Ep0 - "Finding Sniper" - Closed

The distress beacon came pinging over an unexpected comm frequency – not one of their current transmission channels, but rather a defunked one that none of the team used anymore. Bee had made the call himself to abandon the channel after he suspected it was under Con surveillance. They hadn’t used it in nearly two planetary months. So the signal struck the scout most primarily as a trap… except for all the strange coding feedback he was getting over the connection, the kind of errors in transmission that one got when the trasmitter was damaged.

Like someone barely coherent was transmitting this. Bumblebee would have been inclined to log a note to Arcee and just ignore the signal if not for that feedback, because he’d heard feedback like that before on scout-frequencies during the war. Specifically with his first Bot regiment. It sounded like... a downed 334th reg scout. Using bad secure lines, but a crashed Bot would go back to protocol. Bumblebee slowed down then stopped. So many refugees had crashed on Earth lately. So many it was hard to ignore any signal.

“What is is Bee?” Raf leaned out Bee’s passenger-side window. He looked back to the Nissan Fairlady following close behind. This was supposed to be a relaxation drive for the two of them now that Blue was out of medical, a long wind through the desert with no particular responsibilities - patrol, but not really.

‘It’s fine, Raf.’ Bee chirped. ‘Blue, you hear that?

Freedom, sweet sweet freedom. Ou was enjoying their drive. Wind and sun caressing hir armor. It was wonderful to be out again, though under strict directions not to do anything strenuous. Of course it was only a matter of time before something would happen to put a wrench in Ratchets orders. Ou was suspicious of the distress beacon for different reasons but if hir own had not been heeded not long ago...Well ou doubted it would have ended well for hir.

I Hear it, we should check it out but radio in to the base okay?.

Bee sent a ping to base. ::Checking a distress signal nearby. Possible crash/lure/false alarm. May request ground bridge. Scouting only. Bumblebee, out.:: Then the little yellow scout swung a U and gunned toward the great fissure of canyon three miles out from the road. He’d be there in minutes to see who or what was causing all that fuss.

Bluestreak followed close behind Bumblebee but a sudden thought caused hir to slow down before they got too close to the location.

Bee, Give Raff to me. I;ll hang back and cover you if it’s a trap and I'll be further away from the action to make a get away if it gets to that.

Ou liked the young little human. Seeing him get hurt would break hir spark and probably shatter Bee’s.

Bee popped his passenger side door. ‘Good idea.’ Raf gave a thumbs up and bailed out, racing back to Blue and hopping in the back seat while Bee hit the gas and tore off.

“He rushes off like that,” said Raf, exasperated. “A lot. You prolly need to watch him, Blue.”

The scout came racing up to the edge of the gully, braking hard and skidding to the edge so he could get a proper scan of the deep fissure of stone and scrub brush below. The distress signal was definitely coming up from somewhere in the the gulch. Bluestreak weren’t a deadshot with a deadeye, Bee would have worried on Airstrike, but the skies were clear. Bee catiously patrolled the edge of the canyon, moving up the gully toward the source of the signal somewhere ahead, getting closer... closer... and then picked out a streak of green and purple down the gultch. Bee stopped moving. Primus.

It was a mech. A flyer. He was in…. in really bad shape, a slender build of lime green metal. Someone had wrecked this mech – ripped his knee up, crimped his wings, torn his mesh open, just… completely thrashed this Cybertronian within an inch of his life. He was hemorrhaging energon heavily into the sand and the scout had no delusions that this mech was about to die here in the middle of the canyon... but Bee didn’t approach. He prowled stealthily along the ridge above, EMF muted to nothing, watching.

::Blue, I have a single Decepticon. Wounded/fragged/almost dead. Assessing the situation...::

“I’ve noticed.”

Once ou was certian Raf was sucked safley in hir seat ou took off after Bee. Keeping scanners on him but staying far enough away that if there was trouble ou could cover the yellow scout and keep Raf safe.
Be careful I can cover you if we have too but I'd rather not have to.

::Psh, no one sees me unless I want them to.::

“Or,” drawled Raf, grinning, “you jump into a fight without thinking like Optimus tells you not to. Then you get beat up.”

Bee ignored this little comment from his traitorous best friend. ::Huh... the transmission isn’t coming from the Con. It’s coming from further up the valley. Keep sharp, there might be multiple hostiles.:: Bee’s scanners sweep the green bot below. ::I’ll keep an eye out like you humans say.::

Sniper had left a purple trail into the desert while attempting to drag himself away from the open. There was sand everywhere. It was scattered around him like a golden hued ocean, absorbing the day's heat and the energon that leaked from the nasty open wound in his mid section. He had not made it far, as he had discovered that he wasn't, in fact, able to pick himself up anymore. Megatron had been smart to eliminate the spy's ability to move. He had now lost his only defense in battle, which had always been his speed. Now, there was hardly anything left of his right knee joint, and what was left of his leg trailed the rest of his body, motionless and dead.

Everything had hurt like glitch just a moment ago. But when Sniper's arms finally couldn't drag his remains anymore, and his head fell to the ground, he couldn't feel much of anything. Or rather, there were so many different kinds of things to be felt that they ate each other up, leaving him numb. There was nothing. Not even when a puddle of energon surged from his throat with a single cough. He would offline here for good. That was the single thought Sniper was able to process after no message had returned from the Autobot channel frequency. And what could he expect? Despite the fact that he couldn't go back to the Decepticons and no longer had a place in their ranks, No normally functioning Autobot would heed his beacon. Especially when keeping Sniper's status in mind. No one was coming.

Interferences ran across the red of Sniper's optics as he glided his worn gaze along his green arm. His claws had dug loosely into the energy tarnished sand that was pooling around him. He was getting ready to accept his seemingly unevitable fate, just before something hit his hearing sensors. Noises. Distant ones. Wheels - it was a car. Autobots? Barricade? Breakdown? Sniper wasn't quite able to process this thought properly, as Soundwave's pesky viruses had clouded his system. And due to the emergency protocols and constant error messages, not to mention the severe energon loss, he couldn't run his antivirus software. But the first thing that occurred to him, was that he still needed to get away from the open. Be it curious Autobots, or Decepticons coming to finish the job, neither of the scenarios would probably have a happy outcome.

So, Sniper let loose a painful grunt and peeled his head off the ground, biting his dentals together. And he begun to to crawl again, dragging his badly damaged body on a painfully slow pace.

Serotype had touched down a little later than planned. She needed to sort out the old Autobot frequencies she was given to lure the yellow scout to her location. Rumor was that this was close to the scout’s patrol route She stepped out of the rippling green ground bridge and on to the dusty earth. The bridge closed behind her leaving her on her own. She had managed to subspace all her research prior to this. She couldn’t believe that she was actually going to go through this whole plan. The plan of having to search out that yellow scout and ultimately her leave from the Nemesis. She had left her Life Unit in charge of her lab. This would become a key part in her entire plan. The other key part, the yellow scout, was no where to be seen yet.

Serotype began walking. Eventually, she’d find that scout. That was until her thoughts were interrupted by a life signal. It was weak. She was suddenly distracted by this. It was close by and it wouldn’t have taken her too far out of her way to investigate it. She started walking in that direction. She could see pools of energon against the golden tones of the sand. That was followed by drag marks.

Serotype quickened her pace and followed where the trail was leading her. She moved faster and faster until up ahead, she could see a lime green mass lying there limp and dead in the sand. She slowed to a jog and ended up beside the mass. She crouched beside it to see her it was a him and that “him” was Sniper and that he was still alive if only just barely.

“Hey! Can you hear me?” asked Serotype.

She started pulling out some supplies from her subspace.

And above her, Bumblebee continued to spy, unseen, waiting.

The progress of Sniper’s struggle through the field of sand had begun grow so slow it could hardly be decribed as moving. The weak crimson of his optics had begun to grow dim and broken - and only a feeling of approaching thuds in the sand would make their glow intensify again. The spy attempted to raise his head a bit and struggle forward faster. But it didn’t take long for a shadow to appear on his left. The pained grimace that had frozen on Sniper’s energon tarnished face would turn to meet the unfocused silhouette of Serotype’s. Crimson light stirred within the optic that got a peek of the familiar femme. And upon getting a visual of her, his expression changed.

Soundwave’s virus had corrupted Sniper’s sense of reality, and made it sure that the spy master’s cold visage would hunt Sniper even while he was long gone. So for Sniper, there was no Serotype.

Air hissed to the spy’s system that whined like it would have gasped for its final breaths. He collapsed to his side in his final attempt to distance himself from the femme. His movements were hasty, as though a sudden stroke of panic would have taken hold of his body. He had to get away. Now. Fast.

“Stay...,” a broken cry. It carried panicked tones. “Stay...away..!” he continued to snarl, the silences between his few words filled with the broken whines and pained whistles of his vocalizer. (EDITED!)

Serotype frowned slightly. He must have been dumped in the desert for a bit of time. At the very least a little less than twenty-four hours. She could take a few guesses as to what may have transpired. After she had cleaned up her lab yesterday, a certain silver one-mech hurrcaine had paid her a visit as well. This may have been more of the same. Putting her tools back in to her subspace, she held up her hands as a gesture of do-no-harm.

“I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help,” said Serotype.

She could already see Sniper starting to scramble away. She has seen similar behavior before from Autobots. More accurately, from Autobot POWs. But this was somewhat out of the ordinary. Even for twenty-four hours, Sniper shouldn’t have been this crazy. Something else was going on here, although, Serotype couldn’t identify what. There was a long list of possibilities for this behavior. She would have to attempt to narrow it down. In the meantime, it was obvious that Sniper was a danger to himself and her with these mannerisms. In her experiences with POWs, there was always the potential for a patient to cycle up their blaster on her. Normally, she would have tackled Sniper by now. But this took a lot more care.

Slowly, Serotype angled herself with her left side facing Sniper; her spark chamber away from him, and she started shuffling towards him with care. She stopped a distance away. She didn’t want to provoke anything. In her right hand, she removed a syringe full of sedative from her subspace. She kept it out of Sniper’s view. Anything and everything had the potential to startle the lime green spy at this point.

Meanwhile, atop the ridge Bumblebee - too far away to hear the exchange - could only read body language and from the green mech’s reaction he fully anticipated the femme to harm him... or recognized her as the bot that did the damage. But that was not reason enough to attack. It wasn’t until, from his vantage above, he saw the syringe in the Con’s slender fingers that he reacted. Bumblebee, later, could not have explained the combination of self-doubt, hope, stupidity and reckless good faith that led him to do what he did next but he pinged Bluestreak back, saying ::Cover me.:: And promptly shot forward off the edge off the cliff.

“I told you,” sighed Raf, back in Bluestreak’s cab

If it had been just hir and Bee the string of curses that would have escaped hir vocalizer would have made Ironhide proud as it was the sniper kept it internal. Moving as close as ou dared before opening hir door agian to let Raff out. Ou’d need to be in root mode to shoot.

I’d like to say “I hope you know what you’re doing” but i know you don’t so please just be careful.

Bee only smirked internally as he fell, transforming mid-air in a burst of black and yellow plates. He hit the sand behind the little femme, landing hard, cannon flared and weapons locked. He chirp-whirred furiously, confident that Bluestreak would be his eagle eye overhead.

‘Back off/get away/don’t move, Con!’

Serotype only had a split second to glance at the scout. The loud sound of him hitting the sand behind her. The whine of weapons powering up. This was HORRIBLE timing. She wasn’t expecting the yellow scout to be early. And right now, with his weapons up, this was very bad! She looked back at Sniper keeping a better eye on him.

“Glitchwit! Put those blasters away right now! Otherwise, you’re going to get both of us killed!” Serotype quickly growled at the scout behind her, “and for the love of Primus! Stop being so loud! You’re going to scare him which would be bad for the both of us!”

She was going to have to get ready to move just in case Sniper decided to panic. Next to the bright yellow punk’s rotten timing, having a panic attack from Sniper could be the next worst thing that can happen.

‘Mute it,’ beeped Bee, but considerably quieter. He glanced at the injured mech, then her. ‘And oh, yeah, he’s totally in any condition to hurt us. Get away from him. Now.’

It was not as though Sniper was in any condition to get away from the scene that was unfolding around him - even if the glimmer of ration that still remained in his messed up processor would continuously urge him to try. The spy’s optics were wide and unfocused out of fear while he lay on his side, swiftly loosing the last remaining bits of of his spare energon. And once his fuzzy sensors managed to pick up a loud thud from somewhere near by, he cringed painfully, turning back onto his belly. A dying grunt escaped the spy’s vocalizer as tried to pull himself further away by clawing the sand desperately.

He had to get away - now. He would not fall victim to Soundwave’s games, not again. No. These were the only clear enough thoughts that kept beating through his messy processor. But even so, he didn’t move - only attempted to with the little power he had left in him.

“Oh! My apologies! You must be a skilled medical professional who has decidedly taken on a scout’s build to make his patients feel comfortable. You must be an Autobot medic of great and sane wisdom to cycle their blaster in front of an obviously frightened patient. Excellent idea, medic,” said Serotype in the most deadpan tone she could possibly conjure up.

The yellow scout was obviously not taking the hint at all. Sniper seemed to have scrambled further away.

“Look, Bot. This goes a lot further beyond who’s an Autobot or who’s a Decepticon. That mech needs some emergency treatment. Even I can see from here that he’s had some of his main arterial lines severed among other things because of the fluid loss I’m seeing. Judging from the size of the hole in his torso, a large bot did this. Given the recent events on the Nemesis so far, my best guess it that this is probably Megatron’s handywork. If you shoot me now, this mech won’t even survive the transport to any facility,” said Serotype, “he NEEDS to be stabilized.”

‘I said mute it,’ replied Bee coolly, while simultaneously radioing to Blue. ::She does something hostile, shoot her.:: Then he said aloud, ‘You’re a Decepticon. If Megatron did this then you’re helping this mech is either treason or you’re here to finish the job. So here’s what happens, you stabilize him and I help. You do something I don’t like either to him or me and my sniper puts a round through your cranial case. Scan me?’

Bee was certainly not going to watch someone die, especially like this. He was an Autobot, not a Deception... but he was not feeling especially friendly toward Cons lately. In the last 48 hours the both of them had been torn open by Cons so while they sympathized with the green mech... this femme just looked like Con scum to him. So he had zero qualms about having Blue - who was not feeling very Bot fuzzy friendly either - take a few limbs off.

‘Now, what do you need me to do, femme?’

Ou didn’t need to be there to know the general idea of what was going on. Making sure Raf was tucked away some were safe before settling down and prepping hir best sniper rifle. The one with the heavy duty piercing rounds. Suddenly thankful that ou took the time every day to maintain all hir favorite guns. The little sniper was tempted to fire off a warning shot but thought better of it. It would probably only cause more problems besides better for the little femme con to not know were the killing shot would come from if it came to that.

I got her in my sights Bee .

Serotype rolled her eyes and sighed. If at the very least, the yellow scout was listening to logic again.

“I understand and I will cooperate,,” said Serotype. She continued, “I realize that this puts me in a questionable position. But I do not believe that this mech deserves to die.”

She could still see Sniper attempting to squirm away.

“The first thing we need to do is inject him with a sedative in order to at least keep him from moving away.... which is what I trying to do until you felt it was perfectly okay to put a blaster to my helm,” said Serotype, “He may be on the brink of death, but I have seen mechs still cycle their blasters at this point. Even as is, he’s still a danger to at the very least himself with him still dragging his body like this. It furthers the risk of infection. In this case, we are both to proceed carefully and slowly. I don’t know what’s going on inside his processor right now. It could be a concussion or something far worse. So no sudden jerky movements if you are capable of that. When I give you the mark, you have to hold him steady while I inject him with the sedative. That way, I can work on getting him stable enough for transport.”

No matter how much Sniper tried, the distance between him and the blurry shadows he was able to detect on his left, would not grow. His last attempt to squirm away ended with a sad, mismatched melody of popping circuits and whine of the broken metal. His hand tried to reach for one more fistful of sand when he was on his side again, his other hand on the nasty open wound that kept spewing out what was left of his life.

The voices were but mumbles - Sniper couldn’t quite place them when he lay still, waiting for the brewing cough to occur. And when it did, energon splashed on the sad, creating a glowing purple web on it. The cough was followed by a whine and a series of broken whistles from his vocalizer.

‘Just back up and and let me try,’ murmured Bee, stepping between the femme at the damaged mech. He thinks you’re here to kill him.’

The scout turned to the green mech on the ground… Bee could hear the jamming internal systems, the whine of locking hydraulics… but he could see the Decepticon insignia on his shoulders. He could also see someone had clawed it half out of his mesh. Bee hummed slightly. What could this mech have done to warrant this kind of punishment? Okay, pissing off the Cons was generally something Autobots could approve of but that wasn’t universal – there was no reason not to assume this mech was a turncoat of killer in his own ranks.

But Bee wasn’t going to be the one to let him die like this. If he was a monster, then Bee would put a round though his head himself, but that would on his feet face to face and armed because he wasn’t a fragging Con. HE wasn’t. Not like Megatron.

‘Hey.’ Bee chirped at the Con. He knelt slowly to eye level with the other mech. ‘I’m not going to hurt you/you need energon/a transfusion.Don’t move, okay?’ He held up his empty hands, EMF flaring with genuine concern. Not going to hurt you/trust me?.’

Sniper’s dimmed optics didn’t focus right.

And the only image he could process was a blurry pair of yellow feet - and then, a glimpse of skyblue. <i>Autobot optics.</i> Sniper’s mouth cracked open, revealing a set of tarnished dental plates. Yet there was no grimace - he could not pull one off in this state, even if he had wanted to. There was only a whine; an attempt to say something - an <i>‘A-’</i> that was left unfinished. The dim optics widened slightly, red light flickering behind them in a broken manner. The spy’s gaze did not focus. He just lay still. Damaged, dying, but still somewhat tense - mostly on the hands which still had movement to them.

He tried to move his legs. Only a sad little stir occurred.

‘It’s okay, don’t move,’ Bee said quietly, EMF shifting, gentling, moving very slowly against the other bot’s. He settled on one knee and extended his hand, chirping. ‘Here just...can you sit still? Just nod/shake your head? I’ve got an anti-viral pack. Can you accept it? That will help.’

Half of the words, Sniper couldn’t register. Error messages kept flashing through his processor and his searches were packed with corrupted and contaminated data. Everything was a mess - inside and out. So, for a moment, Sniper just lay there a silence that indicated him pulling his last resources to react to the Autobot’s words.

<i>Can. You. Sit.</i> A question.
It provoked the spy’s protoform to attempt moving again, despite the fact that he has been told not to do so. Yet, the movement was slow and loose - there wasn’t much of it. Only an arm crawled across the sand. And his broken knee joint gave out an electric interference, which got Sniper to bite his dentals together in pain. There was yet another silence during which he would let his optics dim into a set of faint crimson slits. He didn’t look at the Autobot when he shook his head very weakly. Slightly to the right, slightly to the left - and that was it.

‘It’s okay,’ Bee carefully took the other mech at the elbow, not grabbing him, just touching his arm and pinging a faint emotional query through EMF - Is this alright? - completely open, non-threatening. Bumblebee unpacked the file of scout-class protection programs and transmitted them on shortwave to the fallen mech – it wasn’t much but it would at least get him back up to basic processing power. Bee, as a scout, knew what a hacked mech looked like and this bot had been brutally hacked. ‘Here. Will help.’

Serotype watched the yellow bot close the distance between Sniper and himself. She knew that they were running out of time. But she couldn’t risk scaring Sniper either. She continued her careful approach across the sand. The fact that he hadn’t started flailing around in the Scout’s grip was a good sign. But it wasn’t something she could trust. All it took, more often than not, was the right sort of trigger. She stopped again just behind the brilliant yellow bot.

Whirring slightly, the scout pulled open a medical panel at his wrist to free up an energon line – medical modification for emergency energon transfusion. He took the other mech’s wrist, buzzing softly, ‘I’m not going to hurt you/you need energon. Don’t move, okay?’ He looked back at Serotype. ‘I need your help.’ Because a transfusion would keep him conscious, but he needed field patching.

Then, in comm to Blue ::Hey, Blue, ping Ratchet and let him know we might need a ground bridge and tell Raf not to worry.::

Oh having that femme so close to Bee made Bluestreak nervous but ou had to trust the scout knew what he was doing and simply kept her in hir sights. Sending a quick ping to Ratchet to let the medic they’d need the ground bridge and likely need him to repair the damaged mech they’d found. “Bee says he’s Okay Raf, don’t worry. Besides he has us to guard his back it’ll all turn out okay.”

Sent the ping Bee. For the love of Primus be quick i don’t like that little flier being so close.

Serotype didn’t need instructions on what to do. She was already making all the calculations she needed to get Sniper ready for transport.

“Keep him distracted and keep at least one of your hands over his spark chamber. You’re going to have to keep track of his spark beat,” said Serotype.

She frowned slightly. A transfusion wouldn’t do too much good if she couldn’t control the bleeding. As it was upon getting a better look at Sniper, she knew that she was going to have to do some quick patch jobs on some of the internal mechanisms to keep the lime green spy from dying.

Sniper couldn’t do much to reject the protection programs he was offered. They slid into the middle of the chaos that went on in his system. Despite the scouts good efforts, it was Soundwave’s handy work he was battling against. So still, the dying light in Sniper’s refused to focus. It only flickered in a broken manner like a busted blinker as he lay still on the sand, beneath the calming touch of the Autobot’s EM field. Sniper tried to scan the faint, blurry vision of him, but the effort was only rewarded by a pile of messages roaring error.

But through the chaos of errors and energon loss, Sniper was able to register how his arm was lifted. The luxurious green paint job was tarnished, and the limb was motionless and dead - until Sniper’s unfocused gaze lifted ever so slightly. And barely beating spark in the spy’s chest would almost come to a complete halt when he did. There was … something his system was able to register as a line. A purple shadow that drew on it. And a glisten of something red. Panic flared in his spark chamber, as the virus begun its work in his system. He couldn't see any helpful candy yellow - only tentacles and a cold, emotionless visor. Red optics stirred in their sockets, shaken by horror. The wreck of a Decepticon would begin to cringe and twitch, attempting to crawl away in panic - but he couldn’t.

"No-!" Sniper gasped, his claws digging to the ground, attempting to pull the rest of his body to safety in vain. "Please-!" This time, he was begging. He didn't seem to be in his senses at all. Serotype of all the Decepticons, would able to notice this. "Soundwave-!," Sniper kept gasping, in panic. "No more-!" No more.

THAT was very unexpected. Though her name contained an “S” Serotype was the furthest thing from Soundwave. The fact that Sniper shouted it certainly narrowed down a her diagnosis a bit for sure. And Soundwave’s name also provided a clue as to what may have happened.

“Scout! Keep the patient distracted! Now!” Serotype barked at Bee.

That wasn’t so much a request as it was an order. Currently, she was hoping that the sunshine yellow mech would actually follow it otherwise she couldn’t do her work at all! She still had the sedative in hand. She could certainly out pace an injured mech. She moved quickly across the sand keeping the syringe from view. She could see a space in between the plates on Sniper’s thigh. She needed the yellow scout to create a distraction - NOW!

‘No/calm down/we’re not going to hurt you!’ Bee cried, chirping and whirring with dismay. The scout-bot panicked a little as the injured Con started thrashing around, opening mesh wounds, jarring his already damaged limbs in his fear. The scout-bot lunged forward, fighter’s reflexes making it easier to grab the disoriented mech by the shoulderSniper struggled, sharps claws catching his inner arm and drawing a shallow cut in the mesh. He looped one servo firmly around the back of Con’s neck, gripping him still so Bee could look him in the optics.

‘Please calm down. I’m not going to hurt you/I’m not Soundwave.’ The scout’s broken Cybertronian babble was full of worry and intense sincerity. He tried to hold the other mech still as gently as possible. Bee was going to help this Con. He didn’t care what he’d done, he was going to help him whether it was the smart thing to do or not. Because he was an Autobot. Because it was the right thing to do. Because they needed something... anything... ‘You’re going to hurt yourself/please let me help you. I promise I’m trying to help. Just trust me!’

Serotype placed one hand on Sniper’s leg. With the lime green spy distracted, she jabbed the syringe in between the plates on his thigh and injected it in one fluid motion. There was only enough sedative to relax the mech. Not enough to knock him out entirely. She still needed him awake.

It didn’t really require much, keeping Sniper still. Even if in panic, he was still unable to squirm away, despite the desperate effort that went into it. His optic were opened wide, their gaze terrified and unfocused. The Autobot’s worried whistles went unprocessed by the spy’s messy processor - until a tranquilising wave surged through him. His broken system whined as power went down, causing him to collapse completely to his side, both servos on the sad - one further away from the other, as though he would have still been to crawl away.

The broken Cybertonian dialect flew through his sensors as a cloud of buzzes, whistles and clicks. It took some time for the information specialist's system to dissect it all. 'I'm not Soundwave.’ The spy's mouth cracked open, a very narrow streak of energon running across his chin. 'I promise I'm trying to help.' The red of his optics dimmed slightly, as though he was almost drifting to stasis after the flaring panic had absorbed him of the remaining strength he might have had.

"...I," he uttered slowly, mouthing the single letter for a number of times before it actually slipped out. "...I can't...go back. D...Don't-,"take me back there. And there was a phantom of panic in his voice as he said: "No.." his voice dimmed into a sad little whisper.

‘I wouldn’t do that. ’ Bee’s tone promised it. ‘I’m Bumblebee/Autobot/Scout. I won’t take you back to the Decepticons. ’ He didn’t move for a moment, just sat over the other mech, one hand steadying his helm, the other on his shoulder lest he start thrashing again. Calm had come back into the Con’s deep red stare, even if only for a moment. He showed the Con the bare energon line at his wrist, holding his arm up in front of dazed red optics.

‘ ‘It’s an energon transfusion line. I’m going to direct-feed it into your physical energon lines/no data exchange/no interface,’ ‘explained Bumblebee slowly, clearly as he could in his dialect of basic Cybertronian. He reached for Sniper’s slender wrist, touched the medical paneling on his upper arm, in the armor near his elbow. The paneling had already been torn open, baring the veins and cord beneath. ‘ Here,’ ‘said Bee quietly. ‘I’ll hook up and get you back up to safe levels. Okay/is that okay/won’t do it unless you say.’ ‘ He jerked he head toward Serotype. ‘She’s going to do a field patch. Then I’ll move you so a real medic can look at you.’ ‘

TAG

Serotype narrowed her eyes at the mention of “real medic.” But what was she to expect given the attitude of this bot? She removed some tools from her subspace and looked at the torso injury. The extent of the damage looked nasty. The metal was torn inward and twisted. Some of the lines had been cut clear though while others still had metal stuck inside them. The fuel tank appeared to be crushed about 2/3rds of the way down. If there was one saving grace and there seemed to be only one about this injury, was that the injury was off center missing Sniper’s spine.

“If there’s any good news to come out of this, he won’t be paralyzed from the waist down,” said Serotype.

Her hands moved quickly to start sopping up the excess energon. She was going to have to move fast to stop the bleeding. That was her best chance at this.

“If you can check it, can you tell me how his spark is doing? I suspect it’s not going to be good,” said Serotype.

Finally it was the tranquilizer that kept him motionless, on his side. Only his head stirred a bit, attempting to nod in the weakest manner. Sniper let the scout slide the the transfusion line into his wrist. And once the energon hit his system, he cringed - just for a tiny bit, reacting to the energy, that was not his own. Energon tarnished dentals were bared for a moment, before his expression settled, his optics cracked open again. The red color was growing very weak.

Only whines would occur every now and then, along with slow, pained blinks of his dimly glowing optics. The only further stir that occurred was the one resulted by the purple blur that Sniper was able to register, when Serotype (whom the spy couldn’t recognize) knelt by the wreckage that was his body. Obviously, despite the Autobot’s calming words, Sniper seemed to have difficulties in understanding that Soundwave wasn’t in fact, anywhere near. Such behavior, namely to way his form stirred and his vocalizer gave out a pathetic little <i>‘n-nnn-n’</i> when Serotype touched him, suggested that he might have been dealing with some false sensor feeds.

Bee pulsed his EMF gently against Sniper’s murmuring sub-sonically, his frame vibrating softly ‘It’s okay. Relax. We’re going to fix you, okay?’ Then after a moment, ‘What’s your designation? Can you tell me?’

He supposed the other Decepticon knew, but the point wasn’t knowing it was the asking, getting Sniper to focus on him, hear and feel him. Him. Not Soundwave. He let his signature wavelength run against Sniper’s no doubt fragged sensor array, identifying him in electromagnetics, unique as a human finger print. It was an unusually comforting tactic, not one most mechs shared unless the other mech was known, but if Sniper was getting pain-data feeding back across his sensor grid then he could probably use the distraction.

Energon was running from the shallow cut in his arm, just above the medical port in his arm. Sniper’s panic having laid the mesh open in the vulnerable gap at the cook of his elbow. He didn’t much pay it mind though. He looked at Serotype, optics flickering. ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly. ‘For helping him... not many Con’s would. Which did beg the question: Why are you? But he wasn’t inclined to look a gift medic in the mouth.

She had to clamp a few lines and attempt a patch on them in order to keep the bleeding down. She wouldn’t be able to fix the crushed half of the fuel tank. That was going to take tools she didn’t have on her. But she could patch around some of the other injuries. She didn’t dare pull out the metal shards that were cutting in to any of the lines. For the moment, they were acting as stoppers.

Serotype was so absorbed in her work that she almost failed to notice Bumblebee’s words of thanks to her. It was the first nice thing he had actually said. She glanced at him from the corner of her optic.

“You’re welcome,” said Serotype.

She continued to work on Sniper’s injury.

“I do not know who you have as a medic but they will need to be a skilled surgeon in order for this mech to survive,” said Serotype calmly.

<i>’It’s okay. Relax.</i>

Should Sniper have been in his full senses he would have wondered about the kindness he was being given by this yellow blur he presumed to be an Autobot. The only kind of kindness he had ever expected from an Autobot would be the kind that involved one putting him out of his misery.But as his processor was almost too clouded even for this fractured thought to occur, it took a moment or two for him to answer any questions Bumblebee had chirped. There were a couple of slow, silent whines that poured out of his vocalizer before any actual words occurred. And once they did, his words didn't seem very oriented, nor were they loud, but from the static, his voice emerged:

"D...Designation...Sniper," he uttered, his claws flexing lightly on the ground as he spoke.

‘Sniper,’ repeated Bee in a friendly tone, aware suddenly of his own sniper perched all deadly and irritated up the top of the ridge, no doubt fixing to put a bullet between some bot’s optic sensors. Bluestreak surely didn’t like this set up and neither did Bee. While the femme did her work on Sniper’s wounds, Bee spoke slowly, hoping the anti-viral pack was helping disseminate his words into something understandable for Sniper.

‘I’m going to get you somewhere I can help you, but I need to move/carry you to do that,’ said Bumblebee carefully. The little scout-bot tilted his head a little. ‘I need you to tell me why you’re out here/convince me. Taking you back is a risk/I need to be sure so tell me what you did and while Soundwave did this to you. I know it’s hard but you need to give me something.’ Bee’s voice was tense, strange syllables spliced with worry and apprehension – the fear this would all prove itself another trap, prove him completely naïve. ‘Why are you out here, Sniper?’

Serotype kept an audio out for what Sniper was going to say as she worked. The more information she had to work with, the better.

Sniper was in no condition to object to the Autobot’s suggestion of taking him somewhere. And even with a broken processor, Sniper could come to the conclusion that it was the infamous Autobot base that he discussed. Still, given the ‘Bots kind chirping, even his base seemed a lot more welcoming than the Nemesis - or the desert, at that. Or rather, it would have seemed, if Sniper was in a condition to carry out a thought in such detail.

"I..," the red of his optics, that peeked from behind his faceplate as two thin streaks, flickered faintly. As though he was trying to keep himself from falling stasis. "I..took information...files," he managed to continue. "...left a trail," he whispered. "...Megatron," slight trace of panic rose back to the dimming red. He attempted to move his limbs, but they weren't responding quite right. Only a very slight stir occurred.

Serotype had been keeping an audio on the conversation. She raised an eyebrow at it as she got the larger mesh patches for the torso wound. She had finished patching up the interior to stop the bleeding. Although Sniper did need to see a surgeon.

She was certain she knew what kinds of files were stolen by Sniper if the events leading up to yesterday’s quarantine episode were anything to go by. If Megatron were suspicious (or anyone with close affiliations with him such as Soundwave), she started to mentally question if she should go back. Could she go back even if she wanted to? As she patched up the surface wounds, the questions lingered in her mind.

‘You don’t have to worry about him anymore,’ chirped Bee flatly, grimly. He watched Serotype apply her repair patches a moment, keeping an eye on her as much as track the speedy progress. A few more mesh grafts and he’d be stable enough to move the short distance to Ratchet’s med bay. ‘You’re under Autobot protection. No one is going to hurt you, Sniper. I promise/swear/mean it.’

He pinged Bluestreak. ::Be ready to move with Raf. We’re almost done here.::

Then he looked to Serotype. ‘His energon levels seem to be rising. He’s not losing it like he was before.’ His tonal glyphs took an anxious upturn. ‘Is it safe/okay to move him?’

Serotype glanced over at Bumblebee as she was starting to check for fractures that needed bracing. She was almost certain that there was a damaged femural strut just above Sniper’s injured knee. She turned back to look at Sniper’s leg and gingerly removed the casing just a little for a peek inside.

“Damaged femural strut,” she muttered.

She closed up the casing and applied a brace to the area.

“He will be okay as soon as I’m done here. I’ve managed to stop the bleeding. But that’s just temporary patch work. He’s going to need to see your medic,” said Serotype.

As soon as she applied the brace, she replied again.

“Done. He’s ready for transport,” said Serotype.

However, she was far from done. It was almost as if another voice had entered her mind. Like another presence only that presence wasn’t of external origin. It was purely internal. Was it because of Hoff being so close to the area? Was it because of perceived threats in the area? Or was simply survival more important? Serotype didn’t have the answers right now. But what she did know was that her mind seemed to have taken a back seat as her hands seemed to have almost moved on their own accord to remove the container containing a clear odorless liquid from her subspace. The liquid was not a sterilizing agent but the new NDG virus. The one she was supposed to inject Bumblebee with.

Serotype splashed it over her hands as the mech fluids and energon was washed from her hands and was replaced with something far more dangerous. She looped one of her arms under Sniper’s legs.

“Would you like a hand with him?” she asked.

Sniper’s claws drew lines into the sand as they closed into a very loose fist. There was no particular expression on his face aside from the one that carried the weary tones of agony and panic. He was struggling to stay online.

"An...Auto...bot?" Sniper uttered weakly. A silence fell, and it was tailed by the most important question of all: "...why?" His unfocused optics suggested him to be pretty much out of this reality by now.

‘I’m not doing this because I’m an Autobot/not a Decepticon,’ said Bee quietly. ‘I’m doing it because you’re hurt.’ He opened his comm with Bluststreak, ::Tell Ratchet to deploy ground bridge now.::

Watching Bee and the Decepticon Femme repair the injured mech had been a test of Bluestreaks will. Ou did not trust her and each movement could become an attack on hir friend. So seeing her lift the mech and had him over to Bee was something of a relief. Not that ou ever moved from position with hir sniper rifle.
:: Please tell me we can go home now Bee.::

::Yeah. We’re out of here.::

The ground bridge was spiraling open behind them, the soft aquamarine spin of light whirling into existence, stirring the hot Nevada sand. The scout bot hesitated, blitzed by the crush of real indecision – he was really going to do this? Bring a Con into the Autobot base? He’d be a prisoner, he wouldn’t be permitted to figure out their location, they’d have him under lock and key and he was legitimately slagged. Bee had run all the necessary security protocols, he’s checked the Con’s systems, no trackers or clever ploys – just a wrecked mech in the middle of the desert. And Bee could delay and leave him here or he could get him to base now and he’d live.

In those terms, it wasn’t really a choice at all then. The scout looped an arm around the bright green mech, moving to take his legs from the femme Con.

‘I’ll carry you,’ said Bumblebee, then looked to the slight femme across from him. ‘I’ll take him from here.’ A pause. ‘And thank you.’

As Bumblebee moved to scoop Sniper’s legs, Serotype’s hand gently grazed the open wound on his arm. It hadn’t escaped her notice. She had seen that wound before. It still felt warm with fluid and entirely fresh. She was careful to make this grazing movement with her fingers as unnoticeable as possible and yet enough to at least get the virus in to the candy yellow mech’s system. It was gentle, subtle, deadly. And yet, no one but Serotype herself knew the truth. She knew what she had just done. She knew she had just sealed his fate. The mission objective was completed.

She slid her arms away and let Bumblebee take on the weight. As she slid away she couldn't help but to look at him. She made eye contact.

“You’re welcome. Just... get him far away from here. As it is, we are all in trouble for being here and even more so the longer we stay in this very spot. I suspect we have less than an hour before patrols show up,” said Serotype.

Bee nodded, briefly, then gestured Blue come down with Raf. The two of them and Bumblebee carrying Sniper took the groundbridge back to the Autobot base where the scout suspected there would be quite a lot of yelling waiting for him, but Bumblebee didn’t care. They’d lost Barricade, their only lead and Opitmus seemed shaken. Someone needed to do something now and beyond the tactical... Bee wasn’t going to behave like a Decepticon just because he had one trying to dig through his head.

“You’re going to have a lot of explaining to do,” said Raf quietly, looking up at Bee as the ground bridge light washed out the canyon and desert stone behind them. “Ratchet is probably going to be mad.”

‘He’s always mad,’ said Bee jokingly. ‘But I’d appreciate the both of you vouching for me if you could.’ It was going to be a long evening.