Cybertronians didn't need to breathe, Optimus knew that it was only a habit he'd picked up from Earth as a way to express himself: sighing, gasping, and so on. That didn't stop him from panting like his life depended on it, sucking in air as if it would calm his frenzied spark, and draw the ache away from his battered frame. His elbows trembled as he crumbled to his hands and knees, resting while he could. Blood- purple, thick and hot- was pooling closer and closer to him, until he was kneeling in the puddle, cringing at the heat. His last opponent hadn't been dead for thirty seconds, it's body a few paces away from where Optimus knelt, and still it's blood had reached him. A pang of guilt was like a shudder through his frame when he remembered how many times he'd driven the sword into the beast's chest, limbs, head, everything. His technique had turned into frantic stabbing as he grew more and more exhausted, and the violence made him feel… unclean.

He'd barely registered the double gate opening. The King was clapping, and striding towards him with a wide grin, his cape nipping at his heels. "You got desperate that time… Downy's special stuff is wearing off again. Don't worry, I brought more."

Optimus moved back and away from him at the sight of the needle, its barrel filled to capacity with a bubbling orange liquid. He didn't want the solution in his bloodstream again, he didn't want the adrenaline rush paired with frantic violence, and he worried about overdosing more than anything.

"Hey, relax, those aren't air bubbles, they won't kill you. It's just how the steroids work. Sometimes, I think Downy adds stuff just to make it fizz and bubble, for the aesthetic." The King examined the barrel, lifting it up to his face. "It's a good aesthetic. Now be a good boy and give me that arm."

"Constrictor-"

"Vesper, today."

"Does this change anything?" Optimus demanded, flicking blood off of his hands, and gesturing around him, to the bodies, the blood, the arena. "Is what I'm doing here truly going to change anything? If I keep fighting, are you going to let Ratchet go?"

"No." The King's response came with no hesitation, and yet carried sincerity. "We aren't going to let him go. Neither of you are getting out of this." Optimus' face must have shown his defeat; the Beast King knelt in front of him, the corner of his mouth twitching with a smirk. "But, the longer you dig your heel in and fight for him, the longer he stays alive. This can be over now, if that's really what you want."

The offer, moreso threat, hung in the air for a moment, before Optimus' gaze fell to the ground, and he held his arm out, silent as the new dose was administered to him.

Gates behind him opened, and the next opponent slithered onto the sand, screeching.


The ground beneath Ratchet shook as Megatron slammed a heavy pede down, his volume increasing. "Your constant need to be praised and told what a good boy you are has grown tiresome. You convince others of your selflessness, and yet you don't hesitate to step on the backs of your comrades to chase after approval. You have to be involved, you have to speak your mind, you have to let everyone know just how worthy you are."

Orion flinched, small and lost in the gladiator's long shadow. "This was never my intention," his voice wavered.

"Do not lie to me, it doesn't suit you." Megatron snarled. "You can't hide from me, I know that despite everything you may say, you truly believe that you're better. You're selfless, you're wiser, you're far worthier than I ever could be. You are just as supercilious as those tyrant council members." He took a threatening step forward, and Orion shrank back.

"He didn't mean for this to happen, it's not his fault!" Ratchet interjected, drawing fiery red optics to him. He kept his posture as tall as he could under the glare. For a moment, he had the odd sensation of an ownerless servo on his shoulder. "You did this to yourself, standing up there and spouting off about murdering world leaders, what were you thinking?" Orion sent him a teary look of disapproval.

"None of us expected this outcome." He reached out to touch Megatron's arm, but the gladiator threw his arm up and sent the smaller archivist back a stride. "I didn't want this, Megatronus."

A moment of rigid silence passed, and Ratchet looked between them. Megatron's frame was tight, and his servos had curled into fists. Ratchet wanted to tell Orion to back away, but he feared triggering an attack from the larger mech, like some sort of wild animal. Panic swelled in his chest when Megatron's blade slid free of its sheath, glinting in the sparse light. Ratchet's hand closed around Orion's wrist, and he yanked him out from beneath the strike, shouting at Megatron. The gladiator struck the ground where Orion had been, chest heaving with anger. He didn't spare them a glance; he turned on his heel, and stormed down the road, slashing at a dumpster on the way, disappearing into the shadows.

Ratchet stared after him, anger of his own building. "Who the frag does he think he is?!" He turned to Orion, expecting outrage, and found the archivist covering his face, coolant trickling out from beneath his servos. "It's not your fault, he blundered about and showed the council who he really was. You didn't make him do that, you didn't do anything wrong by doing what's right."

"I didn't want this." Orion's voice shook from behind his hands.

Ratchet wanted to believe that deep down, nobody wanted what came next. He watched the archivist walk off, stifling soft noises, heaving a long sigh.

Downpour was keeping him under the influence. He hadn't been brought around to work on anything, to be interrogated or experimented on, he'd just been left to hallucinate and relive chunks of his life. It was difficult to know how much time had passed, he'd be able to have a better handle if he wasn't getting caught up in the reenactments.

He took a step, and then he was kneeling over a trembling pink frame. A small hand was clasped in his. Smoke burned his optics. "H-Hurts like a… like a…" Elita-One coughed.

"That tracks, you've got a hole in ya." Ironhide was smiling, but his optics were watery, and his voice wavered. "Want us to say a prayer, or maybe…"

"Just cry, that'll be enough." Her smile wasn't much stronger. Ratchet flinched as the debris around them swayed. What was left of the building wouldn't last much longer. "You two better get out of here."

"We'll bring ya with us, 'Lita, right, Ratch? For Optimus, Chromia, and the others?"

Ratchet stared at the railing that had driven straight through her midsection during the explosion. The glow of energon was bright enough to hurt his optics. "Optimus will be traumatized i-if you show up with just half of me, and I can't stroke your ego by saying you're strong enough to lift this off of me." She caught Ratchet's optics for the first time, and he stiffened at the way hers glazed over. "See you when I see you, Ratch."

He couldn't think of anything to say fast enough. Slowly, he lowered her servo, and withdrew.

There was that tugging on his arm again, but when he turned, there was only Ironhide, wiping his optics and rising to his feet. He was being pulled away from Elita. There was muffled yelling, but there hadn't been anyone else nearby when they had found her.

The other arm was tugged then, and he looked. Megatronus was offering a shot to him. "Orion is on the floor under our booth." He gestured over his shoulder. "I think he'll die if we give him any more." Ratchet took it, swirling it and eyeing it for a moment. "Don't flatter yourself. I prefer seekers." Megatronus threw back his own, and pushed the glass back across the counter. "Don't you have an exam tomorrow? Do all medical students show up hungover, or is it just you?"

Ratchet rolled his optics, and mimicked the action. "I don't trust you."

There was more muffled shouting, and he heard his name. He took his eyes off of the gladiator and scanned the bar; there was talking, clinking glasses, and laughter, but there was no shouting. Nobody was calling him. It was like… Like an echo in his head. He turned and left Megatronus at the counter.


Optimus' balled his servos into fists to hide the shaking, his chest heaving. The arena was silent. The King had vanished from his booth, and no beasts were being released for him to slaughter. What did this mean?

His spark pounding was deafening in his audials. He knelt, resting, drawing in deep, long breaths to calm his insides. Every bit of him was shaking, every bit of him ached. He couldn't do this for much longer. In Earth time, it had been a week, and one day. What had been done to Ratchet, was he too counting the days of an endless struggle?

He wanted to curl up in the sand and just sleep, but the steroids had taken even that from him. He'd gotten about an hour each night, sometimes a little more, sometimes a little less. If he could just slip into recharge, the pain and the quaking would just fade away, and he wouldn't have to feel anymore. But if he slipped, what fate would await Ratchet?

The double gates opened, and he didn't bother looking up.

"Eesh, you think he's going to be able to handle this, Vesper?" That was Alabaster.

"He's pretty resilient. I think this will work just fine. And it's Jigsaw now, Downy said that it has a nice ring to it."

"Regardless of how he's feeling, I'm sure he'll gain motivation rather quickly. That is the point of all this." That was Downpour.

Optimus raised his helm, and his chest tightened. Ratchet was held fast between Downpour and Alabaster, cuffed and disoriented. His optics whirled in and out of focus, and he leaned on Downpour for support. His armor glinted in the light, coated with a thick, clear slime. "We brought a little something for you, Prime." The King gestured with a wide grin.

Optimus didn't speak, only pushed himself to his pedes, and waited, looking between them. Alabaster took Ratchet's arm and dragged him forward, one servo slipping up to his neck. "Unfortunately, this won't be much of a reunion." The white mech drawled, angling Ratchet's face higher so Optimus could see his optics. "He's not very… present, at the moment. He won't be much help to you." The Prime searched his medic's eyes for any awareness, but Ratchet seemed far away. "If you can ensure that both of you make it through this, you will be relinquished from our hold."

"You'll let us go?" Optimus asked in a quiet voice.

"You will be relinquished from our hold." Alabaster repeated patiently. He lowered Ratchet to the ground; the medic sank onto his knees shakily, his cuffed hands grounding him in the sand. "You may have noticed that Ratch here is a little… gooey. Beastie and Downs whipped this up. It's essentially bait. He smells real nice to some species right now." Optimus' tanks churned. He tightened his grip on his sword. "Every animal Beastie has is going to be drawn to him, is going to be very compelled to eat him, or try to, at least. Your job is to stop that from happening."

"Let him go… Please." Optimus pleaded weakly. "Don't do this."

"Let's unpack this last week, before we get started." Alabaster knelt beside Ratchet, and Optimus widened his stance. "This is a lot to go through, just for a buddy of yours, isn't it?" The white mech raised an optic ridge, and Optimus pictured striking him with a telephone pole. "Is there anything you want to fess up to? Anything you've been… holding in for a millenia?"

The Prime brought as much resentment as he could to his stare. Downpour moved forward. "Perhaps if we leave them be, Al."

The white mech vented and stood. "Yes, I suppose we'll have to get a move on. Do the thing, Beastie."

As Alabaster moved away from Ratchet, Optimus approached him, kneeling before him. "Old Friend?" He whispered, as the double gates swung shut. He reached out and rested his servo on Ratchet's shoulder, but he was given no signs of acknowledgement. At the other end of the arena, a gate opened, and there was a thundering growl. "Ratchet, can you hear me?"

"What were you thinking?" Ratchet whispered, but not to him. Ratchet was somewhere else entirely. Optimus sucked in a breath, before releasing him and rising to his pedes.

He turned to face the beast, putting himself between it and his medic. Six eyes glinted in the sun, not even taking him in, just staring straight past him hungrily. "I won't let them use you like this." Optimus murmured. "I won't let them use you to break me."

I am not going to break.

I am not going to break.

The weight of the animal crashed into him, and his pedes slid through the sand.


Ratchet padded down a long hallway, passing several numbered doors. He clutched a datapad to his chest, and moved quickly; he'd be needed at the facility soon. Breaktimes grew shorter and shorter nowadays.

He came to the second to last door in the hallway, numbered two hundred and eight. His spark did a little flip in his chest, and he raised a hand to knock, but before he made contact, the door snapped open.

It was not Orion, though this was his apartment. Ratchet froze in time for a moment as a pink femme filled the doorway; she squeaked in surprise. "Oh, Ratchet!"

"Elita," the medic uttered stiffly. "I wasn't expecting…" His voice seemed to give out.

"Uh, Orion's inside, I'm heading out, did you want in?" She avoided Ratchet's eyes as she moved aside, and he slipped past her, nodding.

Orion was at the counter, sipping an energon cube. Ratchet stepped into view, and he choked. "Elita, huh?" Ratchet smiled, but it didn't reach his optics, and Orion's insides crumbled. At the panicked look he received, the medic waved a servo. "You don't need to be embarrassed, it's just me." He set the datapad onto the counter in front of the archivist. "You'll love this one."

"I'm sorry," Orion whispered. He felt so strongly that he needed to apologize, but he didn't know what for. He didn't know why Ratchet's presence was so distressing.

"So is it official?" Ratchet watched him, forcing his smile to stay.

"No." It was so, so important that Ratchet knew this. "We aren't together, it was just… A thing. It's nothing." Orion insisted. "We… weren't exactly sober."

"Orion, it's fine." Finally breaking eye contact, Ratchet pushed the datapad towards him. "I can't stay, I just wanted to drop this off." He backed towards the door. "Have a good one, I'll talk to you later."

"Ratchet…" Orion started, but he lost whatever he had to say. Or he choked on it. Ratchet didn't respect cowardice all that much. He turned and swept from the room. Something wet and warm trickled down his face.


Optimus gripped a hairy tail and dug his heels into the sand, grunting as the creature tried frantically to clamber towards Ratchet. It was hungry. Had The King starved it?

He pulled, hard, and fiery eyes locked on him. Claws swiped across his face, gouging marks in his mask. He caught the fuzzy wrist in one of his hands and swung downward, throwing the beast into the sand and bringing the sword down after it.


"I'm so glad you finally called back," a smooth voice purred.

Ratchet stirred from his thoughts. "Don't make me regret it." He warned, with little bite. His helm was fuzzy.

"I think," the mech sitting across from me traced the rim of his glass with one long digit, "That this is more than a frag." He leaned against the table; even when he was down four glasses, his voice was long and calculated. "I think that you've finally come around."

"To the fact that we are perfectly compatible and a match made in heaven? Is that how you put it? Or how I'll never gain the same satisfaction working with others, because nobody can compare to your… What was it?" Ratchet rested his chin in his palm, watching his date's ego glow.

"Expertise, prowess, mastery, glamor…" Pharma's optics sparkled. He stood up, pushing his chair back. "If it makes you feel better, I'll play along with your little one night stand plot…" He rounded to Ratchet's side of the table, and sat on the edge. His servo was warm under Ratchet's chin, raising his gaze. "For now. But I know there's much more going on here." His servo closed around Ratchet's throat, and pulled him up. Ratchet followed obediently, wishing Pharma would just shut up so he could get more into this. "One day you'll admit that you love me." His glossa tasted like the fruity drinks he'd been sucking down.

Ugh.

Ratchet turned his helm away, and stepped back. Pharma stayed there, frozen.

Some memories were easier to be self aware in. It was easy to recognize this for what it was.

He supposed this was better to relive, versus his war memories. And Orion…

This was better.

This ended with a box of letters.

Orion and Ironhide read them at the counter of Ratchet's new apartment, blushing and gaping. "Look at this one," Orion held one out to Ironhide.

"That is… That is wildly graphic." The red mech covered his mouth with a fist. "He just keeps sending them?"

"He did. But now that I've moved, hopefully he won't find me to send more." Ratchet was emptying his last box onto a shelf.

"So ya fragged him once, and then he just lost it?" Ironhide looked into the box of letters, and dug through it. Orion looked away, and Ratchet frowned.

"Just once." He confirmed quietly. "He thinks we are meant to be together, or something like that."

"Do you still see him at work?" Orion asked, still not looking at him.

Ratchet shook his helm. "I've requested different hours. Almost didn't get them, but I brought the letters with me. The tune changed quickly."

"They didn't fire him?" Ironhide gestured to one letter, making retching sounds.

"I begged them not to." Both of Ratchet's friends gave him horrified looks. "Pharma is incredible at what he does, he can help a lot of people." The medic waved a servo, and they didn't argue. "As awful as he is, he'll save lives."

He was right and wrong.


Optimus shouted in pain as his back slammed against the double gate, energon streaming from a bite mark in his hip. A salamander with eight legs and an unhinging jaw wriggled towards Ratchet, hissing. The Prime scrambled to his pedes and tore after it, glancing around for where his sword may have landed. The second salamander was pawing at it, before its little nostrils flared, and its head snapped in Ratchet's direction. Optimus sped up, and leapt. He slammed a pede down on the first salamanders back, and its spine crunched under his weight, just before its jaws could sink into Ratchet's shoulder. His pede was coated in mucus, and some of it splattered across Ratchet's armor, warm and thick. Optimus winced as some of it landed on his face. He turned, and had only enough time to full body tackle the second salamander. It twisted, slippery in his hold, and he dug his digits into its slimy skin to keep a grasp.

He didn't even remember snapping its neck, but the evidence of it was clear.

Everything was becoming a blur.

Frantically stabbing a purple ape that had grasped Ratchet's ankle, and had tried to drag him away.

Acid saliva burning through the paint on his arm.

Being thrown against the wall again.

Kicking back another feline creature, and feeling it's claws rake through his armor.

Everything was glimpses. Glimpses of pain, and of violence. He had become so violent in his desperation, had killed without hesitation or remorse. But Ratchet was right here, he felt so close to being okay, if he could just kill these damn beasts.

But it was a fleeting hope.

His arms shook, his knees ached, his chest heaved.

He had closed his arms around the last beast's neck, and held until it had stopped thrashing. But then, he didn't get back up. He couldn't. There was nothing left in him.

Optimus pulled himself closer to Ratchet; the beast had been inches from him. He wished he could beg for forgiveness, but Ratchet's optics were still just glass windows into an empty room. Optimus' own vision was darkening, and he rested his forehelm against Ratchet's arm. Gates opened somewhere. The sound echoed in his helm, and then there was just quiet.