[ti]Ep 2.5[/ti]What You Think You Know - [Closed]

[Optimus Prime]

This was turning into a fiasco.

The entire goal here was to try to come up with a plan, and such a simple idea was already thrown into the air by individuals' personalities clashing with one another violently so. Bumblebee had left in agitation when he wasn’t included instantly, Zoom-Zoom backpedaled and was trying to escape this mission after seeing how 'easily' Bee managed to avoid it, and Jazz was thrashing wanting to be sent out with a task so that something could be figured out even if there was no plan or safety precautions in place.

Zoom-Zoom and Jazz were too extremes that may just be too far apart from one another. One was over zealous and the other... Optimus was not BLIND to the fact Zoom-Zoom was trying to weasel out of this. The minibot had seen an opportunity and sunk his teeth into it, rambling out his thoughts to reinforce it all. While good points were made, it was all under the veil of throwing the work onto humans, and dusting his hands off from the task.

Optimus did not say anything while the two expressed their ideas, but a frustrated weight seemed to grow upon him as it stretched onward. He was so tired, so worn down. His mind swarmed with all the conflicting situations going on, from domestic issues within the base, to the razor thin line of diplomacy that was held with the Decepticons, and trying to figure out what their end game was. MECH was woven into this, as well as worries and threats of some unknown force off world that could terrorize the sanctity of an individual's mind. His processor swam with so much coming from so many angles, and yet he could not afford to buckle, his jaw tightening some while his weight rolled back, settling down in place.

Once they were done speaking, he finally interjected.

"It appears Bumblebee has no intention to do so. While I value other's considerations, I cannot force them to remain when under duress."

Even if they needed Bumblebee's input, the scout was obviously not in the right frame of mind to do much of any good here. The minibot did not seem to socialize much at all and as such the Prime was not surprised he seemed to miss the situation on some level. Or maybe he just didn't care. Whatever the case, he moved on to point out the situation..

"Numerous vehicons and Neutrals are still unaccounted for, as well as those belonging to rogue incoming signals. As we have observed, those that are recovered promptly from MECH, have better chances of survival."

Breakdown being a good example of someone surviving the confrontation, while... well... Cleaver was an example of the polar opposite.

"Every day that passes, is one that is passed in torture, and eventual death, or a state of living that is unable to be defined."

Air Raid's memory flicked through his processor as he said this. He wanted to be vindictive; he wanted to act with force. Cut in with a blade and hack down MECH to abolish the cancer before it could spread further. He knew such vengeance was not a way to find victory however, the pain of such things muted and numbed to a dull ache.

"If there are means to ascertain if this facility houses said individuals, it would be negligent not to try, but I will not sentence my soldiers to death by going in blind."

Optimus' attention was mostly centered down upon the red mech, though at those last words he did cast a glance to Jazz. While he appreciated the willingness to go in with no Intel or plan, he did not wish to lose any of his team, especially one that went back so many years. He had to make sure some kind of leash was in place, not out of distrust, but just as a security net. Jazz had high value, just as any of his team.

Looking back to Zoom-Zoom, Optimus spoke again, his words tired and beaten.

"Will you help us look for a loophole, or will you give up before the fight has even begun."

A pointed question. He was giving Zoom-Zoom his out, giving him an opportunity to leave if he truly desired to do so... however, if he took this gift, it would influence how he would be treated from this day onward. If he could not even offer his words and advice at no cost to himself, if he couldn't even try to come up with something to help others in need and instead only look for loopholes to avoid any interaction all together...

Why was he here?

[Deleted]

Okay, wow, ask a simple and sensible question…

It was Zoom-Zoom's opinion that he'd made a reasonable request. The mission was so ill-defined right now, it had slid all over the place from infiltration to scouting and now Jazz wanted to run off solo.

Which, honestly, suited the minibot just fine. In the short term, at least. But the lack of planning or care the other spook displayed, so impatient just to get going, made the minibot feel like such an expedition would be doomed to fail. And then Zoom-Zoom would probably be the first one lined up for a rescue mission anyway.

So while it was very, very tempting to say, sure, let Jazz run off on his own, Zoom-Zoom merely pressed his lip plates shut and frowned at the floor.

He raised his gaze a little, when Prime began to speak. Blinked behind his visor and fought to keep himself from arching an optic ridge dubiously. Prime valued other's considerations but not enough to speak up when their skill was being disparaged by another. Okay then. And here Zoom-Zoom had been thinking Bumblebee was in Prime's good books.

And since it seemed like they were looking to run a scouting mission now…well, all the more reason to call Bumblebee back. But Zoom-Zoom said nothing of this, there was tension in Prime's voice and it silenced the minibot's mouth for the moment. He just returned to frowning more at the floor. He knew that there were people missing, of course. People that had ended up in MECH's hands. But they weren't Autobots and thus had fallen beneath his consideration.

In his opinion, the fate of a few Vehicons and neutrals wasn't anything to lose recharge over. Certainly not worth risking Zoom-Zoom's life on a mission.

But- the longer MECH had their organic paws on some Cybertronians, the bigger the threat they became. That, the minibot couldn't deny. His short term desire to not go on this thing had long term implications that could come back to haunt him.

"If there are means to ascertain if this facility houses said individuals, it would be negligent not to try, but I will not sentence my soldiers to death by going in blind."

Well, that was almost a step in the direction Zoom-Zoom had been hoping for. Maybe Prime would realise how woefully unprepared they were and call the mission off until they had better intel. The next words out of Optimus however, put that to rest.

"Will you help us look for a loophole, or will you give up before the fight has even begun."

The words sliced through Zoom-Zoom's tentative budding hope and ripped them to shreds. Damnit. It was like plunging into cold water, the sudden sensation that one was on icy grounds with their commanding officer - no, their faction leader. There was a sense of finality in that voice, tiredness and exhaustion and Zoom-Zoom knew that if he mis-stepped, things were not going to end well.

He worked his jaw. The minibot desperately wanted to say, 'Sorry, but I'm out." Take the option that he'd been desperately hoping for, now that it was here. But that required a boldness that Zoom-Zoom did not possess. And with how stretched the Autobot resources were right now, he knew that how vital it was to be pulling his own weight.

Things were so much easier when he didn't have a choice in the matter.

As the thought drifted through Zoom-Zoom's head, he felt a burst of frustration. Only minutes ago, he'd been dreading going out on this mission, remembering how often intel had been deemed more valuable than his teammates by command. Now, he took it back. There had been clarity in that. Knowing that there was a job that needed to be done and there were going to be risks and probably losses along the way.

But this? This was anything but clear. Prime had given them too much leeway to sort the matter out for themselves and it was a mistake. They were fumbling in the dark, with no idea of what needed to be done because no goals had been set, nor what levels of risk were acceptable. Only vague outlines of 'possible Cybertronians that might need recovery' but also 'don’t want to risk our own too much for this.'

You can't have it both ways, Zoom-Zoom thought sullenly. Either Prime needed to accept that this was a terrible, risky mission he was sending them on and he'd decided their lives are worth it or call it off. Tell them what he wanted to happen, what he wanted achieved and they'd try to make it so.

Don't plonk the choice into our own hands because nothing was going to get done like this.

What came out of Zoom-Zoom's mouth was frustrated and gritted: "I. Am."

A pause before he realised that didn't indicate his choice. The minibot clarified: "Helping."

He folded his arms in front of him. Leant his weight back on the wall behind him for strength. The minibot suddenly wished dearly that he was dealing with his cohort leader. Vibes wouldn't have ever thought to ask whether he wanted in on a mission, wouldn't have given him the option to walk out at all. Just told Zoom-Zoom what needed to be done and then all that was left was to figure out a way to do it.

He went digging for the part of him that knew how to operate under such conditions. Kept his gaze locked on the floor because the minibot would lose his nerve if he looked anyone in the face. "We need to clarify the mission objective," Zoom-Zoom repeated simply. He hurried on, hoping that no one would interject while he expanded on this point. "There are too many factors that need to balanced up and we can't plan anything without a clear goal. This has slid from infiltration and sabotage all the way over to scouting. And even that isn't simple in itself, it still needs to be planned. What if - just by bridging there that sets off something? For all we know, MECH could have the means to detect Cybertronians near their base. Or there are hidden mine fields. We don't even know if there's a safe entry point." His gaze lifted to the screens, as if the information was up there. "The scouting mission would be over before it even starts and then what? Does the scouting mission immediately change over to trying to get inside and recover what we can?"

"How much is this base worth to us?" This Zoom-Zoom considered was a vital part of the matter. Jazz didn't seem to value it very much, with how eager he wanted to go in and get something done, without any thought that doing so could end up compromising their knowledge of the base and render it worthless.

"Consider how long it's taken us to find it - and how difficult. Can we really afford to lose the information -and possible people- inside, what are the chances that another opportunity will come up like this? If something goes wrong, are we to push forward with our goals no matter the cost, or do we pull out? Even a scouting mission runs the risk of losing that base because we know that MECH has been willing to blow up such facilities in the past. The more missions that deploys Autobots against that base increases that risk, so I'd strongly recommend minimizing them as much as possible."

Zoom-Zoom's optics had dropped back to the floor as he kept talking, his voice blank as possible. There had been a dearth of context to this mission and to him, that was important for figuring out a plan.

"Jazz keeps throwing this lovely fact around, the energon shortage is another factor to consider. Admittedly, the longer we wait, the worse the position we'll be in to act," Zoom-Zoom paused and grudgingly added; "And any prisoners in MECH's hands will suffer more and by extension, MECH will also improve on their technology. But on the other hand, this also means that any action needs to be considered carefully, whether its worth the risk. Because as it stands, our capability to recover soldiers in the field is hampered. If something goes wrong because we rush a plan, it'll drain our already limited energon supplies to fix that mistake. A minute ago, our best plan of action was to wander about, pretending to be humans. I quite frankly saw that as a plan with a huge amount of risk for very little pay-off, and thus, in my opinion, simply not viable."

"So, I'm asking - taking into account that there is plenty of reasons not to delay but also considering that we need better intel than we have at the moment, is it possible that we have some wiggle room? Time to wait, to see if Fowler's people can give us something better? Maybe explore some options to remotely gain intel, before putting our feet down nearby, because every time we do that, it runs the risk of alerting the base and potentially turning it into a smoking crater. Like, see if we can track down their supply chain, try to assess what that facility might be equipped with in terms of defences and security. Or if waiting is deemed too risky and action needs to be taken now, then I'd argue that a proper plan needs to be in place, even for something like a scouting mission, with contingencies for failure."

Winding down, Zoom-Zoom finished with, "Uh yeaah. The long and short of it, I'd find it helpful if we were clear on parameters like time-frame, the level of risk that's acceptable, what do we want out of the base - prisoners, intel or its perfectly okay if it turns into a pile of rubble because that's taken it off the map and put it out of operation."

Right.

That had been a lot of words. Those weren't things he could decide, just acknowledge. But ultimately, those were matters that rested solely on Prime.

Here's to hoping that bringing them up wouldn't get him punted across the base.

[Jazz]

     The saboteur was not a tactician, he just followed the orders given to him. Jazz was used to working things his own way, where he was given sometimes the most basic of goals in an operation and set loose to work things out as they fell into his lap. This having things laid out for him like a strategic game of chess was just not his style so it was best to let others come up with all of that. Things rarely went according to plan anyway.

     Then it all started. Hook, line and sinker. 

     Jazz crossed his arms and leaned against the wall just to the side of the console, listening to the exchange between the two. He'd given ZZ his opportunity to walk out, though he had twisted in in a way that hinted of 'you leave, you deal with Prime'. Seemed that the minibot had started to spit up what was on his processor faster than Jazz had anticipated. Good, because the awkward air was almost too bothersome even for Jazz to take. Bravo ZZ on initiative! Now he just had to work on not smiling. At least they were finally getting somewhere.

     There was still that hesitation somewhere in the back of his processor that dug in and didn't let go. While he would work on a team if the need was there, he did feel better if a mission like this was done solo. Not by any means of doubt in the minibot's skills since he knew he had them hidden away in that frame of his ( skills outside of making skylights and organizing shelves, that is ), but because in some ways Jazz still doubted the ability to protect members of his team if the need posed itself. Going in blind to a facility like this was dangerous and it wasn't like he could just take to his normal escape routes like he could for those built for Cybertronians. These were human-sized. Puny. Possibilities of escape were probably mostly limited to 'run like the dead rising from the Pits are on your aft towards the exit' and the small hope that it wasn't blocked off for them.

     In a situation like that, would Jazz really be able to make sure ZZ made it back safely? 

     All of his thoughts were kept to himself as he just stood there listening, taking notes, plotting the more this went on. ZZ brought up things that Jazz had already considered, some of them causing him to dim his visor only slightly as he was reminded of other things. Was a delay worth it? When there was a possibility of their kind being tortured he didn't think so. More intel was nice to have, but Jazz couldn't count how many times he had been sent out on runs that had higher risks and offered much less than what they had now. 

     So he'd just wait and see what the two came up with, personal feelings on it aside.

[Optimus Prime]

This wasn't going to be happening.

Miscommunication was the key figure for this entire meeting this day. Intentions skewed astray, people interpreting words differently from one another, which lead to assumptions and irritation of all involved. It was apparent before, and it would forever be apparent it seemed, that Optimus and Zoom-Zoom simply did not speak the same language, and Jazz was stuck somewhere in-between the conflict hoping to get things on track.

The Prime tended to word things simplistically all things considered, broad strokes that only became needle pointed when necessary. His words could be considered vague by some, but there was always reason for it, and he only became truly vocal when he felt it necessary. In contrast, it seemed the red mech wanted things mechanical and spelt out with a fine tooth comb for detail, something that clashed with current experiences.

From what the Prime had experienced here on earth, and for some time before that, the team he had appointed to him worked best with rough guidelines and generic goals, allowing them to use their own talents to find a solution, and keep them thinking and adapting on the fly to survive. As long as they had the information they felt important, they would push ahead and use their own creativity to find the end goal on their own. They wouldn't be completely blind, anything they needed offered if it was available, but there was looseness to it where their education could flourish, instead of relying on the hard set guidelines of one who did not hold the same training as them, and did not have the same experiences they could call upon.

Once these individuals were bound by too many rules and a meticulous plan, making it rigid and hard set, it got more difficult and more prone to issues. Once the script was broken, those that followed it closely or felt they HAD to follow it... wouldn’t deviate until it was too late or feel lost when they were cut free. On the flipside, some thrived in such an environment, which could not be argued. However, Optimus had never directly been a leader for such things, because as stated before, he simply didn't have the direct training they did.

He could offer his opinions, his thoughts. He could put together concrete plans with things mapped out with a very rigid structure to it. He was physically capable of doing it, but whether or not it would end well was a gamble. The few times he himself had been appointed on such missions, it always ended blunt fisted in the end. Brute force, power, find the end goal then break your way out with guns when things inevitably went astray. The only training he officially had for spy missions was what he has read from reports, what some have told him second hand, and the few inkling lessons he learned through injury and experience.

The Prime was too big. He stood out and could not blend into a backdrop. Each footfall, each action made, could not be hidden with ease, as he did not have dampeners installed or liners on his peds to mute even the most basic of movements. He frankly did NOT have the experiences Jazz and Zoom-Zoom had, and while he knew some of the things their kind did for training, knowledge through secondhand experiences or what was listed on a datapad, did very little to prepare for reality. Optimus had been counting on their own creativity, knowledge, and adaptability to slip in to start to help fill the gaps.

He put it into their hands, because he could not see things through their eyes.

When Zoom-Zoom finished listing out all of his concerns, Optimus did not readily reply, his frame still while he looked down at the smaller mech to consider what he spoke of, and judge an appropriate response to the matter. It was a tense few moments of silence, his expression tired and worn, a level of defeat with underlying stress muddled beneath an impassive stare that was hard to define in full. Despite the jumbled thoughts about what could be going through his processor, he did not seem upset or angry, the tension from before falling off.

"Every leader in this war acts differently in accordance to the team assigned to them."

When Optimus finally spoke, he did so with utmost care, the pace of his words languid while he tried to find appropriate phrases to sharply indicate his thoughts without relying on excessive filler and exceptions.

"Some offer leeway to their subordinates, while others micromanage and control every action like game pieces upon a board."

Optimus disliked that portion of the war. While he longed for the days their numbers were plentiful, back then it was impossible to know one team from another. Each grouping melted down to basic words such as 'Infiltration' or 'Frontline', their individual capabilities, their personal strengths or auxiliary skills... lost as they were slid forward upon war maps to tactical points. Throwing bodies at the metaphorical wall to hope something would stick. Making blind judgments on what path they needed to take, without having his eyes down on ground level. He found himself having to make blind calls like this, and the generals and leaders then having to bend to whatever demands high command made, even if it ended with their termination. Once their numbers dwindled, he could get to know a team, and try to work with their strength, but that was a high cost.

"I believed myself to be clear with the directive, but it has only caused undue stress by clashing styles."

He continued to speak with care, cyan optics peering down at the minibot.

"We come from different upbringings and hold incompatible experiences. My team has traditionally worked best with loose structure, though this is not applicable to your training and I see this now."

Another pause, another stall in which he thought over what he was going to say next with care.

"This mission is temporarily ceased until we can approach new means of handling current events. You are dismissed Zoom-Zoom. Thank you for your time."

Glancing over, Optimus looked upon Jazz, who he knew likely did not appreciate this turn of events. His expression remained mostly flat which was to be expected, but there was a distant plead in play that drifted behind the veil. It was a silent request, to just please accept the situation, and not outwardly protest or cause issues.

"Jazz, please remain."

[Deleted]

Silence reigned for one moment. Then another. And another.

Zoom-Zoom desperately wished that he had the ability to rewind the clock. As time moved forward, he wanted to burrow backwards in the opposite direction. Go back before that long wined spiel and punch his past self right in the vocalizer to prevent all those words from pouring out of him.

Actually, scratch that. Go further back in time, to that moment way back on that stolen ship where he'd made the foolish decision to make the trip to Earth.

Undo every moment leading up to this one.

His mouth tended to run faster than his processor. It had caused the minibot all sorts of problem and grief but he'd never thought that there would be a day where it would call into question his faction's leader judgement. He doubted, yes. He doubted a lot all the time. But for the most part, that stayed inside his head and didn't escape out in the open.

Most of the time.

Zoom-Zoom wanted to bury himself in a hole somewhere. Instead, he was forced to endure the gradual crawl of time as Prime gathered his thoughts together. From the minibot's perspective, it seemed to take forever.

Nervous energy thrummed through the minibot, he wished he could simply melt through the floor and walk away from this mess of a meeting. Didn't want to see the fallout of quite possibly the biggest screw-up his mouth had ever caused.

He'd happily go dig the grave himself. Anything to be anywhere but here. Haha, don't mind him. Just burying himself somewhere in the ground.

The minibot kept his gaze nailed to the floor. Didn't want to see what Jazz and Prime were thinking. To him, they were unprepared for this mission. They needed more intel before making a move, his instincts frantically insisted.

Sometimes, it was unavoidable, the team would have nothing to go on. Or there was no time to get more - a mission would have to go on ahead because it was a piece in a chain that linked on to something more.

But this wasn't such a situation, not precisely. Or at least, it seemed that way to Zoom-Zoom. The fate of prisoners in MECH's hands didn't instill in him a sense of urgency like it did for the others. Especially when they were likely to be Decepticons or neutral. Nor did they currently have any evidence that prisoners were being held in this base, right now it was just supposition. And given that MECH's true offensive capabilities were unknown, it made him reluctant to plunge forth with the barest shreds of intel.

A more…empathetic individual would have regarded the retrieval of prisoners a pressing priority. But Zoom-Zoom's concern was always his own survival first-most. From his perspective, they were rushing a situation when they had the option to wait, gain more intel and put together a better plan that would increase their chances of survival and the mission's success.

Just as there were times when action had to be immediate, sometimes the opposite held true. The pay-off needed to be worth the risk. But hey, a dark, bitter corner of Zoom-Zoom's mind mused, at least command can give themselves a gold star for having acted quickly. May not gain them anything and wasted or damaged the lives of the ones who went in, but yay for immediate action. It's the thought that counts, not the outcome, right?

It would have been different if this was a Cybertronian outpost they were trying to infiltrate. He would have ideas - there would be avenues for them to explore and exploit. The architecture at least would be scaled right. But they were dealing with humans. They were dealing with an alien species that Zoom-Zoom still didn't understand properly.

And not only that, they were trying to plan an infiltration without including any of the damn critters in the planning.

And they'd booted Bumblebee, their resident human expert, from the meeting.

As much as he didn't care for the species, Zoom-Zoom would freely admit that he did not know enough about how they operated to confidently plan such a mission. This was part of his problem with this whole affair. That they would dispatch Autobots to the field against humans without consulting any of the species nor without exploring other avenues available to them - human ones.

It bothered him that the first response to a small, organic alien base was deploy big robots to it to scout and infiltrate it.

Finally, Prime began to speak.

Come on, where was it? Surely there was a reprimand, somewhere in there. But no, Prime kept going and going on about leadership and incompatible experiences and surely, Zoom-Zoom had taken a step out of reality, right here and now. Was the boss bot trying to take the blame for how this meeting had turned into a complete and utter mess and not lay it at the minibot's feet?

…yeah, well, sure. Go ahead with that. Zoom-Zoom was a-okay with not being held at fault, even though he kinda felt like it was and also simultaneously felt like it was not. He knew he wasn't good with working in a team. One that wasn't his cohort, that is. This meeting had made it more than abundantly clear and dragged his inadequacies kicking and screaming into the spotlight.

On the other hand, he still felt like they were approaching this situation in the completely wrong way and his opinion on that was not about to change, no matter what Prime decided on-

"This mission is temporarily ceased until we can approach new means of handling current events. You are dismissed Zoom-Zoom. Thank you for your time."

…that…was not expected.

Prime was calling it off. Miracles upon miracles, Zoom-Zoom had been listened to. The minibot was hit by a swell of relief, that was immediately followed by an overwhelming sense of dread. Yes, he'd been listened to but also, he'd been listened to. Had Prime decided to drop the mission because he was suddenly operating on the same wavelengths as the minibot or because he'd found Zoom-Zoom's presence too disruptive?

Pessimistically, the minibot assumed the second option was the correct one. Not only that but he'd been dismissed while Jazz had been asked to remain behind. Zoom-Zoom cast an uncertain glance between the other agent and Prime before he unwound himself from his tense position and headed for the exit. It wasn't a happy walk, even with this outcome, the minibot slunk across the room.

Freedom had never looked so close at hand.

But crossing the threshold to get him out of the command center didn't sweep away the sense that he'd left a large, ticking time bomb behind him that he was going to have to face again at some point. One that no doubt was going to go later off in Zoom-Zoom's face quite spectacularly and rip him to shreds.

[Jazz]

     Jazz remained in his own processor, not feeling that this exchange between the Prime and the minibot needed his two cents. Their leader was busy making his speech, going through his own thoughts on the matter, and Jazz was perfectly fine with just staying on his side of the room with crossed arms and watching things unfold. He fully expected that, as stated, the mission was being put on hold. It was disappointing, yes, as Jazz had been wanting to get some use out of himself before he turned to rust- but was said was said and it was done.

     Though now he was curious as to why Optimus wanted him to stay behind. He wasn't going to chirp up about it right then, merely offered a nod of his helm and remained where he was as he watched ZZ's actions. Seemed the minibot was surprised by Optimus calling it off, which he thought was a little funny considering that he had been the one proclaiming that this was a terrible idea and they shouldn't do it. Did he assume their Leader didn't listen?

     Oh well.

     Once more his attention was set to the Prime and his visor dimmed slightly. "What'cha got for me, boss?"

[Optimus Prime]

Optimus watched calmly as Zoom-Zoom eventually left, not choosing to say more, not opting to speak until the minibot was completely gone. But... even once the flash of red vanished into the darkness beyond the door, even after a few moments passed when he was gone, the Prime still did not speak immediately, cyan optics flicking over the hallway as if unsure that the individual had truly departed, or if he was simply standing out of immediate line of sight. This tension held for a good moment, before his gaze broke away from the corridor, and he just... stared blankly down at the opposite wall where it met up with the concrete ground plane, his back edged up against the control panel that still glowed with all the information on the facility.

His gaze was off, his expression almost haunted in the distant look he gave. The impassive expression that the Prime typically wore, seemed so remote, as the reality of the situation, and the events that had occurred these past few months, looped and snapped on repeat through his mind. Every fault, every issue, every near miss, every death both Cybertronian and Human, every mistake and all the clashes and conflicts of individuals... it danced through his mind, realizing what he had known all this time.

His team was dysfunctional and was crumbling the more people joined up, and in a way... perhaps he was to blame and was just as broken and unable to properly pull them out from the downward spiral.

Optimus' jaw worked some, dental plating crushing against itself while he chewed over every word that could even begin to convey something to express his concerns, yet he swallowed it back down to squash any show of weakness. He couldn't fall when his team was so broken, he couldn't crumble and let everything collapse. He had carried failing teams in the past, and muscled through the stress, and the despair. He held up their spirits long enough for them to manage to do it themselves, and he could and WOULD do it again. He had to just be the icon they needed him to be.

Swallow down emotion that clouds judgment.

Personal feelings on matters didn’t MATTER, what mattered was finding resolution, and finding means to keep his team alive. Even now, they were starving; their first and only priority should be Energon, and not MECH or the Decepticons. They shouldn’t concern themselves with those things and burn off priceless energy... his frame ached in hunger pains; they had to focus on that mine, no matter how dangerous it was.

His judgment was clouded, and... maybe it was hunger that did it, but deep down he knew it was just compound stress finally catching up to him, and in his weakened state he couldn’t fight it off the same way he always could before.

"I almost broke the truce."

His words almost croaked out, quiet, hushed in a way as if scared others could dare hear such a thing fall from him. The tone so many associated with him, the pride and power, the assured strength... it was gone. His voice wavered with stress and a weakness that seemed foreign and very much out of place, a near whisper. Optimus' mouth opened then, attempting to find more words, but they were difficult to form.

"Arrangements I made, that I wrote, were forgotten in my blind grab to make progress and seek a victory of any kind. At any cost."

Not once did his gaze peel away from that far wall, not daring to look at Jazz head on. For this moment, he tricked himself that this was alright, that he should, no... NEEDED to bleed some of the weight he carried or... whatever he was doing, and feared if he looked at the mech head on he'd lose any assurance it was acceptable. It didn’t matter it was Jazz, that they went so many years back it was nauseating. It didn’t matter that he knows it was ok, and not long ago Jazz had tried to force him to talk the last time they were alone. It didn’t matter, because in his mind, he had to be strong, even more so for those that looked upon him as more than a leader, but a friend. He knew that if he looked over, and saw even an inkling of concern or worry, his jaw would tighten, and he'd just swallow his stress if it cracked his teeth, and put back on the mask they needed of him.

"I did not plan to incorporate a Decepticon; I had minimal information upon the station, and only saw a chance for conquest."

Optics closed then, a sneer forming in disgust at himself. His forearms eased back, palms resting on the edge of the control panel he was leaned back against, hands now tightening to a firm grip that made soft creaks form from his joints from how firmly he clutched the metal. It would be obvious just how displeased he was for this moment, fingers clenching down as a sort of outlet, or maybe it was an anchor to keep him rooted and keep him from spiraling.

If he had broken the truce, and the Decepticons found out, they could easily do a clean sweep and pick them apart one by one while they struggled for fuel. Bait them out into the open to be disposed of one by one as starvation forced recklessness. In one action, he nearly assured their demise or at least assured prolonged suffering and additional struggles.

"Jazz, I am becoming careless..."

[Jazz]

     Jazz listened silently, taking in all that his old friend had to say. He could read his Leader's body language like a book as he tried to hide it in spite of the words coming from him. He didn't address it right away and just looked on from his place across the room. Once the other started to come to the end of his declarations, Jazz pushed himself from the wall and went to the doorway to peek outside, ensuring no one was around before turning back to the room and making his way over to the much larger mech. 

     "Is that all?"

     While he stood close to his leader- no, his friend- he did not touch the other mech. Something with the way his body moved and tensed indicated to him just how fragile this moment of weakness was, how close he was to shutting down entirely and ruining the moment where he was allowed to have some of what his old friend was feeling shared with him. If he had reached out to him the floodgates would have shut once again and who knew how long it would be before the two would have this time again. Jazz had always known the crash was bound to happen... he was just surprised it had taken this long to do so. 

     "I mean... not that it's a good thing that you came close to breakin' the truce, but how do you see that havin' been the outcome? Simply cause ya didn't want to let a con in on your little plans don't mean that it's a deal breaker, man. I've played both sides, remember? Ya think the cons aren't runnin' around doin' their own things? Plannin' their own underhanded crap? If ya do, then you've forgotten how underhanded they are. Even when we're fightin' the same enemies they don't trust us to hold our word as far as they could throw us. Think they REALLY care, OP? I'm certain they got a stash of Energon somewhere and I don't see them liftin' a single digit to offer us any."

    Jazz stared at the screen infront of him, where the information had been displayed before. He didn't want to look at Optimus in case he happened to look up and they made contact, as well as to avoid the chance that his friend would feel the look upon him and shut himself down right away. Optimus needed this time and he was fully willing to give it to him. 

     There was just that annoying little voice that told him not to lie to his friend... that he deserved better than the 'oh it'll be okay' party that he probably received from others most of the time since becoming Autobot Leader. Jazz just wasn't for that. If this was a time for opening up? Then Jazz was going to do just that.

     "You're not becomin' careless, Optimus... at least not in the way you're probably thinkin'. You're becomin' desperate but that's not necessarily a bad thing, neither is it directly your fault." Jazz vented some and wandered to the wall just to the left of his current spot and leaned there with his arms crossed, his helm turned elsewhere as he continued. "We've gotten a heavy load of arrivals recently, and we don't have the needed supplies to sustain them all. A lot of them are younger than us, some are... young-er... but they've all got their own personalities and some are stronger in that sense than others. Of course, that leads to a lot of internal conflict, and with some of them havin' to restrain their moods against the cons due to the truce? Causin' a bit more moodiness than normal. Clashes happen." Jazz vented and his visor dimmed. "Unfortunately, you're the kind that wants to take everything on himself. You know there's trouble in paradise and you're lookin' for that one thing that would give us a boost."

     "The only thing I see you at fault for is carin' too much, but that's just part of your personality so there's nothin' wrong with it. You want somethin' that'll boost the morale of this place, show the kiddos that we've still got a fightin' chance in this war in spite of what's happenin'. Show everyone that you're a great leader who will make sure all of us will get out of this alive in spite of... us knowin' that some of us may never see Cybertron again. And ya know what? That's okay. The matrix calls all of us eventually." Jazz turned his attention to the doorway, scanning again to ensure no one was entering. Things still seemed clear so he returned to what he was talking about. "You wanna be hard on yourself cause everythin' is crashin' down around ya, but... sometimes ya gotta tell yourself that things are just gonna play out some way and there ain't no way you can control it. The horse can still travel it's own path no matter how tight of a hold ya got on the reins." 

[Optimus Prime]

When Jazz moved to check the doorway, Optimus did not cast a glance in his direction, and simply watched from the corner of his peripheral vision. He was silently grateful for this however, it making him feel as if he was only showing this momentary weakness in front of one, instead of multiples, which would allow him to not lock up as readily. He still felt unrest, he still felt as if he was betraying some ingrained law he had set for himself a millennia ago, but it was marginally easier to tolerate.

On some level, he could still tell himself he was keeping the illusion he showed others strong, and that he hadn't done what he just did, but... once Jazz started speaking, it made the situation that much more real to him. It wasn’t just a want or a hypothetical imagined scenario, it was real, and now he had to contend with the response from it. For a brief moment his determination bloomed, defensive responses kicking up. He was ready to fight and pick up the broken pieces he had dropped and revert to a normal more appropriate conversation!... but... he just couldn’t do that anymore.

He was too exhausted, his systems too ravaged. He knew it wouldn't be bad. He KNEW Jazz would be supporting and help, but so much time being isolated left a grand expanse he had to tread to show any inkling of 'humanity' for lack of a better term.

"It is expected for Decepticons to be underhanded. For my team, it is expected to hold more integrity than that. If we become that which we fight, than what are we fighting against?"

For a brief moment he had snapped back to normality, habitually trying to say what would be encouraging and push the ideals that founded their cause so very long ago. He couldn’t give up on these ideas, he just couldn’t. It was who he was, and if the Autobots became as underhanded, violent, and malevolent as the Decepticons, he didn't know if he would even want to see the outcome, the war already lost in his mind. That said, the momentary Prime-like reply dropped away after, his gaze still upon the far wall.

Desperate. He had felt it before. Desperation to grasp onto a goal, or survive. Desperation for something good to happen. Clutching and scrabbling for a good outcome, yet somehow this time it felt so different. He couldn’t place his finger on what exactly it was, but something was just 'off' and it screamed and called to him at the back of his processor.

"I feel like, if I let go of this situation, and simply let what happens occur, that we will crumble."

It was a simple reply that was a rather short statement in response to Jazz's much more wordy encouragement and advice. It wasn’t his intention to seem like he snubbed a lot of it, though it may come off that way, his gaze pulling up a bit to glance in Jazz's direction when he checked the doorway once more.

"We do need a win Jazz, and I cannot offer any. I cannot get us fuel, I cannot take down a MECH facility, and I had to negotiate a truce to get the Decepticons to give us reprieve... I cannot even manage those that believe they are sneaking out and cheating my law."

He was WELL aware of everyone that left the base at all hours to seek solitude. So many broke the systems he put down, so many thought they were the stealthiest mech and femmes imaginable, or simply left because they did not care about what he said. It was a fundamental lack of respect he felt as another thorn in his side, one that greatly bothered him because all he could imagine was that person never coming back because of their own blind arrogance.

"I am very tired..."

His gaze dimmed a bit then, looking back at the far wall once more.

"I need individuals to show initiative..."

That was about the closest Optimus would get to asking for help. He needed others to manage his soldiers, and reprimand if the situation called for it. He needed people to enforce the rules he sat in place, and try to negate any conflicts and organize repair priority. Yet... people seemed so very content where they were, and were coasting along expecting things to land on them while not respecting the rules he made.

[Jazz]

     “If ya think that turnin’ tail and not includin’ Decepticons on our little crash and burn plan is lowerin’ us to their level, then ya must have forgotten some history over the course of this war. Autobots don’t senselessly slaughter our own, neither do we condemn those who don’t color inside the lines. That alone puts us on a level above the ‘Cons.”

     Jazz knew that Optimus was aware he was sneaking off base despite orders that said otherwise. Honestly, as social as Jazz was? He needed that alone time to collect his thoughts. Everything was so chaotic at the base that he didn’t have much in the way of peace and quiet so he had found his own little retreat. As long as he didn’t go head first into battle unless he consulted Optimus first, he figured there wasn’t much harm in it.

     “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” That was starting to sound like a broken record. No matter how many times he told that to Optimus, it was as if it went in one audial and out the other. Of COURSE the leader of the Autobots would be harder on himself than he should be. “Optimus, ya gotta just stand back and breathe. Have faith in your team, just like we have faith in you. You’ve never let us down in the past, even when things were a bigger pile of slag than this.” Jazz made a gesture to motion to the facility around them.

     Initiative. Right. That was code word enough for the saboteur to understand the underlying meaning behind it. Then Jazz quieted down and stared at the floor momentarily then adjusted his stance before he looked at Optimus again. “You’ve got leaders among your friends, Optimus. Just… you need to remember that everyone here is just that. We’re either old friends of yours, new ones, or ones that just are eager to know the legendary Optimus Prime. Talk to us as your friends, not as your soldiers. I can have a chat with some of the newbies, let them know we got some situations we gotta discuss. That is, if you’re down it.”

[Optimus Prime]

Call it denial, call it a sort of delusion Optimus put himself in, but he certainly had a very tight list of rules on what was and wasn’t ok, with just as many exceptions to explain away some of the horrible and downright monstrous things some Autobots have done during this war, including himself. The trick was always trying to follow the higher road when it was possible, and not casting it aside for something else under the guise of ease and convenience, in this case? Not simply forgoing the truce rules because they had a possible opportunity.

It disturbed him he almost let this oversight happen, because if the Decepticons found out? They would NEVER let go of it and would hold it over his head for however long it took for someone to finally get that lucky shot in and kill him. They would use it as a means to say that the Autobots were just a broken faction that couldn’t even follow their own rules any longer, and likely use it to sway what few neutrals there were more in their favor, or make any Cons that could be considering a swap, cement down in place and give up on the idea of change.

It was more than a simple 'oops' scenario as far as he was concerned.

"It is... complex."

He remarked, not having the willpower to try to dance around these fragile lines to explain himself. He couldn't find the words at the moment, even though he is sure he has said something similar in the past that he could mirror, and yet... his thoughts seemed distant from hunger and exhaustion. The Matrix itself even seemed like a dull ache, a shadow that didn't grant him any additional insight of offers of help for the trouble he now faced, its whispers absent.

When Jazz told him not to be hard on himself, Optimus finally broke his dulled gaze away from the far wall, looking over at the white and blue mech. His expression conveyed more than his words ever could, a sort of frustration and resignation that was drowning him, unable to understand how he could simply let it go and not judge himself under such scrutiny. As Jazz continued, the Prime's optics closed, which was for the best, trying to separate himself again so he could speak freely.

"It only takes one error, for the hare to fall to the wolf."

The statement was forlorn sounding, the odd quote becoming a quiet insight to Optimus' views on everything around them and their current situation. The Decepticons had such a greater foothold on this world, with far greater soldiers, resources, weaponry, and overall manpower, that they could afford any losses with ease. Again and again the wolf can fail as the hare escapes death narrowly, but it only takes one true victory for things to crumble. For Primus' sake, they couldn’t even FEED themselves right now!

Reaching a hand up, Optimus idly rubbed his fingertips over his eyes, as if doing so would help clear his thoughts and sooth the ache that was forming in his processor. It was a tired movement, one that ended with a soft drag down his features to stop alongside his jaw momentarily. He had to secure himself again. He had to get a strong foothold on the situation once more, and stop this senseless show of weakness.

Optimus seemed to shift his weight then, trying to right himself, trying to pull himself into the formal position again despite his aches. The process was anything but natural looking however, his movements ridged and forced, like an individual trying to put on a smile for customer service when they very much didn’t want to. The formality clunkishly folded into place, smoothing over to take up the Prime role again a moment later. It was with the stance re-taken, he peered back at Jazz, which was a mistake earlier. He should have continued to look at the far wall, if he was going to show more weakness, but that moment had hopefully passed.

"If you could, I would appreciate that. I feel as though some do not grasp the severity of our situation, and are simply waiting for a solution to arrive."

A bolder tone of voice, trying to mask over what had just happened despite it being painfully apparent he was not at all back to normal.

[Bumblebee]

Something was very wrong.

While much of Bumblebee's good mood and enthusiasm for the mission had quickly melted away at being denied a chance to help out, replaced by the weird processor fog that he put down to being hungry – it was the sudden and very abrupt mood change that happened the moment he left the Control Room that worried Bee the most.

Anger. It bubbled up again, seemingly from nowhere. He'd pause his steps, taking a moment to try and focus and recenter his thoughts – his servos curling into tight fists at his sides. There was a sharp throb of pain from his right servo as he clenched it, an all too painful reminder of what'd happened just a few days earlier when he'd lost his temper and jumped to conclusions. Ratchet had done a good job of fixing up the majority of the damage – making it so his servo was functional at least, leaving Bee's self repair to do the rest – which, due to the lack of Energon wasn't exactly going fast.

Normally the flash of pain would've been a good enough reminder to calm down, it was something to focus on, something to ground him – but not this day it seemed; and within a blink of an eye he'd lashed out - punching not one, but two holes in the corridor wall out of frustration.

That seemed to help a little, and he looked to his servo almost in dismay at what he'd done as fresh Energon would bead from the almost healed wounds on his knuckles, a few spatters of brilliant blue in the impact marks on the wall.

Again he'd lashed out at a wall, and again he wasn't entirely sure why. This seemed to be the norm for him these days. At least it was just a wall and not one of his teammates, though – the last thing he wanted to do was hurt anyone.

This just had to be because he was on minimal rations, right? The blip blip of his HUD every 30 seconds telling him what he already knew was enough to irritate anyone and make them lash out. What was worse was that this was by choice, and Bumblebee's own doing. While they were low on Energon here at the Omega Base, they did still try to ration it out so everyone had their fair share, at the very least enough to function. Nobody should've been as hungry as Bee was – but he didn't want others to suffer or go without. He was young, he could handle skipping a day or so, or not taking as much on days that he did eat. Some of the mechs here at the base, Optimus, Carbine, Hazmat... They were bigger, they needed the fuel more. Thundercloud had volunteered to go into stasis. That was how bad it was. He didn't want it to get worse. What if something happened? What if MECH attacked? Those heavy hitters would be needed more, they couldn't be distracted by hunger pangs.

He'd played it off for so long that he was fine, but it was obvious now that he needed to eat. At least today, anyway. He'd fix the wall later, explain the irritability and apologize as best he could. Minimal ration intake had finally caught up with him, it seemed.

He'd shake off his arms, rolling his shoulders and venting out a long exhale as he started to walk once more. He was close to the rec-room now, and tried to move at a hurried pace before anyone came to investigate the heavy thuds as he punched at the wall.

He turned into the empty rec-room, making his way over to the dispensary for what'd be his first full ration in far too long. Someone had left the small television set on and his optics would audibly whir as he focused on it, seemingly zoning out as he lowered his mouth guard to drink the small cube of fuel. It wasn't enough to get rid of the HUD error, not by a long shot – but the processor fog was starting to fade at least. He could focus. It was a start.

Something seemed to click then, and once he'd downed the contents of the cube – he found himself refilling it. This time with more Energon than before. Again, the contents were downed swiftly – and once more he filled the cube.

He shouldn't be doing this. He'd taken far too much already but something just kept spurring him on – he hadn't realized just how hungry he actually was until he found himself here, alone, in the rec-room. Feeling fresh Energon in his lines – it felt good. Really, really good. There was no remorse, nor guilt for what he was doing – and he found himself refilling the cube again and again.

Soon, the HUD error was gone, along with what seemed to be the majority of the Omega Base's Energon supply, and he'd rub at his mouth with the back of one servo. It felt weirdly coarse, sharp even, and he'd look at his limb with narrowed optics. Small crystals of Energon had been wiped from his faceplate and were stuck to his servo – something that may have been cause for concern under normal circumstances, but he took it as the Energon here at the base being a little old.

With a shrug, he'd replace his mouth guard and would keep his attention on the television screen as he waited for the Energon to fully cycle through his lines so he could feel normal again. He'd felt off for a while now, nothing that was really a cause for concern or warranted him going to see Ratchet about or bring up to anyone – but everything that was strange, he put down to hunger. The irritability, the fact that something felt off within his chassis – and the fact his optics seemed extra sensitive as of late - itchy, even? Then again, that could've been nothing more than the fact they chose to live in a desert, but it'd been extra noticeable as of late.

Not that Bee had noticed himself, but they were considerably paler than normal too. The normally bright cyan aperture-lens like optics had dulled considerably over the past few days, although – nobody had pointed it out; everyone was a little tired and worn down due to the Energon shortage, and Bee was no different. It didn't help he'd spent the better part of the last few days mostly in his quarters alone so even Raf hadn't seen this change.

A shudder made him stagger forwards, and he'd catch himself with one servo on the wall to keep himself upright. Those brief, fleeting moments of feeling somewhat good again had turned quickly – and now he felt beyond awful. His arms and legs trembling as a loud gurgle sounded from his tanks. Had he eaten too quickly? He'd been borderline starving for weeks now, so maybe all that Energon was a shock to his system. All he knew was it wasn't going to stay down, and no amount of willpower could change that. A split second later he felt it coming back up – only to ooze and dribble from behind his mouth guard and down his chassis onto the floor. His free servo reached up in an instant to remove the barrier that was his mouth guard; and the Energon that he'd just drank was violently expelled from his tanks, gushing all over the wall and floor.

He didn't feel good at all. That 'off' feeling had gotten worse, and now the HUD errors were back – except he didn't know what any of them meant as they were scrambled and erratic, a blur, a mess. He couldn't focus, and yet at the same time he felt so very alert.

Ratchet. He had to find Ratchet... He'd know what to do.

He'd push himself from the wall, stepping through the puddle of dispelled Energon and would make his way back toward the Control Room so he could get to the Medical Bay. Not that he was paying attention to what was behind him, but the Energon was quickly crystallizing as it had prolonged contact with the air – the shards jutting out this way and that with sharp, jagged edges. He passed the two holes in the wall he'd made previously, staggering a moment to catch himself – those tiny spatters had hardened as well, not that he noticed as he continued on.

Something was so very wrong indeed, and it was about to get a lot worse.

With staggered, deliberate steps, Bee would make his way into the Control Room. It was Optimus who saw him first – the footfalls and the strange rasps and gurgles as he vented in meant he hadn't exactly been stealthy. Optimus turned to look the moment Bee had made his way into the doorway. There was also the fact it was practically impossible not to notice him. The bright yellow scout covered in blue Energon that'd dribbled from his mouth. That Energon had also formed crystals and they littered the front of Bee's frame. His optics – while dimmed in color before – were now a brilliant white, the cyan color had all but vanished.

Sadly, he'd seen Optimus before Optimus had seen him – and there would be a hiss of transformation as the paneling in Bee's forearms would shift, his blasters appearing a moment later. 

Before Optimus could ask what was wrong, before he could even begin to think of anything – the sound of Bee's blasters would be heard, interrupting any thought process that could've started. There had been no word nor warning what was about to happen, Bee firing a shot, then another in rapid succession – at Optimus Prime. He didn't even hesitate. There was no guilt, no remorse – his white optics wide open as he stared defiantly into the room at his leader – his hero.

The first shot made contact with Optimus – a headshot; hitting one of his cyan optics. A lucky shot all things considered, given he'd fired so fast and hadn't had time to really aim– the second, well... he'd expected Optimus to flinch, although miscalculated his movements. It hit, although would barely graze the Prime's shoulder.

A low, static-laced droned out beep that was more of a hum than an attempt at words would escape Bumblebee as his attention and gaze snapped to the second mech in the room. Jazz. Jazz was faster than him, and much better at combat – they both were – but he knew Jazz would be over here in an instant no doubt once it sank in what'd just happened and what Bumblebee had just done. Which would not be long.

That same rage bubbled up and showed no sign of dissipating, Bee's field was full of violent, volatile energy. Whatever this was.. the hunger and the starvation that he'd felt for weeks? Seemed to have kept it at bay.

Another shot was fired then toward Jazz. This one also swift and to the point and with absolutely zero remorse behind it. While Bee was better at hand to hand combat, he at least knew how to hit people with ranged weapons, and this shot would make impact with Jazz's shoulder plating.

Bee would then take a step backwards – his gaze furiously and frantically darting between both Jazz and Optimus, both blasters held out at the ready should they decide to make any sudden movements. His vents in were ragged and strained, white optics still wide.

This wasn't good at all.

[Jazz]

Jazz didn't mind helping his old friend out, if just to ease some of the pressure and lift whatever small amount of weight from his shoulders that it would. He had doubts that it would do much, but he was satisfied if only to give Optimus at least a moment to not be inwardly freaking out about everything. Beneath that cool exterior Jazz knew that there was much more conflict than he would ever let on. 

It was okay. Jazz didn't need to know details. He was good enough to fill in the blanks. The fact that the Autobot commander was even venting with what he had was hint enough to this... asking for help? Whole new ballgame. 

Jazz turned, though he paused in his steps when his visor indicated someone was approaching and his finely tuned audials took in the sound of steps coming their way. When he spotted Bee entering the room Jazz right away didn't like something about how Bee was carrying himself. It was wrong... off. Everyone was a little short as of late, especially with the shortage of energon that they were facing. Jazz was an older model and didn't require as much to sustain himself, though he did require more episodes of recharge when in the state he was in so he had been replacing his share into the rotation, just to ensure that the others who did need it got just a bit more. This, however? The tantrum earlier, the way he carried himself now.... no, this was different. This was something else and Jazz instinctively braced himself, placing his pedes a little more steady in the case he needed to rush in and break up an argument between Optimus and Bee.

Only it turned out to be much more than Jazz would have imagined, and a much worse situation was coming from this. 

He had spotted the transformation into his primary weapon before the shot had been fired. Jazz had moved to intercept but it was already too late. THe next shot he heard was intended for him and, since he was already in a forward motion when it was fired, he couldn't completely dodge the impact. He shifted his frame and took the impact in his already damaged shoulder. It spun him around and dropped him to a kneeling position on the floor. It wasn't the injury itself that had dropped him, even though it did hurt like the Pits, but rather the reminder of what popped up in his processor.

The familiarity of this. Friendly fire... what he thought was friendly fire. Enemy in their ranks. False comrades...

His visor dimmed, flickered, then went dull as he slumped there, locked in the images of the past that he had thought were long since forgotten.

[Optimus Prime]

There are two types of pain tolerances. There is the amount of pain and damage someone can endure when they are expecting it, and then there was another type that was experienced when truly caught off guard and alarmed.

Out on the battlefield, Optimus could endure grievous injuries and force himself to keep going, simply because that was what he had to in order to survive, and to try to keep others alive in the process. There is no time to roll over and tend to wounds, nor time to recollect and grieve over the possible permanent side effects they could leave. He has been stabbed, he has been bludgeoned, partly crushed, had parts torn off and taken the brunt of many strikes from Megatron or others of comparable power. He has been shot more times than he cares to recollect, and bombs have gone off so close he could feel his internals rattle and be pushed from the shockwave. Most of these incidents he kept going to defeat the opponent and do whatever had to be done, because he had to. But in leaving the Omega Outpost and venturing into the world, he put up his guard, and when actively going into a fight or a potential fight situation, he partly anticipates a sneak attack. Silent bracing to be ready to curb and swallow what pain befalls.

The Outpost was a different story.

He had felt relatively safe here. Any attack, any sort of trick from the Decepticons, they would have to force their way through the main tunnel of the base, and Optimus was wary enough to be cautious at the sound of anyone coming down the tunnel. If the Decepticons had Space Bridged in, they would have heard the vortex, or Red Alert would have started the alarms if they appeared in one of the more secluded portions. If they weren't going to invade with neither troopers nor a sneak attack like that, then they'd be spotted on radar before they could get the Nemesis in position to completely obliterate them with that laser they had. This left a sort of feeling of security, one that went sour very fast.

When Bumblebee initially walked within the room, Optimus had felt a small bit of joy over the fact that he had straightened his posture and hidden his weakness a moment prior. He didn't need Bumblebee seeing him when he is so low and beaten down emotionally. The young scout was so impressionable, striving to help at his own expense if it was needed, and he didn’t want him to pick up on Optimus' fears and concerns, only to then gift them unintentionally to the children ((even if they are well aware of the problems around them)). This gratitude in his own unintentional adaptation, twisted to confusion a split second later, when the gun was held up to aim at him.

Wrench to the side.

Twist.

Throw an arm up to dodge.

Activate faceguard.

So many small fractioned thoughts slammed through Optimus' processor the split second he he looked down the twin blue barrels, experience and hard earned skill trying to get him to act on automation and do what has to be done for survival. He was fast enough; he had done this before on the battlefield. He could deflect and respond before others could get hurt... all of that however was stalled a brief moment, just one second for his processor to ask 'why'.

Why was Bumblebee doing this?

Which was just enough for any responses to be mute and too slow.

The impact was sharp and biting, his frame wrenching back instantly in response to try to get away from the new pain that surged through his lines, unfiltered by any preparation or anticipation. Momentum from this sharp twisting movement and the newfound damage from the shot, mixed carelessly with the propulsion of his faceguard attempting to clap closed in an all-too-late attempt to protect himself, caused the right plate of metal to wrench clean off from his helm and fling into the air with a trail of droplets behind it. The half faceguard clattered to the ground, while Optimus' frame continued back.

A bang, Optimus crashed into the Control Room's console, his hip goring into the keys, while a hooked shoulder pauldron whacked into the leftmost octagonal screen, forcing it to wrench back and partly break off of its mounting plate. This caused the images across it to jitter and pop, the satellite views from the aborted MECH infiltration almost strobing in reply.

Without looking, without thinking, the Prime's hand smeared down along the keyboard with a fumbled drag as the following shots rang out, causing images to further pop and snap from one map to the next. It was an automatic response, done without thinking, trying to find the alarm button so that he could sound out the fact they were under attack, even if it was by one of their very own. It didn't work out terribly well however, considering he couldn't actually SEE what he was hitting. It was taking more time, more slivers of seconds he should be doing SOMETHING, why was he fumbling blind!? Why was he putting so much value in the alarm? He needs to act before- and... and he heard Jazz's frame drop down.

The Prime's weight rolled into movement then, pushing partly off of the console, his grip leaving the keyboard to draw to his sides once more. He took a heavy step forward, mass crashing down onto his ped as his weight dropped upon it with little control or throttling. No restrained movements, no holding back to be a ghost around the base, no care to worry about the fragile world that was around him. A rumbled growl snarled forth as combat systems roared to life.

Charred ash, trails of Energon, the Prime's helm locked down towards Bumblebee, a singular flared speck of blue above half a faceguard locking down fiercely. The other side of his face was seared in ash; paint blistered and peeled back, scoring and grooves cut into the white metals and adjoining helm panels beside a dark optic. Energon trailed as vibrant cyan against ultramarine, dappling down onto the slick iron glass of his windshields. Without the matching half a shield, a twisted grimace could be seen, dental plates gored together as his previous step, flowed seamlessly into another, starting to close the distance in an instant.

Why was Bee doing this!? Why did he attack them!?

Neutralize the threat before he can hurt others!

This wasn't like him... something is wrong...

Jazz is downed; he isn't moving... what if the shot against him was far more pointed?

Don't rationalize! Act! You know what to do in war!

Emotions will clip into what has to be done...

Emotions are what kept them thriving so long!

Optimus' right arm raised up, squared off fingertips curling, before red panels surged away from the forearm, and his hand folded back within his limb. A long slender blade swooped out and locked into place afterwards, light running along the honed edge.

We can't strike Bee down, there is no way he has gone traitor...

He is going to hurt others, he has stepped out of line!

You can barely see! Act! Trust impulse!

Bumblebee was but a blur of yellow, a rough shape that stood out against a concrete and metal backdrop. Optimus couldn’t see more, he couldn’t make out details; the only other thing he could vaguely guess on, was the glowing points of the scout's gun. With his momentum still carrying him forward from his push, and his long limbs closing the distance in an instant, the Prime swung the broad side of his blade around in an upward hack, trying to use its extra length to give him the reach needed to bash Bumblebee's arm up and to the side, to hopefully knock off any other shots that may come forth. It was simply an added bonus that the raw power behind the strike if it were to hit, could also throw the mech's weight in the process.

What was he doing...

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((Hey all! This thread is now open to anyone that wants to join who may have heard the commotion and wants to help ((After Bumblebee’s next post of course)). If you join, please just keep in mind that we will want things to move at a reasonable pace if multiple people come in, so we don’t have a couple months for each round of posts. We look forward to bringing chaos to the Outpost ;D though Optimus hopes not as much as what the Cons went through...))

[Bumblebee]

Bumblebee hadn't expected Jazz to go down so quickly.

It was perfect, in a way – as it meant one less opponent for him to deal with. There was absolutely no way he could take on both Optimus and Jazz at the same time, at least not easily, and he'd been expecting Jazz to lurch forwards into a counter assault first.

But... he crumpled. Dropping to his knees and... showed no sign of getting back up.

You betrayed me.

Normally, Bee would've rushed to his aid. Swung an arm around him – around his friend - and hoisted him back to his pedes, supporting him and his weight as he moved him to safety away from the aggressor, away from the danger until he had managed to gather his thoughts and get himself back into the game – where they would've fought side by side proudly.

But now? Bee just stared with wide, white optics. A twisted smirk on his faceplate, hidden behind his mouthguard. The sound of Optimus stumbling filled his audials, and he swiveled his attention back onto the Prime. Bee himself did not move, aside from twisting his upper torso so he was facing Optimus then with both arms. Both guns poised and aimed at him.

He took note of the damage he'd done to Optimus. Or at least, he seemed to. His gaze was fully on him... only... there were no squawked apologies, no explanation escaped him as to why he'd done what he had. No concern, and certainly no remorse came from Bee. Another low, rumbled hum of a beep left him, and he'd vent in sharply with shaky breath as time seemed to stand still – if only for a moment.

There was movement then. Not from Bumblebee, but from Optimus. Despite his size and mass, the Prime could be considered quite graceful; his movements flowed as he closed the gap between himself and Bee in what felt like no time at all – and all the while, Bumblebee would stare, defiant and silent, not moving or flinching from his post in the doorway. He'd watch as Optimus rose his right arm, the familiar hiss of transformation sounded as the long blade would slide and lock into place.

You underestimate me.

Just as Bumblebee was silent, so too was Optimus it seemed; no frantic questions were asked as to just what Bumblebee was thinking, and there were no hurried, urgent pleas trying to get the Scout to back down and stop what he was doing. No calls for help were made. Nothing.

You do not value me!

As Optimus drew closer, he'd feel the sheer anger and rage from the smaller Bot – his field flooded violently with both. He was seething, and was making no attempts to drown or disguise this fact. He waited, waited until Optimus was a fraction closer before he fired out another shot – although he was too focused, too angry, and it drowned out all sense of reason and thought, and his arm – the one that fired the shot – was smacked easily away, deflecting the shot up and away from Optimus.

You do not believe in me!!

Another static-laced drone of a beep left him as this strike made him stagger backwards toward the wall from the sheer force behind the blow. Despite the ire that seemed to drown out any and all rational thought, Bee still knew how to fight. If it was a fight that Optimus wanted? It was a fight he would get. He'd quickly catch himself as he stumbled, using the momentum from this movement to push himself off the wall with his other arm, ducking down and past Optimus into the Control Room itself, a hiss of transformation could be heard as he moved, and his right blaster would shift back into place, folding back into his forearm.

Once past Optimus and out of range of his blade, he'd lunge forwards again in an instant, pushing off the concrete as he made his way back toward the Prime. His right arm he would twist at his shoulder and pulled it back some, almost like he was going to throw a punch. His movement solid and true, like he intended to follow through – and it looked genuine enough, only at the last moment he'd hook his left up and out – firing another blast toward Optimus' chassis while in close range. If Optimus were paying attention to details (Unlikely, given he was half blind), he'd notice the fakeout – or at least, the movement behind it - being something that he himself had shown Bumblebee how to fully perfect just weeks earlier.

He wasn't thinking; he simply wanted to inflict as much damage as he could and as quickly as he could. He wanted to hurt Prime. The hatred he felt toward Optimus was almost immeasurable and it showed in that he did not back down or hold back. He didn't admit defeat, nor apologize or show remorse. He was out for blood. Any sane, rational Mech would've realized their mistake in challenging Prime and backed down. But not Bee.

You think I am weak!!!