[ti]Ep 2.5[/ti]ICU (Closed for now, Ratchet, Patch)
Feb 10, 2019 17:59:41 GMT -5
Post by Ratchet on Feb 10, 2019 17:59:41 GMT -5
Week Three, Day 2
The centrifuge hummed.
It was early morning in the Omega base. Outside it was an extremely rare overcast day, threatening rain. Within the base, for those who noticed temperature, it was somewhat chilly. The air was cool, with a faint scent of ozone, a sign a thunderstorm may be on the way.
It was also somewhat quiet. Not because there was no one around, but because the air itself felt heavy with unease.
The main monitor room had been cleaned up, the monitor no longer hanging askew (although still looking like it had done time in a warzone – a large crack in the screen easily visible). The keyboard edges had been repaired with huge amounts of silver duct tape. The railing around the area where the children normally gathered was still badly warped, however.
Inside the medibay itself, a lone occupant was sitting at his desk, waiting for the centrifuge to stop.
Ratchet had taken another small sample of Bumblebee’s energon and was running it through the centrifuge to separate the different components and isolate the repair nanites for further investigation. All the lights were on, vivid and bright. The doors, usually left open, were closed, a sign of the seriousness within. The closed doors were a sign all was not well within the medibay - and a token of respect for Bumblebee. It was quite clear now it was in full hospital mode. The doors were not locked, however, and would open with a soft whoosh if anyone approached.
Behind the pale green curtain, Bumblebee lay, still powered down. The repairs done to his body were visible, dark grey welds visible.
Ratchet had forced himself into recharge the night before, using a small amount of tranquilizer to ensure he remained there, unless he was needed. The medic hated doing so, he always ended up with a slight ache in his helm when he did, but he knew he needed to be more alert. After the events of the last few days, he had felt like he was running on energon fumes alone. The hole in his shoulder had a rudimentary patch stuck over it - it being an awkward place to tend to.
The centrifuge eased down to a halt, and beeped. Ratchet rose from his chair, and made his way over, opening the lid.
As before, he used a small dropper to isolate the clear liquid with the repair nanites in it – the darker blue of the separated energon remaining in the bottom of the tube – and put it on a clear slide.
Slipping it under the microscope, Ratchet peered into the eyepieces.