It screeched, and clambered off of him, heaving it's head around. Optimus scrambled to his pedes and dove for the blade; behind him, he could hear it bounding near again. His hand closed around the handle as the beast leapt, and he spun, blindly swiping. A severed paw hit the ground, and the creature yowled, crumbling back down and stumbling away, dark blood spilling into the sand.
The cat hobbled, blood and goo leaking from it's useless eye sockets, hissing in different directions, nose twitching as it desperately inhaled. Optimus looked to his right, where his smokestack had landed, torn where fangs had ripped into it. A light trickle of energon dribbled down his back. He had gotten off easy, the beast could have easily torn into his neck.
Squinting against the bright sun, Optimus looked to the booth, where The King lounged in his throne, swirling a martini. Anger pulsing in his chest, Optimus turned to face the cat, took two paces towards it, and swung his blade, swiping it's head from it's shoulders.
Only a moment had passed when the next gate screeched open, and a spider the size of a school bus squeezed out, twitching and clicking it's chelicerae. It stretched it's eight long, hair legs, one at a time, before twelve beady eyes found Optimus. The Prime widened his stance, gripping the dripping sword, inhaling deeply.
Webs shot out before either of them charged, the spider flinging out the thread on either side of it, creating a wall on each side. Optimus narrowed his optics, watching it create a singular path, leaving him with only a frontal attack. The spider watched him, patiently, awaiting his charge.
"Hey Ops, look who Downy just dropped off."
Optimus watched as the spider cringed at the sound of the voice coming out of the speakers, it's dozen eyes shooting around the arena fearfully, before he turned towards the booth. Seated in the throne, gagged and bound, was his medic. The King sat on the arm of the chair beside him, pouring himself another drink.
"Make this one a little more exciting, yeah? That last one looked a little desperate. Let's see some actual strategy. Impress your audience."
Optimus bristled with anger, and he turned back to the spider. Fine. He would strategize.
His approach was slow. He took calm strides towards his opponent, blade ready. The spider didn't charge, or shy away, but watched him, unblinking. As Optimus passed the body of the defeated feline, he reached down, picking up the severed head, and bringing it with him as he moved closer down the straight lane to his enemy. The spider clicked in warning as he made it within fifteen yards, hair prickling. Any closer, and he could trigger an attack, and charging head on would be foolish. All it would take would be one swipe to the side, and he'd be lodged in the sticky webs, pinned down for the spider's chelicerae.
A moment passed, and they just watched each other.
Optimus moved first, pulling his arm back and hurling the severed head at the spider's face. The spider's reflexes were quick, and it ducked, letting the head fly over it and into the cell behind it.
Interesting.
Optimus wondered if it's legs could have even reached up over its body like that in order to stop the head. That open area would be where he struck. He let his battle mask slide away, so he could be heard clearly as he called out, "What does any of this hope to achieve?"
No response.
"Your name… It was a type of game… I am so sorry to have forgotten, King, but was it… Checkers? Baccarat? And you're the King of Animals?"
"Good Lord, you've got to work on your listening skills, Ratchet must want to shoot himself in the face, how fragging hard is it- Look, my name is Roulette, for now, not fragging Checkers, and I'm the King of-"
The spider cringed and winced again, sinking back, curling its legs tighter around it at the voice of it's captor. Optimus waited until it's eyes left him, scanning it's surroundings for its King. He hurled the sword with all of his strength.
Distracted, the spider failed to duck this time, and by the time it saw the glinting blade, it was too late. It hit the ground with a screech and a splatter of yellow goop, the handle of the sword protruding from in between it's centermost eyes.
"How's that for strategy?" Optimus muttered to himself, flicking blood off of the hand that held the severed head. It was still warm.
"Oh, that was clever! Look at you, using that head of yours. If you're trying to impress Ratchet, it's working. On this next one, show some muscle, he'll really like that."
Optimus felt a pulse of anxiety as another gate began opening. He only had a narrow runway, the webs still coated two halves of the arena. He turned and sprinted towards the dead spider, not waiting to see what his next opponent looked like. He clambered up it's hair body, and pulled the sword free, thick yellow blood splattering and dripping down his arm. He shuddered.
A roar drew his attention to the other side of the arena. Miko would call this creature a dragon. It tore through the thick webs, red, scarred scales glistening along it's long, slender body. It clawed its way through the webs that were cast over it's gate, scrambling free and into the sand. On its back were two nubs, evidently where wings had once sat. The nubs were scarred and torn, and Optimus was left to assume that they had been savagely torn off. The serpent roared again, baring large teeth, before parting it's jaws and letting an eruption of flames loose from the back of it's throat.
The slick webs caught fire, and the arena quickly became engulfed in flames. Optimus slid down off of the spider as it too became alight. These flames didn't do more than peel his paint as he darted to the open runway. This was not a cybertronian creature, it's fire was not meant to melt a mech down to a puddle. Thank Primus.
Optimus watched it circle the arena, clawing at the gates, looking for an escape, before trying to leap up the high walls. It's cries were frantic, and it blew smoke and flames in frustration, tearing at the sand with massive talons. It hadn't seen him yet. He walked along the clear path through the center, firelight dancing on his armor, as he pondered how he'd handle this one. It seemed more bent on escaping than hurting him. He'd have to be the one to charge.
Fine, then. He raised the blade and charged while it clawed at the wall, bringing it down on one of it's hind legs. He was immediately thrown to the side by it's lashing tail, and fire was raining upon him in retaliation. He had hoped to sever the leg, but the scales had been thicker than he imagined.
He'd barely made a scratch.
"You can really see him think. He really turns it over in his head." The King was saying, presumably to Ratchet.
Optimus gritted his denta and pushed through the flames, swiping at the dragon's lower jaw, his mind working quickly. The blade bounced off, and the dragon snapped at him, sizzling saliva splattering across his windshield as he jumped back.
Miko liked horror movies. Jack was a bit of a sucker for romantic comedies.
Rafael liked cartoons.
The Prime recalled several dragon fights playing in the background as he went about his business through the base. Many of them were killed with one strategy, an unrealistic one, in most cases. Fortunately, Optimus was a giant robot, not a small fleshling, though he did truly feel like Hercules, in this instant.
He remained still as the dragon charged, for a moment, feeling a bit idiotic, and let it engulf him in it's jaws. Optimus didn't have to be very far into the beast's mouth to force his blade out and twist, slicing open the beast's throat from the inside. The dragon gagged and choked, teeth clamping down painfully on Optimus' ankle until he drove the blade up through the roof of it's mouth. In the back of it's throat, hot blood gurgled and bubbled, droplets landing across Optimus' plating. With a wheeze, the dragon stilled, both of them fell, and he poked and swiped until there was a gaping, bloody hole wide enough for him to crawl out of. He was sticky, wet, and hot, his armor sizzling. Fire had eaten chunks of his paint away, leaving parts of him a dead gray.
But he still stood, watching the booth with hardened optics, while the King grinned back at him.
Another gate was opening.
"N-No… No more…" The fear of overdosing ignited Ratchet's field as he tried to twist away from the syringe making its way towards him, bracing against his restraints. The more hallucinogens Downpour gave him, the more he needed to be restrained, over time he'd wound up completely clamped to the slab. He couldn't remember how many doses he'd been given, but with the wild colors bouncing around the room and the screaming in his head, he knew damn well that he shouldn't have more.
"Shhhh…" The Doctor stuck him in the neck with the needle. "This one will calm you down." The third eye on the scientist's forehead was making Ratchet's head spin, vibrant yellow dots circling him and dancing in wild patterns. He turned his helm away, dizzy.
This one did calm him down. The last few had made him see and hear things, sometimes utter nonsense, other times… oddly personal images. The third dose had put him back in a shelter surrounded by fire, desperately trying to resuscitate a fallen soldier while their mate cried in the background. That patient hadn't lived.
Between the pulsing colors and strange voices, he would relive parts of his life long forgotten. For hours, he had forgotten where he was and who he was with. For hours, he was a young medic again, attending the academy, reliving the beginning of the war.
But now, everything was calming down. The vivid colors and hallucinations around him were dimming, and he realized that he was sobering up, at least he hoped so. He squeezed his optics shut and waited for it all to pass, waited for whatever was put inside of him to run its course. Whatever Downpour just gave him was chasing everything away.
"Better?" The scientist smiled down at him. Ratchet was able to look at him without being disoriented by his third eye.
"Where is Optimus," he growled.
"Beastie has him. They are running their own experiments, in a way." Downpour's face disappeared behind a datapad. "You've got quite the tolerance. Big party animal when you were young? Probably in college?" He scribbled some notes down before activating a scanner that cast a beam over Ratchet's bound frame. "You responded in some fascinating ways. You know, I think you did your damndest to save Bumblebee's voice. Don't beat yourself up so much."
"Is he safe?" Ratchet ignored him.
"Most subjects have experienced nightmare-like situations while under that one. Scary, but utter nonsense. You, on the other hand, seemed to go back in time to some of your traumas. I suppose you've lived all of your nightmares. I wonder if you'll help me craft a solution that will send all subjects into the past like that." Downpour watched results pop up on a green monitor screen. "Do you feel anxious? Your spark has been fluctuating."
"Is Optimus safe?" Ratchet repeated, glaring at him.
"He's about as safe as you are, Doctor."
Ratchet didn't like that answer. He pulled at his restraints in frustration, frowning as Downpour prepared another syringe. "I'm going to overdose if you keep going." He murmured, watching the syringe's barrel fill with a green solution. Downpour flicked the bubbles to the top and pushed them out with the plunger. The dose was administered to Ratchet's forearm, and he squeezed his optics shut and prepared for whatever was next.
"Tell me what you feel." Downpour waited at his side, staring over his datapad.
What Ratchet felt was pain. He had never had an organ rupture inside of him, but judging by the placement of the pain and the sheer intensity of it, he assumed that the drugs had finally been enough on one of his filters. He shouted in pain, writhing and pulling at his bindings.
"Where does it hurt?"
"G-Get… fragged…"
"Well, that's not a very friendly thing to say to a colleague." Downpour frowned. "Does it feel like something inside of you burst? Right… Here?" He reached out and put some weight on Ratchet's side, and a scream answered him. "Yes, yes, that's good. Now try…" Ratchet struggled and thrashed at the sight of the second syringe.
"Please-!"
This time, the pain was at his T-Cog. It felt as if it had exploded inside of him, sending shards everywhere, and he swore he could feel the internal bleeding. This was a slow, painful death, and he cursed Primus for letting him be terminated in such cruelty. "In your T-Cog, this time?" Downy watched his face. "Good, good…"
Ratchet didn't register the third syringe until it was being pulled out of him, and the pain abruptly went away, like a switch. He panted, optics watery, voice hoarse from screaming. "Wh…"
"I've been commissioned by some bounty hunters to make that one. For now, it comes in the form of a dart, but soon it'll be in the form of a smoke grenade, to cover more ground. It feels so real, doesn't it?" Downy's optics sparkled with pride. "This special drug convinces subjects that they are harmed in some way. It came from a poisonous flower that I spent years studying. When an herbivore would bite into it, it would release pollen that would trick the animal into thinking it lost its tongue, and the whole mouth would go numb, besides the pain, of course. It was a remarkable defense adaptation. I have modified it to affect the T-Cog area. When struck, the pain brings a target down, but furthermore, convinces them that their T-Cogs are no longer functional, that they've ruptured or burst. It leaves them believing that they are disarmed, and that leaves them completely vulnerable. Imagine entire units, wiped out, fooled into thinking that they are helpless and dying of internal bleeding."
"No more…" Ratchet pleaded again, his voice weak. He preferred the dancing colors and hallucinations to the agony.
"Aren't you going to commend me for my-"
There was a crash down the hallway. Downpour stared at the door, stiff. Ratchet watched him nervously.
"Al?" He asked over his comm. "Al, was that you?"
Static answered him.
"Viper- I mean, Roulette? Are you with Al?" He turned away from Ratchet. "Is Prime with yo-"
The doors were blown open, and then Downy's throat was being crushed in Optimus' large hand. The scientist shouted and writhed, kicking at the bigger mech in vain. "Alabaster and Roulette cannot answer your calls at the moment." Optimus snarled.
Ratchet's body slackened with relief. "Optimus…" He whispered, watching him. He gasped and flinched as Optimus easily crushed Downpour's neck in one hand, the metal groaning and snapping, energon running down his arm, before he tossed the lifeless form to the side. "Optimus?" Ratchet asked again. The angry optics turned on him, before softening, and he was looking at his benevolent, gentle leader. The violence had caught him off guard, but he had no idea what Optimus had been through. If it was anything like what he was put up against, then Optimus had every right to go on a rampage through the enemy ship.
"I'm here now, Old Friend." The Prime rumbled softly, approaching his slab. "Let us get out of here." The battle mask slid away, and Optimus was smiling down at him.
"There's got to be enough fuel on this ship to keep Team Prime afloat, and it could possess weapons that'll give us an edge." Ratchet said excitedly as his bindings were undone. "Are the other two gone?"
"Yes, now all we must do is return to Earth."
"Thank Primus, Optimus, I don't know what I would do without you. You came just in…" He stopped, as Optimus' hands stilled.
Optimus was fading, dissolving, like a tablet in water. He was disappearing. Ratchet didn't feel his touch anymore, and his bindings no longer felt loose.
"Optimus..?" Ratchet whispered as the last of his leader vanished. Downpour appeared over him, scribbling away at his datapad.
"For such a tough, feisty medic, you sure do fantasize about your big strong leader coming to save you a whole lot, don't you?" The scientist smiled down at him. "It's sweet."
"That wasn't…" Ratchet squeezed his optics shut. That wasn't real.
"Exhilarating, isn't it? Imagine interrogations, done in minutes, by leading them to believe that they've been rescued, and led to safety where they could tell their dear friends anything. I am so thrilled to show you my work. Al and the Beast are great, but they don't appreciate my accomplishments on a scientific level. You must know how long it took for me to get here, you have a whole different level of appreciation for it."
"Please, stop," Ratchet begged. Being toyed with like this was exhausting. Downpour was right, albeit insane and ruthless. He never thought that psychochemical warfare could behave this way, nothing on Cybertron could be manipulated into such weapons. It was certainly a scientific achievement, the trio had to have traversed the universe, and Downpour picked something up every step of the way. A brain like his, while a marvel, was dangerous.
"Do you like Optimus?" The scientist flashed him a childish grin from behind his datapad. "More than you've ever let on?" He was answered with a prompt 'frag you' look. "He just seems to be a recurring theme here. I'm sensing some chemistry here, and that's my specialty." Ratchet didn't laugh. "If you want, I can give him something that makes him go into heat whenever you give the command."
Ratchet gave him a prompt look of annoyance, and then gazed off in the other direction, done with listening.
"Just an offer, I like to think of myself as helpful."
The medic laid there and hoped and prayed to whoever that Optimus was in a better situation than him.
