Ep. 1.5 - The Bad Nights - (Closed)

[Deleted]

Distracted by Carbine, Ratchet ducked his head slightly, trying to get a look at the mech's throat to see what damage had been done.

Carbine wasn't making it any easier by the way he protectively clutched it in one hand. The medic frowned, but knew better than to reach out and move the hand away, however gently - the former police bot was alive with tension, ready to snap. But he was speaking at least in the manner so distinct to him, the words ragged with stress. Satisfied that nothing serious had been crushed, Ratchet stepped back to give him a little space.

"No, you don't deserve this," he sighed. He straightened and looked to the rest of the room, his expression grim. "For what it's worth, I believe them when they say they did nothing wrong. And I will be the first to accept the blame for this situation. I suspected that something like this might occur, and yet I clung to the hope that cooler heads would eventually prevail. I tried to mediate instead of directly intervene, and clearly failed. For that I am sorry."

For an instant the medic sagged, as if all the years had weighed down upon him at once. But he shook his head a moment later and looked squarely up at Optimus.

"Optimus," he said. "I regret leaving this for you to handle, but I'm afraid I should go and prepare the medical bay in the event that... further injuries are still yet to come. Red Alert?"

Ratchet glanced at the Security Director. Though his gaze was sombre a knowing glint lingered somewhere behind his optics.

"Red Alert, could I please ask for your assistance?" he said. "I have been running my own experiments all evening, and I could use a hand to help clear the mess. Will you come this way, please?"

His voice was rather firm.

[Optimus Prime]

Optimus had been so focused on the destruction and what had happened, desperately trying to look for shed Energon or wounded, that he had not thought for a fraction of a moment about the fact Red Alert had been there. He had viewed the mech as just another Autobot for that brief flicker of time, not a Guardian, not someone who was a slave to their coding in ways none else could imagine, and because of it? His one word request for information? Came off as a command, which in hindsight greatly bothered him.

If Red wasn't there? There would have been no issue. But fact of the matter was? Optimus had sidestepped around that ingrained law he had put in place for himself regarding the Guardians, and trampled over his normal protocols. It took him a second to realize what he had done, and in turn? His optics flicked to look back at Red Alert a moment later, brows furrowed ever so slightly in a worried look that held twinges of apology laced within it.

It hurt; it actually hurt when Red Alert started to report back to him with a stance that was almost drone like. The mech that normally was so attentive to his surroundings? Didn’t even turn to view Wheeljack like he typically would have, instead locked down into delivering the report as a primary function. Optimus hated this, he hated every second of it. If Red had done such things on his own? That was one thing, but to have it formed because he had overlooked phrasing around the code bound mech? And it was something else all together.

Red barely got the words out, before everyone started to talk, trying to shove in their own views, and account for what had occurred. Some were more helpful than others though, Wheeljack being... Wheeljack... Carbine trying to be cooperative but struggling to do so, Thunder being... blunt... and then Ratchet giving more information only to admit fault to some extent. After this admittance? Ratchet seemed to try to back out to prepare the medical bay, attempting to drag Red Alert with him.

Finally, Optimus held up his hand, trying to get the chattering to halt so he could actually get a word in, or more... get a moment to actually process a course of action. Time was not on their side at this moment, and the more that happened here? Was just that much more time for Fort Max to get into further trouble. A tank was not exactly a... human friendly... and low key alt-mode out in this world. They were far from primary roads, but still...

"Understood."

He spoke generally in order to address each of their comments with the single term, not really wanting to remark on each bit of information that had been dropped down. As such, he started to move forward, cautious of the water. His frame was so large though, and peds so broad, that slipping on the floor? Was not really anything to worry about, his weight distributed well. As such, he progressed with a purposeful gait.

"Wheeljack, make sure shielding and other vital functions are not compromised. Red Alert, do as you see fit, but aid for Wheeljack could be beneficial to stabilize systems."

He disliked having to dance around requests. Optimus wanted to tell Red Alert to find someone to help Wheeljack check over the systems, so Thunder and Carbine could recuperate after their impromptu combat ordeal, but he couldn't just state it outright. However with how long he's been... hinting... and implying... at his requests? Red Alert would be able to know it was something he actually wanted, without triggering the guardian coding.

"Thundercloud, Carbine, I want a report on what occurred by the time I return, otherwise you are relieved of duty for this night. I will seek Fortress Maximus."

He hoped everyone would follow their tasks, and really? He assumed most would. The only wildcard? Was the same wildcard that was always there lately, and that was Wheeljack. He wanted the Wrecker to make sure the computers were still functional and it was just monitors that got abolished, but knowing him? He would probably try to tag along to help out the tank. Nonetheless, Optimus' forward gait that had brought him to the mouth of the tunnel, reeled back somewhat, before his weight hurled forward.

Metal panels surged out as his frame reconfigured itself, wheels slamming into the ground to start to carry him forward before the transformation was fully completed. By the time everything locked down in its proper coordinates, he was already gaining speed to attempt to follow. All things considered? Even though his Alt-mode was rather large? He could probably catch up to the tank in quick time, counting on the war vehicle's more limited speed capabilities.

[Deleted]

They were having a chit-chat. No, they were being serious about it. Blah, blah, blah, Fort Max had lost his processor and tried to murder the newbies. No fragging way, it wasn't obvious from all the damage, both to mech and wall? Wheeljack rolled his optics as it went on. He didn't particularly care why it had happened, just that it did.

He rolled his optics again when Prime started handing out orders, ten astroseconds too late in the Wrecker's opinion. Then, the instructions fully penetrated his processor and Wheeljack's optics widened in incredulity. Stay behind to poke at the control panel? With Red's help? Not slagging likely. A furious glance at the machines in question further incensed him. He'd fixed those things a couple of weeks ago! And now someone -Fort Max, probably- had broken them! Forget fixing them, he wanted a word with Max.

Wheeljack raised one servo and opened his mouth to give Prime a piece of his mind and what he thought of the big mech's plan when Optimus went thundering past, switfly transforming into his alt-mode. The Wrecker gave the truck the darkest deadpan stare before glancing back at the others.

"Sure, Prime, I'll get right on that," Wheeljack muttered. He threw himself forward in an explosion of parts, emerging in his alt as he hit the ground and gunned after the big mech. "Right when I get back."

One of Optimus Prime's Autobots, he was not. And he had an...acquaintance combat buddy friend in need right now. Frag Prime's orders.

[Deleted]

Red Alert could not help but tense slightly as Ratchet looked his way with a knowing glint in his optics. He recognized the mech’s tone, and understood his firmly worded request for what it truly was. The medic was not making a request, so much as a politely worded demand shrouded in pretense. To everyone else in the room, it would seem as if Ratchet was simply asking for aid in his usual gruff manner, but to Red Alert - who was all too familiar with the art of dissecting the words of others for hidden meanings - his request had a different meaning entirely.

Instead of replying straight away, Red Alert glanced back over to the Prime, waiting to see if the mech had any instructions to give him which would take precedence over Ratchet’s. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when Optimus merely gave him a slight suggestion, freeing him from obligation and allowing him the choice to follow after Ratchet or ensure none of the bases’ numerous defensive systems had been compromised in the crossfire.

He turned to Wheeljack, wondering if the recalcitrant mech would do as asked and help ensure nothing vital had been damaged, and was not at all surprised to see him immediately reject the Prime’s request. Frowning in an open display of disapproval, he turned his head to watch as the mech sped off to act on his own volition--as usual--before making a frustrated, almost disgusted sound in the back of his throat as he shook his head, objecting to everything having to do with the mech.

Once out of his sight, Red Alert returned his focus to Ratchet, his expression somewhat conflicted. He glanced around the room once more, taking note of all the damage, before finally replying.

“--I’ll be with you in a moment, Ratchet.” He said quietly, his tone almost...reluctant. “I’ll meet you in the medbay once I’ve made sure the damages aren't more than superficial.”

He couldn’t just leave without a closer inspection--if he did, he would just run his mind ragged worrying over whether or not one of those bullets nicked an electrical wire, or a gas or water pipe.

Thundercloud, meanwhile, had taken to scowling at anything and everything his gaze happened upon, save for Carbine, whom he favored with a considerably milder expression which one could almost describe as...worried. If you stretched the definition a bit.

At Optimus’ request for an incident report, Thundercloud simply let out a derisive snort, arms crossing over his chest as he glanced pointedly up at the ceiling, his optics cutting from one security camera to the next. He didn’t see why they needed to fill out a report when the whole thing was caught on tape, but he wasn’t about to pitch a fit over it. He had already exceeded his daily recommended dose of drama, and he wasn’t keen on exposing himself to any more.

Glancing to Carbine, he reached out to clap a heavy hand on the mech’s shoulder, giving him a light shake. “Come on, Patches. Lets get the hell outta here before someone make us clean this slag up.”