Ep 0 -Out of the frying pan-- Open

The sudden and violent interruption to Optimus' already turbulent thoughts nearly had Optimus' battle protocols roaring to life. He only just managed to catch himself before accidentally blasting a hole in the little mech his systems were only half registering as ally. When what Bee had actually ~said~ finally registered, it was as if the bottom of his tank had simply fallen from his chassis. He could only stand before the scout, spark pulsing as if it had been physically torn in half.

He wanted to know the same thing. He wanted to know why he'd hesitated, why he felt he felt so conflicted about leveling his weapon at his enemy's head, why the ~matrix~ had whispered to him, stilled his hand and allowed the mech to escape. He was trying to protect his people, their way of life. That was Right, was it not?

The blood and gruesome images of the dark primes and their massive slaughter campaigns carried out in the name of Primus flashed though his mind once again, unbidden. Mechblood splattered against walls as mech were forced to their knees and had their sparks shot out. The way they cried out, for mercy, for justice echoed in Prime's audios, almost as if he had been there, were there now. Bodies littered the ground and it had all been in the name of 'Right'. He couldn't tell if it was the Matrix or his own spark that throbbed.

'It wasn't that,' he once again told the Matrix, told himself. 'I was protecting my people. He was an enemy, this is war.'

It didn't stop the ache.

'Then why did you let him go?' Another part of him asked. He didn't have an answer for it.

Then another memory, this time one of his own, from a news feed he'd seen, long, long ago, one that, in another lifetime, had insensed him to the point of spuring him to rise from his established position and fight for justice and mercy, flashed before his mind's eye and he cringed inward.

'Hyprocrite..'

To Bumblebee he also said nothing, couldn't say anything, could only stare blank opticed past the mech standing before him as his mind warred and his spark split in two.

He was their leader, their ~Prime~, the avatar of their god. His word should have been law, his actions indisputable.A single word from him should have sent his men scrambling to obey, an angry look should have had them cowering,Actually questioning his actions unthinkable, not simply treason, but blasphemy! The Prime answered to no one, for anything! A Prime of the past might have struck Bumblebee across the mouth for his insolence, never mind the subordination of his military position!

Optimus could only cringe from the reproach.

He'd heard these words before, once, from another beloved friend.

The past and the present swam before Optimus' mind, swirling up memories and emotions he'd long thought put to rest. His mouth parted, but no reply came forth. It was true maybe. Maybe this was his fault. Maybe he could have, should have stopped all this long ago. A bullet, a word, a touch, all things he should have employed vorns upon vorns ago.

"I did not let him go," the words seemed flat even as they slipped from his lips, an excuse, a denial of who he was and what he should have been able to do.

The memory of the matrix staying of his hand seemed to leave him as shame filled him.

‘Not nearly,’ chirped Bumblebee viciously. He could barely see through the rage clustered around his spark, fogging his head with heat and frustration. His EMF spiked with the underpinnings of what could have been hatred and that terrified him... but he couldn’t seem to shut himself up, the words like a tank purge forcing themselves out and out of him. He shouted at Optimus over the stop of Arcee, grabbing her shoulder as if to shove her out of the way but only standing there, EMF spiking hostile at their leader.

‘You should have killed/slagged/fragged him when you had the chance! You saw/heard what he did to Bluestreak/so many others! I don’t believe he just ‘got away’ and if he did it was because you were to slow/soft/weak to do what you should have done the moment Barricade refused to cooperate!’ Bee shook his head furiously, doorwings rattling. ‘You can always be relied on to listen to reason but never relied on to do what’s necessary!’

The sudden commotion helped snap Prime back to reality.

"Arcee," he began, reaching for the femme who stood between him and Bumblebee, tense and bristling. Like a guard dog. The thought stuck him as rather humorous, in a strangely distant and not-actually-funny way-- a femme half his size trying to bodily protect him, the Prime, from a small yellow mechling scout. Ridiculous really.

It might have been amusing had the situation not been real. Or spiraling down hill as fast as it was. The hallway already reeked of frustration and anger, a chaotic miasma of flaring EMF and emotion. "Stop," He tried again, pulling Arcee back just as Bulkhead arrived to snatch and shake the yellow mech, both growling, fuming, ready to physically tear into one another. The breath caught in Prime's vents as Bulkhead struck Bumblebee. Surreal. Like watching a car crash happen in front of him, like the first time he'd ever stood in the middle of a war zone, gun fire, pavement exploding around him and scoring his frame, yelling, screaming, far away, muted, ringing in his ears next to him...his men dieing around him....

It was heading before his eyes, the tension. He could see the barely constrained volatility that had been boiling inside his mech's for days and days finally begin to rupture, his team actually about to turn on one another and rip each other apart from fear and confusion.
He remembered the gun fire....

And he shook himself. For his men.

"ENOUGH," The voice was power, one fit to command legions, the subharmonics enough to shake mountains. His own field flared sharply easily overpowering the wild confusion of the others'. He rumbled deeply, pushing Arcee aside and striding forward to break Bulkhead's grasp on Bee's neck. "Enough of this!" He glared at them all. "Yes, horrible things have happened, and could possibly happen still. Yes, we are all uneasy with what the future may bring, we may all very well be extinguished TOMORROW, but we CANNOT allow this to break us apart! The moment we turn on one another is the moment Megatron wins. All we have fought for will have been for naught!"

He didn't know from where he pulled the strength as he turned to Bumblebee. " My intentions were never to let Barricade go. He escaped," He hesitated slightly before adding, "Due to the Matrix's intervention. I do not have an answer to "why", nor is such a question yours to ask."

It was only as he paused to collect himself that he realized his battle mask had raised at some point. Briefly shuttering his optics in what outwardly appeared to be a slow blink, he drew a focusing breath.

"Bumblebee, return to your quarters and wait there. I will request that Ratchet run several more scans on you. You DO appear to still be under Megatron's influences, regardless of the blocks in place."

To Bulkhead, "You struck an ally, one of your own rank whom you had no authority over. Even had you been his superior, you very well know I do not condone such behavior. You will apologize to your teammate then immediately relieve whoever is on monitory duty. I will send someone for you when I deem it appropriate."

Bee didn’t move or say anything. The impact of the Bulkhead’s strike, like a note off a tuning fork, had terminated through his whole frame making him unbearably aware of his armor plating anchored into the endo-structures of his frame-type, hydraulic and neural lines linked up inside him – he woke up a stranger in his own frame and for a moment felt he could not navigate the strange design of his own body. This moment passed in less than a tenth of a second but the scout shook himself and whirred, shaken, optics flaring bright, EMF spiking with a raw horror.

‘Yes, Optimus.’ Bee’s Basic didn’t rise above barely audible levels. There was a shaky sub-sonic in the broken tones of his voice. He did not particularly register that Bulkhead had struck him and certainly not that the ex-Wrecker had done him any wrong. He was reviewing everything he’d just said that the fact his own words kinds of horrified him was reason enough to just shut up and do as told. ‘I’ll wait for Ratchet.’

Arcee knew the lore surrounding a Prime Command. Few bots could withstand, dismiss, or ignore the Command of a true Prime. A frightening thought it would be to some. Arcee was silently grateful to only experiencing the fullness of her Prime's Command Authority sporadically as she was currently flatten and subdued by Prime's EMF flare out, over washing the jumbled fields concentrated in the room.

Full attention to the words being spoken, hindered, the reprimanded Autobots departed to their own spaces. She remained rooted to her spot, unable to move, as she was temporarily forgotten. All threats daring to tear apart the team were addressed for the time being, except the one concern troubling Arcee the greatest.

Prime's sudden faltering and sagging frame brought Arcee to the present reality and rushed toward his side without delay, paying no heed to Prime's reluctant glances to her direction. Too late, Arcee wasn't going to let her Prime divert her from seeing to his well being.

"Pri-I mean, Optimus," she corrected herself, sighing an internal vent, gently placed her own servo on his forearm.

"When did you last refuel sufficiently," Arcee asked firmly, hoping to drag Prime someplace more private than the base hallways.