Ep. 1 - Communication of Sentence - (Closed)

[Deleted]

Set during Week Four, the same night as "Much Ado"!

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The call came, as so many of those from the medical bay were inclined to, in the middle of the night.

It did not arrive through Red Alert's terminal, but rather as a private comm issued to the Security Director himself. It announced itself with an apologetic clime in his audials before the Chief Medical Officer's voice rang through the line, as gruff and brusque as ever.

"Red Alert, this is Ratchet," he said. "I apologise for the lateness of this call, but I was hoping to speak with you before the night ends. Could you meet me in the medi- no, actually, now that I think of it, not in the medical bay. There's a storage room on the west side of the base that should be empty at this time. I'll send you its location now; few of the others know about it. Will you meet me there within the next ten minutes? I have a potentially urgent concern I need to speak with you about."

It was currently a little after midnight. The Omega base was quiet and dimly lit, caught in the middle of one of its usual nightly patrol rotations. A ping from Ratchet brought with it a small data packet detailing the location of the storage room. It looked to be an old decontamination area, back from the days when the base had served as an active missile silo. Red Alert would need to travel along a long underground tunnel to get there, but it was large enough to admit a mech of his size.

An awfully out of the way place for the medic to call a meeting.

[Deleted]

To the surprise of absolutely no one who knew thing one about the mech, Red Alert was watching the monitors when Ratchet’s call reached him. He had been settled back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, which was marred by a long, raised weld that was slowly but surely fading as the days went on and his auto-repair systems set themselves to work on the wound. They had their work cut out for them; in addition to the cut across his chest, there were several more across his face, trailing off into his helm. They too were noticeably raised, the welds fresh and still in need of time to heal. Thankfully they were shallow enough that they wouldn’t scar, but due to how taxed his auto-repair systems were with restoring his other injuries, they would take longer to fade than Red Alert would have preferred.

He was not a vain mech, and honestly did not care much for what he looked like so long as he looked professional and presentable, so he wasn’t concerned with his looks being damaged. Disfigurement wasn’t an idea that bothered him overmuch, so long as he remained functional and unhindered - he simply didn’t want the mech who gave him those wounds to have the satisfaction of leaving a permanent mark. It was bad enough the fragger had injured him so severely he had required surgical work spanning a period of double-digit hours; the last thing Red Alert wanted was for there to be lingering proof of what the mech had done to him.

The accumulative damage had been...more severe than he would have liked to admit. If Ratchet had his way, Red Alert had no doubt he would still be in the medbay, gradually losing his sanity as he stared up at the ceiling and wondered how lying around doing nothing when he had work to do was supposed to help him heal faster. He honestly had no idea how anyone could lie about being idle for as long as he had without being driven up the walls, down them, and then back up again--despite the fact he had only been in the medbay for about 7 days. Two for surgeries, five for mandatory bedrest, during which time he likely drove Ratchet up the wall himself by continuously insisting that he was fine and that he was perfectly capable of getting back to work, thank you very much.

It wasn’t until the seventh day that he finally managed to convince the medic that he was actually healthy enough to release, but even then, it was on the condition that he take things easy for a while: cut his work hours in half, not participate in any even remotely strenuous activity, and actually recharge like a normal person for once in his life. That last part had been delivered in a somewhat scolding manner, as the medic knew EXACTLY just how much sleep he wasn’t getting, and was not about to let him forget it.

That being said, when Ratchet commed him over his personal line, Red Alert fully expected the mech to chastise him for being awake and order him to bed under the threat of being confined to the medbay once more.

Needless to say, he was both relieved and concerned when this proved not to be the case. The former because he was just not in the mood to be lectured again on his poor sleeping habits, the latter because...well, the medic’s request was highly unusual. The fact that it was also a possibly urgent matter he wished to speak to him about didn’t help matters either, as it really did not take much prompting to make Red Alert feel concerned. It was just in his nature.

Frowning slightly at the monitors in front of him, Red Alert unfolded his arms and gingerly pushed himself to his feet, wincing slightly as his right arm reminded him that it did not like to be moved.

::I’ll be there:: He replied shortly, as he pulled up the base’s map on his HUD and double-checked the location of the storage room Ratchet wished to meet him in.

He already knew the ins and outs of the base by heart, having long since traveled up and down its corridors, committing every inch of the place to memory, but he still felt the need to check. You know, just in case.

Thankfully, the walk to the storage room was not a long one. It was relatively close to the security center, so within a mere 3 kliks he arrived outside its doors, and a moment later, stepped inside to meet with Ratchet.

[Deleted]

The decontamination room was big and echoing, even by their standards. What had once been four clean, cold white tile walls were now caked in dust and pitted, the corners damp with mildew. Two white tile pillars supported the weight of the ceiling and the earth above. Massive power conduits ran horizontally along the back wall. They droned.

High overhead the rows of fluorescent lights crackled. So this area had working electricity, at least. Perhaps not for long. No one every came back to this room. There was little need to.

The floor beneath Red Alert’s feel was scuffed, the tiles cracked in places where grime had accumulated, marking the spots where heavy equipment or machinery had once rested. The room had been mostly stripped however, likely when the missile site had been decommissioned.

Ratchet stood in one corner of the room. The medic had bent to read an old instructional sign still attached to the back wall. His white painted blended into the snowy white tiles; only his optics and red accents stood out.

When he heard Red Alert’s footsteps he straightened and turned around. His critical gaze lingered over the healing marks on the Security Director’s frame before he looked up again, his expression sombre.

“Red Alert, thank you for responding so quickly,” he said “I’ve asked Fortress to join us as well; he should be here shortly. He knows at least part of what I’m going to tell you, though the rest of it I’d prefer to keep between the three of us and Optimus until I’ve gotten your feedback. It’s a potential security issue that belongs in your jurisdiction rather than mine, I’m afraid.”

[Deleted]

Red Alert carefully pretended he didn’t notice Ratchet eyeing his injuries, in the hope that if he didn’t acknowledge anything having to do with them, the medic would take the hint and wouldn’t bring the subject up in conversation. He knew it was probably a lost cause given the mech in question, but still, if it could possibly him spare himself the medic’s critical optics and concerned questioning, he’d try just about anything. Though he appreciated Ratchet’s concern for his health, he could never comfortably discuss his medical issues, particularly since most discussions ended up dissolving into lectures regarding his poor sleeping habits, or they turned towards...rather sensitive subjects. Subjects which weren’t always handled with the care they needed. Though he doubted Ratchet was quite as crass and tactless as some of the mecha he had the misfortune of speaking with in the past, he had reached the point where he was wary of bringing the topic up at all, lest he set himself up to have it be grossly mishandled.

Thankfully, Ratchet did not preface whatever discussion he called him in to have with a request to know how he was faring. Instead, the medic jumped straight into business, taking only a brief pause to glance at his welds to make sure they were still holding well, before diving right to the matter at hand.

The moment the words “security issue” reached Red Alert’s audios he immediately straightened, his optics brightening slightly as he gave Ratchet his full attention.

“What’s the problem?” He asked, jumping straight to the chase himself. Try though he might, he couldn’t quite keep the faint hint of concern out of his tone.

If there was a potential security threat, anything that might possibly cause problems for the residents of the outpost, he wanted to know about it--needed to know about it. As soon as possible. Preferably immediately.

...Preferably yesterday.

[Deleted]

Ratchet frowned.

“Earlier today we picked up two more Autobots, as I’m sure you’re already aware,” he said. “They’re currently residing in the medbay, possibly still quibbling over who requires repairs and who can stoically endure.”

The medic snorted. He could understand and sympathize with wariness to a degree, but beyond that he was also a sensible bot who believed that practicality trumped it.

“Frankly, I’m a little tired of the drama. I’ve given what assistance they have allowed me to perform and I’ve got them under medical surveillance now. If anyone should take a turn for the worse I will be ready to go into surgery at a moment’s notice. Fortress, how long have you been standing there for?”

Fortress Maximus quietly loomed in the doorway. While Red Alert’s keen sensors may have detected the big mech’s arrival, it was evident that Ratchet had not.

“Sorry,” he said. “I heard drama mentioned and thought I’d stop to listen. Is this about our two new arrivals?”

“Yes, it is, come in.” Ratchet waved him forward. “I’ve uncovered something unsettling about them I felt it wise to inform you both of.”

Maximus stepped inside with an affable nod to Red Alert. The tank looked tired but his manner was calm.

“How serious is it?” he said.

“I’m not certain. Therein lies my concern. I had some red flags get raised when I scanned their Autobot ID codes earlier today. Red Alert.”

Ratchet looked at Red squarely. His expression was grave.

“I know the databases we brought from Cybertron aboard the Ark are incomplete and in many cases badly corrupted,” he said. “But for how would a criminal record flag be attached to an ID code after the destruction of our civil records back home?”

[Deleted]

Red Alert did not feel the need to tell Ratchet that the two new arrivals were, in fact, still squabbling like children. He could hear them all the way in the medbay, bickering back and forth, making comments that were eyebrow-raising, to say the least. He had yet to actually met the mecha in person, but from what he had been able to gather just from overhearing their conversations, he had the feeling the three of them would likely not get along well. It certainly didn’t help that the urgent matter Ratchet had called him down to discuss apparently revolved around the two mechs, either.

Of course they had caused some sort of issue within their first eight hours on base. Because of course they did. Primus forbid the new recruits ever not bring trouble along with them to the outpost.

Shaking his head, Red Alert resigned himself to a long future of dealing with recalcitrant, troublesome soldiers, before glancing over his shoulder at Fortress Maximus, as if he was just now noticing his presence. In reality, he had known the mech was there from the moment he arrived, and he had heard him coming even before that. He just had enough tact to not constantly remind people that--so long as they were within sensor-range--he was aware of where they were, where they were going, and sometimes even what they were doing.

Red Alert returned the larger mech’s nod in greeting, before drawing his attention back to Ratchet, the corners of his mouth turning downward slightly in concern. Something was wrong with the new arrivals’ codes - something worrisome enough to warrant a late-night meeting. Red Alert had dozens of guesses as to what it could be, and unfortunately, one of them just had to be the correct assumption.

He very carefully did not look at Fortress Maximus after the words “criminal record” left Ratchet’s vocoder. As worried as he was as to how the ex-warden would take that news, he knew better than to acknowledge the very obvious elephant in the room. After clearing his throat, to break the awkward silence that had fallen in the wake of the medic’s words, Red Alert favored Ratchet with a somber expression.

“Generally speaking, criminal record flags are meant to be permanent, unless the person in question has been exonerated due to a miscarriage of justice, or granted amnesty. Otherwise, they're meant to stay embedded in their code, regardless if the record of their crime is still intact.”

He spared a glance up at Fortress Maximus, to see if the mech had anything to add, given this was a territory he was likely more familiar with.

[Deleted]

Maximus had gone still. He did not meet the Security Director’s gaze, nor did he look at anyone else in the room. He stared ahead, stiff and unresponsive.

“Then we have a problem,” said Ratchet sombrely. “All I was able to gain from my scan of their codes was a positive ID of their names and Autobot status, and the red flag warning of their criminal records. Nothing else.”

He shook his head and threw up his hands in disgust. ”My access to our incomplete database is woefully restricted in the medical bay. I am unable to bring up any pertinent or substantial information on either mech – what crime they were arrested for, how long their original sentence was, where they were incarcerated...”

The medic trailed off. He grimaced and rubbed his jaw, his optics cutting to the side. This time it was his turn to avoid looking at the silent mech standing at the back of the room.

“Actually, that’s not entirely true,” he said. “The red flag – it contains two identifiers. One marks the time and date that sentencing was passed. Another ’stamp’ was added after each prisoner was processed at the penitentiary. That stamp, the second one – it bears a Garrus identifier.”

[Deleted]

Red Alert did not like to think poorly of Fortress Maximus. He respected the mech, found him to be competent, diligent in his duties, and altogether easier to get along with than many of the other inhabitants of the outpost. However, despite the high regard he favored the mech with, there were times where he just couldn’t help but feel as if he were standing next to a ticking time bomb, just waiting to go off. This, unfortunately, was one of those times.

He tensed slightly as Ratchet spoke, partly because the lack of information available to them regarding their new arrivals was concerning, and partly because he was uncertain how Fortress Maximus would respond, now that their criminal records were brought to light. One did not need to do much deductive work to realize that a mech of Fortress’...ah, background, would likely not take well to ex-convicts, regardless of their crimes. Red Alert could only hope, for the sake of everyone involved, that the two mechs squabbling away in the medbay had not done something particularly heinous. He doubted they would have been accepted into the Autobot Ranks if they had, but these were desperate times they were living in, and there was always the possibility that a less scrupulous officer had bent the rules in order to add two desperately needed soldiers to their low numbers.

However, only time, and extensive research and data-bank scouring, would tell if the convicts had been imprisoned for crimes that should have barred them from recruitment. Until they knew for certain...well, he had the feeling neither he nor Fortress Maximus would be doing much sleeping. Red Alert had come to this conclusion shortly after Ratchet first began speaking, but once the mech trailed off and glanced to the side, he knew something was about to be said to further reinforce his suspicions.

As usual, he wasn’t wrong. As usual, he wished he had been.

Garrus. The word was like a bomb; wherever it was dropped, it left a sense of dread and a deafening silence in its wake. Particularly when spoken in front of Fortress Maximus. Though he did not want to make the other mech feel uncomfortable by shifting his focus onto him, Red Alert could not help but pass a worried glance his way, before quickly diverting his gaze back to Ratchet. The tension in the room was palpable, stifling. They all knew what the word “Garrus” meant to Fortress Maximus, though no one was about to say as much out loud, or even acknowledge that the two had anything to do with each other. The subject was clearly not one open for discussion.

Clearing his throat to break the uncomfortable silence that had fallen over the room, Red Alert crossed his arms over his chest, his fingers drumming restlessly against his upper-arm in a weak attempt to expel his sudden rush of nervous energy.

“Well.” He began, attempting to direct the conversation towards a less...volatile subject. “That narrows things down - it’s not much to go on, but at least it gives us an idea where to start.”

[Deleted]

Evidently Ratchet was glad to change the subject as well. He quickly nodded.

"You're right - a slim lead is better than nothing, I suppose," he said.

The medic folded his hands together behind his back and slowly paced, his gaze lowered to the floor. He mused, "I'm afraid I will be of little help to you from here on out. Even the precious few medical records brought with us after the Exodus were corrupted. I've done what I can to integrate human technology into what tech of our own we managed to scavenge from the Ark, but the results are piecemeal at best. I'm afraid my files will never be fully restored."

He shook his head in disgust. "And I simply don't have the clearance to access any of the higher-level security databases we do have. I understand that it is a difficult task given the circumstances, and I regret the need to add to your workload by dumping all of this on to your desk, but any information you can dig up regarding the two Autobots currently residing in my medical bay would be greatly appreciated. I was the one to make the call to bring them on board. I suppose that now makes me an old mech looking to reassure himself that he did not make that decision in error."

Ratchet stopped and looked at Red Alert. He offered the Security Director a tight-lipped smile that was both grim and apologetic.

And at the back of the room, Maximus said, "No."

Startled, Ratchet looked around. "Max?"

The former warden stood in stiff-legged silence behind them, his fists closed and his jaw clenched. A slow boiling anger fumed off his field as he spoke, his voice low.

"No," he grated. "No - no, they are not staying here."

[Deleted]

Red Alert was all too aware of how difficult it was to trace records, when so many databases were lost, difficult to gain access to, or damaged to the point where the information they once held was scattered and scrambled, nearly impossible to decipher. Files were lost and corrupted, some were incorrectly translated or hastily copied over, thus making it difficult to ascertain whether the information they held was even correct any longer. Despite this, Red Alert was more than willing to dedicate himself to the task, and he would have said as much to Ratchet had Fortress Maximus not been quicker to the draw.

Red Alert couldn’t help but tense up a bit at the sound of Maximus’ voice, his shoulders squaring and his back straightening in subconscious preparation for---well, for things to take a drastic turn south. Shifting, Red Alert turned around to face Fortress maximus, pale optics looking him up and down, taking note of his stiff body-language, his clenched fists, and his less-than-pleased expression. He didn’t need to pick up on those subtle clues to know the mech was entirely opposed to what was going on - the anger boiling in his field broadcasted that loudly enough for even the most dense mecha to pick up on.

“Fortress,” Red Alert began, his tone far calmer than he actually felt. “I understand your...concerns.”

Concerns. It was the closest he could get to acknowledging Maximus’ discomfort with the situation without actively alluding to the source of it.

“--But we can’t turn them away without just cause. Believe me, I’m not exactly thrilled with the situation either, but like it or not, they’re Autobots.”

He paused, glancing over to Ratchet briefly to see whether or not he had anything to add, before continuing. “At least, they are until we have proof they were recruited under illegitimate circumstances.”

He added the last part simply to assuage Fortress Maximus’ growing anger, to give him reason to not protest further against the presence of the two new arrivals until their backgrounds could be more thoroughly investigated. It was Red Alert’s hope that, so long as he was reminded of the possibility that they might be legally ejected from base in the future, Fortress Maximus might be swayed from taking action against them in the present.

He didn’t want to believe that Fortress would go off on a fellow Autobot, but given the circumstances...it would be best for everyone involved to not eliminate any possibilities.

[Deleted]

Ratchet frowned.

"Red Alert is right," he said. "I acknowledge the danger they could represent to us if they are indeed fugitives, Max. Red and I both understand the risk all too well. But it doesn't change the fact that they are still Autobots, and that they at least deserve a fair chance at proving themselves worthy of the badge they carry."

"Autobots," snarled Maximus. "Autobots!"

The big mech turned. He jerkily swung his arm around and jabbed a finger at the doorway behind him, at the darkened silo beyond that. When he spoke again his voice trembled.

"I kept Autobots at the penitentiary as well," he said. "Imprisoned for murder, for civilian executions, spark transplants, morphcore harvests, torture - the worst of the worst. For the sake of the war effort I couldn't even talk about the severity of the crimes committed by our own forces that came through my front door. Do you know the difference between and Autobot and a Decepticon spark when it's been extracted and suspended in a whiteout vacuum? Nothing! Nothing at all! The fact that these two wear the same red badge as we do means nothing when they also wear a convict's red mark beside it. Nothing!"

Whatever rage had taken hold of the warden now spurred him forward. With a heavy tread Maximus bore down on Red Alert and Ratchet, his red optics burning.

"Fortress..." said Ratchet warningly.

Maximus ignored him. His irate gaze fixed on Red Alert as he loomed over the security director.

"You're not thrilled about this?" he said. "Then stand by me on this one. Throw the two of them out, now! Get them out of this base, before they get loose and turn on us. Damn it! They know where the base is. We'll have to kill them."

"Fortress!"

[Deleted]

Red Alert would be lying if he said he hadn’t expected this, to some degree. Though he generally thought well of Fortress Maximus, believed him to be skilled, competent, and generally reasonable, he couldn’t deny that the mech was...troubled. To put things mildly. Red Alert could only begin to imagine what the mech had experienced, what had been done to him to make him respond so violently, so irrationally, when he was otherwise a calm and level-headed mech.

This was not the Fortress Maximus Red Alert knew.

He had been taken aback when the mech first spoke, his words snarled out as he jerked his arm towards the door to gesture out towards the other end of the silo where the source of his outrage resided. Red Alert’s optics brightened, widening in alarm as the larger mech continued to speak, his voice trembling as he went on to describe the various horrors and atrocities committed by mecha who once bore the Autobot brand. It was not the crimes themselves that disturbed him, nor the knowledge that they were committed by their own comrades; it was the vehemence with which Fortress Maximus spoke, the rage that consumed him and his words as he went on and on.

Without warning, the mech stormed towards his comrades, red optics burning. Somehow, Red Alert managed to hold his ground and resist the urge to take a step back as the larger mech approached. He was quick to dismiss the chilling reminder that this was the second time in little over a week that he had a pair of outraged red optics glaring down at him, and remind himself that this was Fortress he was dealing with, not Flatline. An Autobot, not a Decepticon.

He might have been a little more successful in convincing himself not to feel threatened by Fortress Maximus if the mech hadn’t gone on to insist that their new arrivals be killed. That is what made Red Alert finally take a step back, not out of fear, but to balk, to stare up at the other mech with an incredulous expression, unwilling to believe the words that had just been spoken.

“Max.” He was not in the habit of shortening names, but this was no time for strict adherence to formalities. “Are you listening to yourself?”

He swept an arm out towards the mech, ignoring the twinge of pain the motion invoked as his shoulder throbbed in protest.

“You are advocating murder. Of mecha who, for all you know, are innocent. You of all people should know how the law worked back on Cybertron, how corrupt the legal system was. It’s entirely possible it was their caste not their guilt which caused their conviction.”

He was yelling at a tank that dwarfed him in size. It seemed Fortress wasn’t the only one in the room with a temper that got the better of them.

“Even if they are guilty, the fact that they haven’t already been executed for their crimes is proof enough that whatever they were convicted of is not something that warrants death.”

He wasn’t sure, by the end of that rant, whether he was lecturing the mech or pleading with him to see reason. His tone seemed to imply a bit of both.

[Deleted]

Maximus laughed harshly.

"Their being intact and online means nothing," he said. "Not even those rated at the maximum threat level were executed at - at the penitentiary. You could chemical bomb a settlement and only get tossed in the Rig. No, no, if these cons went to a Garrus prison, if their ID codes were flagged, then they did something. I don't know what, but I will find out. And I'm telling you now - deal with them before they turn on us. Otherwise..."

Without shifting his gaze, the big mech leaned down into Red Alert. Rotors whined in his shoulders, in the heavy framework that supported the tank treads on his back - the sound of metal humming under stress.

In a voice laced with bitterness he breathed, "Do you know what happens when convicted convicts get loose after being imprisoned in a place like that? When the cell door that stands between them and their jailers opens and the millions of years of isolation and incarceration suddenly stop? When a mech who has been disassembled and his spark frozen in a vacuum gets his body back? Do you really need me to tell you what happens? Do I need to draw you a picture? Show you a file, maybe? Because I -"

But by then, Ratchet had recovered from his shock.

Moving quickly, the medic crossed the distance in a flash. He thrust a solid forearm between Maximus and Red Alert.

"Fortress Maximus!" he barked. "No! I told you, that stays between you and I! Stand down, and get a hold of yourself. Red Alert is right. We do not act without provocation or without reason. I will not permit anyone to harm one of my patients. Threat or no threat, they are under my protection until I say otherwise. Do you understand?"

Startled, the warden fell back.

"Ratchet," he said. "Listen to me. I'm telling you - I'm warning you - I -"

"No! I don't want to hear it. I'm going to forget I heard any mention of murder and let Red Alert deal with our two new visitors in the medical bay as he best sees fit. Red Alert, is there anything you need me to do in the meantime?"

Ratchet risked a glance back at him, his gaze intent.

[Deleted]

Despite being an admittedly nervous person, and having the anxious disposition that he did, Red Alert was (contrary to popular belief) not easily intimidated by things that were not immediate and overt threats. He was still stricken with concern over them, of course, but his worry rarely turned into outright fear unless the matter he was faced with warranted such a response. Despite his paranoia infamously cautious nature, he was not the sort to be sent into a panic over the smallest provocation - he couldn’t very well do his job if he were. His specialization required him to deal with threats and prepare for dangerous, daunting situations on a daily basis; he wouldn’t have been able to obtain (let alone hold) his position as Director of Security if he responded to even mildly threatening situations with a disproportionate amount of fear and panic.

So, no. Despite being near-perpetually gripped with worry and concern, and the subsequent anxiety that stemmed from caring and worrying overmuch, Red Alert was not easily menaced by words or gestures, unless the intent behind them held actual weight. He was excessively suspicious, not incapable of logic and reasoning; if it was clear that a potentially dangerous situation could easily be diffused, he would feel no need to be more than mildly worried about it.

Unfortunately, this was not one such situation.

Fortress Maximus was more incensed than Red Alert could ever recall seeing him before. Not one to mince words, the mech struck him as nothing short of imposing as he fumed and loomed over him, red optics blazing. For a second time, he had to silence the uncomfortable feeling at the back of his mind reminding him of what happened roughly eight days prior - what happened the last time he found himself staring up at a pair of burning red optics glaring down at him.

He was quick to dismiss the thought. The thought was not nearly as quick to leave.

Squaring his shoulders, Red Alert held his ground as Fortress Maximus verbally tore into him, simply standing there as the mech went on to angrily describe (and indirectly admit to) things that he well and truly did not wish to imagine. Given all he knew about the other mech, about his history and what had happened--no, there was no use in dancing around it--what had been done to him, Red Alert could not pretend Fortress Maximus was speaking in generalities rather than personal experience.

His optics widened in mute horror when the mech rhetorically asked if he wanted to see a file of what happened, his head pulling back as if to physically protest the very thought from entering his mind. Thankfully, before Fortress could go on, Ratchet interviened. At first, he felt mild relief as the enraged mech’s ire was temporarily disrupted, but soon after a sense of weariness swept over him. It wasn’t physical exhaustion, not exactly - he simply felt...drained. His squared shoulders relaxed then drooped, as if Maximus’ words (coupled with with his alarming suggestions and concerning emotional outburst) were physically weighing them down.

He was worried. For both Fortress Maximus and the mecha he had just vehemently insisted upon executing.The latter for the obvious reason that they might be in danger, should Fortress decide to act upon his urges, the former because...well. Red Alert did not like to think of people as friends--such a relationship title implied a level of mutual trust that he wasn’t even sure he was capable of giving-- but he was invested in Fortress Maximus’ well being, and he found the mech’s current state to be more than a little unsettling.

He felt responsible for ensuring the mech wouldn’t wind up doing something foolish that would bring harm to both himself and others--particularly the mecha he had just moments ago wished death upon.

When Ratchet addressed him, he favored the medic with a tired, somber expression.

“Thank you, no.” He replied, with a slight shake of his head. “I can take care of things from here.”

He cast a brief glance up to Fortress Maximus, his pale optics sending a meaningful look the mech’s way, before returning to Ratchet once more.

“I’ll let you know when I’ve sorted things out. It shouldn’t take more than--” He paused, knowing he really oughtn’t say “a few days” to the medic, as that would undoubtedly imply that he would be staying up to complete weeks worth of research in half the time.

Given how hard-pressed the medic had been to let him out of the medbay, even on the condition that he get an adequate amount of rest, Red Alert knew better than to press his luck.

“--a week or so at the most.”

There, that was a more satisfactory response.

[Deleted]

Though Ratchet’ optics narrowed slightly, as if the medic knew exactly what thought had just passed through Red Alert’s head, he only nodded.

“A week or so would be fine,” he said. “I’ll keep you updated on their status in the meantime. If they ask about living quarters I’ll point them in your direction. It should give you a chance to meet them face to face, as well as the opportunity to assign them a space appropriate to their, ah, current security rating.”

Maximus backed up another step. He looked back and forth between the two mechs incredulously.

“You’re both insane,” he growled. “I refuse to be a part of this. You can damn well put that in your official report too. This decision was made over my protests. I will not be held responsible for the folly of allowing known criminals into a secure Autobot base. You can both deal with those consequences on your own.”

“Max!” Ratchet regarded him fiercely, but an instant later his voice lowered. “Max. Don’t let past history cloud your judgement. We can discuss this later.”

The warden jabbed a finger at him and spat.

“Keep them away from me,” he said. “That is the last warning I’ll give.”

His red optics fixed Red Alert with a furious glare before the big mech turned and stalked from room. On his way through the door he lashed out – white tiles shattered on impact as he drove his armoured fist into the wall. And then he was gone, leaving only a crater and a splintering crack in the wall behind him.

For a minute Ratchet remained stiff and quiet, his expression neutral. Then he sagged a little with a sigh.

“That could have gone better,” he said.

He turned and studied Red Alert with a shrewd eye. “You look tired. Are you all right?”