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

[Ratchet]

Ratchet was sitting in his Medibay, looking over some readouts. The screen was humming quietly, showing its information in the rune-like Cybertronian text. Some were in green, some in yellow.

There were a lot in red.

Ratchet sighed slightly. They so desperately needed a break. Maybe if they –

The silence was suddenly punctuated by the sound of a weapon being discharged. Then another.

Ratchet looked towards the entrance to the Medibay, frowning slightly.

That was odd.

It sounded much closer than the practice room. Almost like it was somewhere near the Contro-

Another shot?

Frowning deeper, Ratchet stood up and started walking towards the Control Room. What on Cybertron was –

Ratchet stepped out just in time to see Optimus stagger back, and strike the Control panel. A part was knocked back, almost coming off entirely.

They were under attack!

Ratchet’s optics scanned the room swiftly, looking for the attackers. Decepticons? MECH? But there was no one, nothing to see-

Everything was happening so quickly.

From this angle, Ratchet couldn’t see the damage to Optimus, but the way the Prime was moving, it was apparent something terrible had happened. That he was injured.

He watched in mute confusion as Optimus righted himself and started forward, a juggernaut starting to move into a lethal run –

At Bumblebee?!

Ratchet took a step forward, his processor trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Bumblebee was aiming at Optimus. Straight at him, and....oh, something was so very wrong. The yellow scout’s optics were blazing white, as if his entire helm was lit from within by an industrial light, and he was making this low buzzing sound, as if he was trying to speak but couldn’t.

Ratchet cried out in shock as the sound of transformation sounded, and the prime’s sword slammed out of his forearm, massive peds slamming down into the flooring.

“Optimus! Bumblebee! What’s going on!?”

Unknown even to himself, the old medic was already starting forward, as if closing in on the two combatants would somehow make sense of this, or he could somehow separate the two of them.

[Deleted]

Click, click, clickclickclickclickclick

The Autobot's digits clicked over the Cybertronian-sized controller, the game system having been stolen from the Rec. Room earlier that day and the television borrowed from the Command Center. He was totally going to return it. But, a the moment, he was busy.  There was no way in the pit that Sideswipe was losing this time. Ganondorf thought he’d had the last laugh? He was about to get a surprise. If nothing else, the small, cartoonish villain on the small screen of the TV had incited Sideswipe’s naturally competitive side. In truth, though, he was pissed. He’d been playing this game for a good while now, running around as that human character in that weird green outfit, and now, when he was almost at the end, this aft was in his way. He’d already died twice.

And this battle was the only thing between Sideswipe and ultimate victory. He felt a satisfied smirk pull over his faceplates, his blue optics narrowing as he steadily beat away at Ganondorf’s health. Just a few more blows-

The first sound of fire had him on his pedes before he could even register moving, the controller falling from his hands. Four million years of combat and his previous time as a law enforcer had trained reflexes into him. Certain sounds cued certain reactions. Gunfire meant it was time to move, whether to take cover or return fire depended on the situation. Within the apparent safety of the base? It meant it was time to move toward the source, and neutralize it. His body began a series of minute shifts, preparing him for battle. Plating subtly moved just a few degrees to better protect him, his processor diverted energy from areas of low concern to better fuel his weaponry and physical movement. He forgot completely about the game he’d been playing as his mind reoriented itself for combat.

Immediately, Sideswipe’s processor began to reel. They were under attack. Their cloak had failed and the Decepticons knew- wait, no, there was a truce. He could barely think straight as he ran for the door of his hab. unit, pedes thudding heavily over the floor. The door hissed open, not quite fast enough. He clipped it with his shoulder and arm, hard enough that he staggered from the force. The blow barely caught his attention. He was far too focused on what he'd heard. It was MECH. It had to be. They’d found them and decided to take experimental material directly from its home. He gritted his denta. They were going to have their hands full if they thought they could just walk in and take his-

Two more shots, one directly after the first, another just slightly delayed. Something didn’t feel right about this. If it was MECH, there would have been alarms, notice of a breach. Red Alert would be losing his processor. Sideswipe picked up his pace, sprinting toward the source, moving surprisingly quickly for his side. There had to be an explanation. A weapons malfunction. A sparring match gone wrong. Something. Gunfire in the base made no sense. He realized he was nearing the Command Center when he heard the sound of metal clashing against metal and another blast of fire, this one much louder. A fight in the Command Center? What in the pit was going on?

Sideswipe burst into the Command Center, frame tense and ready for a fight, his fans whirring from the effort of moving so quickly despite the acute lack of fuel in his systems. He was expecting betrayal from the Decepticons, a room full of their old enemies.

But this was much more confusing.

The frontliner had always prided himself on his ability to take in a situation at a glance and act accordingly. But this situation was so wrong that it brought him up short. The information was coming in through his senses, but it didn't compute. One of the screens on the wall, nearly torn off its stand. Jazz, kneeling on the ground, injured and unresponsive. Ratchet coming in from the other side. Optimus, looking like someone had taken a canon point blank to one side of his helm. Bumblebee….fighting Optimus, who was…struggling.

What the hell?!

In the face of confusion and a lack of understanding, Sideswipe’s processor reoriented itself. Bumblebee, his friend, was currently a threat. At least, Sideswipe thought that was what was going on. From he looks of things, he had fired at Optimus. And hurt him. And Jazz as well. He had to be neutralized before he hurt others. But, neutralized in such a way that he himself was not harmed.

Right? Maybe? Right. For now. He was still confused as hell, but, he had to do something.

Sideswipe’s analytic skills kicked in as he took in the way Bee was moving. It was wrong…he wasn’t himself. Obviously. There was no way Bee would ever engage in a serious fight with Optimus. The Prime was his hero. He was everyone's hero. Optimus, too, was off. Though, that was likely caused by his injury. There needed to be an intervention before Bumblebee got a lucky shot and injured him further…or Optimus got an equally lucky shot and injured Bee. Explanations could come later. First, this had to stop. And Sideswipe planned to stop it.

First move: Distract.

“HEY, BEE!”

Not his most creative distraction, but, it was something. He had to get Bumblebee's attention on himself. Away from Optimus. And he had to make himself a relevant enough threat to enforce that need for Bee to divert his attention. At least...he thought that was the right thing. He hoped to Primus that it wasn't Optimus who had instigated this. Or they were all screwed. Even as he shouted, he made his second move, charging forward. He stayed light on his pedes, aware that he may need to dodge a shot. Or take it. If he made it to his target unhindered, he would slam into the smaller bot, using his size and weight to bear him to the ground. Being a frontliner, Sideswipe was sure that he would at least be able to hold him long enough for help to arrive. And keep him from shooting someone else.

At least, he hoped he would.

There was no thought to personal safety as he moved. No worry about how he was running at his friend with intent to subdue and into a fight in which Optimus Prime was present, a juggernaut who could undoubtedly turn Sideswipe into parts strewn across the floor. All he knew in that moment that his friends and comrades were fighting, really, truly fighting, and that it had to stop. The usual thrill of battle was absent in the face of grim determination. There was nothing fun or exciting about this. Just a sense of confusion and distress.

What was happening?

[Optimus Prime]

Optimus truly didn't want to hurt Bumblebee, he didn't want to actually damage him, that said... he had to be stopped. For all he knew, this was aftershocks of the horrible incident between Bumblebee and Megatron some time ago, ghost programming coming to light by some outside influence... the Warlord's presence possibly not fully removed from the depths of his processor. Was this orchestrated by Megatron, or was it simply a technical fluke? Did it even matter? As, no matter what the cause was, Bee was a threat, and there was no time to negotiate, no time to try to talk him out of it. If he did try, and the scout had no intention to halt, he could do more damage to him, or take down Jazz fully from wherever he had fallen. He could also cripple the base, if he so chose to shoot at the control systems themselves and that was an absolutely huge threat.

No...

He had to engage instantly, which is why he had reacted as abruptly as he had, the surge of pain and shock helping him get the immediate push to not waste time to try to take mental stock of what had even happened to him. Raw nerves raked at the side of his helm, clawing and scraping from the damage that spanned across part of his faceplate to the side of his head, but as much as it hurt, it was starting to haze over, but only due to his combat protocols kicking active, and the shock of injury itself nullifying the sting.

It was only after his blade's broad side was in motion, that Optimus heard Ratchet's startled cry followed by a frantic request for information to try to explain away what was happening here. It caused the Prime's helm to crook in his direction, habitually trying to get a bead on the other Cybertronian's location so that he could be mindful not to injure them, and to help if he was tasked to do so. The small pinprick of blue that remained in his left optic flicked and darted, attempting to lock down, before a blurred movement of yellow pulled his attention back instantly.

"Bumblebee has attacked!"

The words felt... they felt hollow, they felt broken. While the phrase itself wasn’t out of the ordinary if they were on a mission of some kind, it was the context and location that made it just... oh so not right. It caused Optimus' few words to sound strained and disjointed, confusion lancing through them to tear them apart. But he couldn't attempt to say more, as Bee had already gone into motion.

Darting, Bee using his agility to get to his side, the sound of transformation so much more pointed than it ordinarily would have been. Optimus turned to match this movement, his right ped lifting off the ground, and slamming back down to angle himself with Bumblebee so that he could root down and be in a better position to try to counter anything. It was from this angle he thought he could see Jazz, the white mech kneeling down.

Optimus had questions. Why was the other mech kneeling? Why was there no sound? If he was truly knocked down and out, would he not be fully on the floor entirely? Then again, could he even trust his current perception of Jazz's posture? The real answer to this had to be cast aside however. He had to protect him if he could, he had to protect the base, and Bumblebee was closer to Jazz and the control systems now, and that was simply NOT acceptable.

The aperture in the Prime's left optic flared and whirled as it tried to focus, small visible gears and parts flicking in a vain attempt to right what had gone wrong, but it was pointless. His vision in his right was gone, and the left had a smear of ash specked across it, or was it a crack through the lens? He couldn't tell, his processor not really dedicating any thought to that distinction. All he knew was that a blurred line cut through everything, making Bee nothing but a smear of yellow, Jazz a spattering of white and blue, and the control room a sea of gray with portions of green. Despite Bee's colors contrasting as much as they did however, he could not see the finer details of what he was doing. He couldn't anticipate the false actions, since he could barely even see the initial punch to begin with.

Optimus' left hand raised in a sharp movement, lurching forward to try to catch the punch that was coming his way while Sideswipes voice cut into the room. Despite his poor sight, he would have actually have had a decent chance to block the scouts attack... that is... if Bee had actually followed through with it. Instead, there was some kind of flinch movement, and a new biting pain seared into his chest.

As with most, but not all individuals, chest armor tended to be the thickest and most secured portion of a Cybertronian. Optimus was no exception to this rule, and his heavy armor class meant that the injury against him was far less than the one that had plagued his helm a moment prior. The duel laser shot blistered and peeled away his paint underneath the right pane of iron glass, but did very little more. Unlike Bumblebee's first shot, it didn't so much as make the prime faultier, his hand that had been raised a moment prior to try to block a punch, now cutting forward to try to grab hold of Bumblebee's... well...he didn't know what. He blindly grabbed at the mass of color in front of him, clutching down onto something solid.

The moment he got this contact, Optimus' fingertips dug down firmly, and he wrenched around violently, Bumblebee getting ripped clean off his peds as if he were made of nothing but cardboard. The action was harsh, but not unduly fierce, though the unknown movements of Sideswipe escalated everything exponentially. What had been intended to be a toss to get the yellow scout to the floor in front of Ratchet and Sideswipe ((and thus away from Jazz and the base's systems)) now ended with him being thrown right at the frontliner while he was charging, Optimus having no idea that the other mech was doing such a thing, until after his fingers had loosened and it was too late.

"Look out!"

He turned with his throw, now facing the newcomers with a broad combat stance, ready to protect himself and Jazz if he could decipher any further shots that were going to be taken at them. Now that he was looking directly towards the others, the damage to the side of his helm was far more visible.

The impact appeared to have gored somewhere around his right temple, taking out everything in a moderate radius around it due to the double blast nature of the weapon. The side division between faceplate and helm armor had been blown open, a hole present where half of his faceguard normally was mounted in place. The bracket that typically held it secure was twisted up at an odd angle in between this. His audial receptor was slung down and hung at an odd angle compared to the other, its multiple set of sharp barb like fins bent and warped, while the smaller one was downright missing. The Prime's nearby optic was black, damage undoubtedly done to it, but the details were lost within the painted streaks of ash that radiated out to paint his features, going so far as to have some black speckles along his 'collar bone' region. Between these three points, was a patch of open mesh, Energon spattering to web between them all, freely flowing down to collect under his jaw before splitting to trail down his throat, and drip from his chin. It dappled to the ground at a couple points, soft taps that were lost in the chaos.

[Bumblebee]

Bumblebee didn't see Ratchet move into the room, but he sure as hell heard him – his panicked voice unmistakable as he witnessed what was happening.

Of course, Bee wasn't about to start answering Ratchet's question, or even glance in his direction for that matter. Wasn't it obvious enough what was going on? At least someone had the sense to ask though – even if all Bumblebee took from the Medic's presence was that a new threat had arrived.

As Bumblebee lunged toward Optimus, the Prime's attention drifted to Ratchet's voice that called out, giving Bee the chance to get the upper-hand, if only for a moment. Good - that was all he needed. He noted the confusion laced words of response but did not falter or pause his attack, the shot firing out loud and clear as he hit Prime right in his chassis. Of course, it did not do much against the heavy armor, which was why he'd have to-

Movement.

Another voice.

Another threat.

Another enemy.

Sideswipe.

It was Bee's turn for his attention to falter momentarily; and he cast the briefest of furious glances upward to try and gauge where Sideswipe was coming from. He shouldn't have, as in that same split-second he felt Optimus grab him and wrench him quickly and easily off his pedes. A high pitched, but furious beep would escape Bee as he was moved. He couldn't snarl or growl like others; but the noises indicated he was less than thrilled about this new movement and he'd squirm and writhe angrily in protest.

Not that it did much, and nor did he have much say in the matter of what was about to happen, as he was quickly thrown – hard – at the red Mech who had made his way onto the scene.

Unfortunately for Sideswipe, he seemed to have taken the deer in headlights approach to everything and just stood there. Optimus may have been half blinded, but his aim was spot on - and Bumblebee would crash into the red mech with an almighty clang of impacting metal.

Even with Jazz down, it was now three against one. Everyone was a threat; and threats needed to be put down.

Sideswipe would take the brunt of the impact, crashing hard onto the concrete floor below in a blur of red and yellow. Maybe it was shock, maybe it was fear? But the red mech didn't instantly try to scramble up and away which gave Bee more than enough time to deal with him.

Lightning quick, he'd scrabble upright and shift so he was half straddling Sideswipe's torso. He'd swoop down with his right servo and leant in to grasp the other mech's throat, in an attempt to hold him still – while his left would point and aim his blaster at the other mech.

Completely oblivious to what was going on around him as he sat in this moment, Bumblebee stared silently down at Sideswipe for a second that would no doubt feel like an eternity. Wide, white optics seemed to bore through him, but his gaze never left him. His field unchanged, radiating that same furious, volatile anger that drowned out almost everything else. Some of the strangely crystallized Energon from the front of Bumblebee's chassis had scraped off in the tumble, and lay in brittle shards on the concrete floor.

He stared. Silent.

He could just end it here. He could slam his servo into the concrete beside Sideswipes helm so the blaster was pushed flush up against him. A point blank shot like that would be devastating and there probably would be no way he could come back from it, even with Ratchet's aid.

But... He didn't shoot. His left arm would tremble some, the dual barrel still pointed at his intended target, but he seemed to hesitate moving it any closer and delivering the final blow.

Was he fighting whatever it was that'd caused him to lash out?

Maybe.

Whatever it was, whatever this brief moment of clarity was? It didn't last. Bumblebee would quickly shift to a stand. He was fast, scrambling up in an instant – one pede on the concrete and the other slammed down onto Sideswipe's chassis to keep him in place for a second longer. His arm still trembling, but he couldn't seem to find it in him to stop aiming.

Then? There would be another shot fired. The all too familiar noise of Bee's blaster echoing loudly through the corridor as he fired at Sideswipe without a second thought.

[Raf Esquivel]

Raf felt like a mouse.

A terrified little mouse.

Things started out ok. They started out just fine!

He had been doing his homework in Fowler’s office. It was only a short distance away, and there was a large comfy leather chair and huge desk. Lots of pens and things.
Rafael settled himself into the chair, getting settled for a long homework episode.

Sitting in the large chair, his legs swinging easily a good foot or more above the floor, Raf hummed while he worked.

He had already finished his English and science, and was just about to wrap up his math when he heard something.

Raf looked up from his books, cocking his head a little. Had that been a knock on the door? It was really muffled and kinda hard to tell.

There was another one, shortly after the first.

Raf pushed back from the desk, and hopped down to the floor, moving quickly to the door and opening it, fully expecting to see Miko there, playing a prank on him or something.

He stopped. No Miko. Noone.

Suddenly, there was another sound, and now with the door opened, Raf’s young, sharp ears easily picked it out.

That was a blaster! Bee’s blaster!

Raf was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to use live fire inside the base, even for practice, so what was going on? Unless...

Were they being attacked?

Rafael quickly moved out from the office, and started running along the hallway. He kept to the wall as he ran, like a mouse did. He knew Optimus hated it when he wasn’t up on the catwalk, but they didn’t go everywhere in the base, so to put his mind at ease, Raf kept right to the wall, where people never walked.

It was weird. Bumblebee had fired, but he wasn’t hearing any other weapons. Where were the other Autobots? Was Bee all alone?!

Raf broke straight into a run.

He pushed closer to the wall when he saw Sideswipe come barrelling out from the hallway leading from the personal quarters to the control room. Not saying anything, Raf followed as best as possible.

When Raf ran into the Control Room, he stopped, not sure what he was seeing.

Optimus was hurt! He was leaning against the Control Panel, and his face...

Oh.... his face....

Raf’s stomach lurched at the sight, horrified into silence at the gaping hole in the side of the Prime’s face, the blackened pit that had been an eye. His face was partially peeled back, ash and burn leaving streaks.

What....what....

Optimus? Are you ok?, his small mental voice whispered.

Looking around, still feeling ill at the damage done to Optimus, Raf’s eyes fell on Jazz.

Why was Jazz just sorta half sitting half lying there? Was he....was he...

Things happened so fast.

Taking a few running steps into the room, moving around until he was able to see Bumblebee’s face. His running steps slowed, and stopped. Stunned, utterly silent, Raf stared in mute horror up at the yellow scout.

Energon had...burst or run or....and it was all down Bee’s front, and turned all jaggy and sharp. His arms were up, blasters out, and pointed ... at Optimus.

Oh his eyes....

Bee was making horrible noises, like he was trying to beep but it was stuck halfway out.

“Bee?” Raf whispered very quietly, “Oh Bee you’re sick."

Sudden, pounding impacts behind him, vibrations slamming through the floor and up into his legs, and Raf turned to see Optimus barrelling straight towards Bumblebee...straight towards him.

Each heavy thud of Prime’s foot slamming down sent out small shockwaves of dust and grit.

Terror slammed up into Raf’s throat, and he lunged sideways, half running, half falling, trying to get out of the way before he was literally stepped on. He had just managed to clear the area where Prime’s ped slammed down, the force of wind literally blowing Rafael clear off his feet and onto his chest and face on the floor.

Raf heard his glasses crack.

Confused, frightened, Raf picked himself up, hearing massive voices booming right above him, the Prime’s baritone like thunder to Raf, Ratchet, yelling for information. Optimus, yelling back that Bee was attacking. Sideswipe yelling at Bee as well.

Getting to his feet, Raf turned in time to see a large yellow ped come slamming down next to him, and Raf was blasted off his feet again, this time being knocked backwards where he was literally slammed into the ped of Optimus, that now impacted next to him. His breath was knocked out of him, pain lancing up his back.

Raf staggered away from the foot, and turned. He tried to move back towards the entrance to the Control Room, to escape towards Sideswipe, but another massive foot slammed down, filling his vision, blocking his escape.

His vision was skewed as well, his left lens shattered, a spiderweb of cracks.
Everything was disjointed.

Raf never worried about being around the Autobots. They were his friends. Only right now, he suddenly realized with everything going on, they didn’t even know he was there. He was down, by the feet, while everyone was looking at everyone else’s face.

They stopped being friends. Now they were massive beings, booming, angry voices, massive bodies slamming together with impacts that literally rained dust and small bits of debris down on him.
He felt like an ant.

He had to get out.

He had to get out.

His heart pounding so hard it hurt, Raf slammed his hands over his ears, the sound of battle just above deafening him, and ran. He blindly ran towards the Console, waiting any moment for a ped to come slamming down again, everything going back. Everything just stopping. He was afraid. Terrified at being caught in the middle of the brawling titans, all his survival instincts screaming for escape, just run. Like a little mouse.

He threw himself to his knees, frantically crawling, scrabbling underneath the Command Console. Raf crawled until it was dark, and his head bumped the wall. Only then did he stop, trying to catch his breath.

He sat with his back against the wall, arms wrapped around his knees, staring out, shocked at the violence.

He gasped, horrified, when he saw Bumblebee place a blaster right up alongside Sideswipe’s helm, and pause.

“NO! Bee, DON’T!” Raf screamed, “STOP!”

[Ratchet]

Ratchet continued to move forward, but his audial processors didn’t seem to want to work.

Bumblebee was attacking?

Attacking Optimus?

“Why is he attacking!?” Ratchet yelled, trying to get around Optimus and Bumblebee, to move in, and somehow, stop the insanity.

The medic attempted to dart in but couldn’t find an opening. He wanted to stop Bumblebee, but not get his helm sliced off by a half blind Optimus in the process.

A flash of red caught his attention, and Ratchet turned, relived to see Sideswipe appear. Another heavy hitter was a sight for sore eyes right about now.

He was about to try and get Sideswipe’s attention, to try and wave the fontliner to circle around Bee and try to grab him from behind, but that plan was dashed when Sideswipe yelled out, letting the scout know where he was.

It was doubly ruined when Optimus did the completely unexpected and literally threw Bumblebee at Sideswipe.

They both went down hard, and Ratchet saw a chance. He lunged forward, hoping to grab Bumblebee. Perhaps between the two of them, Sideswipe and Ratchet could wrestle Bumblebee into submission, and find out what in the name of Pit was going on!

The scout was too fast, though, and Ratchet found himself freezing in place when Bee put his blaster flush against Sideswipe’s plating.

The medic froze, hands out, “Bumb-“

His words died in his throat when Raf’s voice, of all things, suddenly screamed out in the control room, filling the medic with extra dread.

The child was in here? WHERE?!

[Deleted]

Sideswipe had seen, and experienced, a lot in four million years of combat. Even things that completely threw him off-kilter with their oddness.

Optimus Prime tossing Bumblebee was one of those oddities.

Frag.

One moment, he was charging in, ready to tackle the yellow menace to the ground. He’d even thought for a moment that his plan had worked. When Bee glanced at him with those horrifyingly white optics, he’d internally claimed success. And then, said yellow menace was sailing his way. The shock, combined with a lingering instinct to not let his friend hit the floor after a throw like that, was his undoing. He staggered, optics wide, barely able to pull up, much less dodge, as the scout slammed into him. He had taken some hard hits in the past, hell, he prided himself on being able to take hard hits. But, being hit by a bot as near his size as Bumblebee was, when this mass was thrown by a Prime? There was no way he was keeping his pedes.

He and the scout went down with a shrieking and clanging of metal. As the red mech attempted to retaliate in that spilt second, maybe roll to catch Bee beneath him, he found that the awkwardness of the angle was too much. He had fallen too far to be successful. His helm slammed into the concrete hard enough that he vented hard in pain as his head was rattled. That moment of pain and surprise was all Bee needed to be on him.

By the time Sideswipe even twitched to respond, a servo was clenched around his neck cable in a painfully tight grip. Now, usually, the frontliner would have shrugged this off and decked the bot on top of him. But, the blaster pointed directly at his helm kept him from doing so. He froze beneath Bumblebee, optics locked on the glow at the end of the gun, one hand gripping the scout’s wrist.
That second was one of the longest of Sideswipe’s life.

A million thoughts rushed through his processor: If Sunny had been here…if he’d just been a little faster…what even was this?....what was wrong with Bee?...to think, after all this time, he’d be killed by the discharge of a friend’s weapon…It wasn’t even ‘Cons…this wasn’t right. Many others spun by in that moment, along with the certainty of death.

I’m sorry, Sunny...

He mentally braced himself.

It was Raf’s voice that snapped him out of it.

In that moment, his emotions shifted from resignation and fear to a worry and desperation to move. Worry that the boy was there, in the middle of this fight, and desperation to put the threat down before Bee hurt the boy. His optics snapped to Bee’s, taking in the deadness there. It was spark-chilling, as was the anger that oozed from the bot’s field. What had caused this? It didn’t matter. Bee had paused, was trembling. Was…fighting whatever this was. At least, Sideswipe hoped this was the case.

 
Even as the hope welled within him, though, Sideswipe watched the clarity disappear again.

He shifted, preparing to risk it and throw the bot off. Bee stood and Sideswipe moved to surge upward. He was stopped by the pede in his chassis. The force slammed him back down and he groaned.
Sideswipe couldn’t explain how he knew, but, he did. He knew, as soon as he was slammed back down, that Bee was going to fire. And, so, he reacted. He jerked sharply to the side, instinctively throwing out an arm to lash at the scout’s blaster in the wild hope of somehow reaching it to knock it aside.

It was that jerk that saved him.

The shot, which, at that range, still should have left his helm an empty, smoldering husk, caught the side of his face and helm. While the main impact was a crater in the floor, beside his head, he hadn’t been fast enough to escape the full damage. The sound he made as the searing pain tore into him was utterly inhuman. A high metallic shriek left him in place of a vocal cry, an instinctual sound of pain, almost animalistic in its making. Sideswipe had taken blaster fire before. But not at such close range. And not to the head. The shriek devolved into a rather vulgar Cybertronian curse.

Though the damage was not as extensive as Prime’s, it was similar in nature, and equally horrific. The shot, fired at such close range, had immediately caused the paint on the side of his helm to blister and bubble. Scorch marks were clearly visible over his shoulder and helm, along with the flaky ash that was peeling from his more heavily damaged spots. His neck cable was on fire, not literally but the pain was certainly comparable. The outer mesh was burnt through to reveal more vital components beneath. The entire left side of his face was blackened by the blast, part of the facial plating at the corner of his mouth melted away to reveal denta gripped tight in a grimace of pain. His left optic had been clipped, enough that it flickered once before going grey, the outer corner of it all but destroyed. Further back on his helm, Sideswipe’s audial receptor had been melted inward, turning into an unsightly lump of twisted metal on the side of him helm. His shoulder had only been scorched and was not as badly damaged. His head, it seemed, had taken the most damage.

Blinded by pain and shock, Sideswipe reacted instinctively. His own hand shifted back into his arm, a blaster emerging, the unmistakable sounds of transformation audible. He hadn’t meant to, not truly, but everything within him was screaming at him to protect himself. To arm himself and shoot back. The gun whined as it powered up. His opposite hand flew to Bee’s ankle and wrenched hard, aiming to dislodge him. If that failed, Sideswipe would shoot him in the leg. At least Ratchet could repair that. Right?

The pain made it difficult to think, and he had lost half his visibility. In short, this fight had already taken a turn for the worse.

[Carbine]

A crummy day, a crummy job... picking up after crummy bots that didn’t know how to not track earth slop all over the place.

Carbine was NOT a neat freak. He was not above wallowing in literal trash if it had a purpose or there was amusement to be had. He would jump into mud or wrestle with others for no other excuse than some fun and laughs, and didn’t really care that much about his physical appearance as long as he was all the same color, and didn't have huge patches of raw gray exposed anywhere. Scratches here, dings there... but... some people assigned him a job of janitorial work, simply because of his defects and his inability to do any control room jobs and tasks. It was so unfair! Ignore the fact it may have also had something to do with the truth that he was a troublemaker, and made a mockery out of the few important jobs he did get... but that was another story all together! Whatever the case, it was only because of this job that he even noticed the dirt that others drug in, and the little obnoxious black marks that tires left on concrete.

Wouldn't normally bother him, but... he had to look like he carried his weight!

Angrily, Carbine was in the middle of such a task in the lower basement area, trying to clean up what looked to be some paint that had gotten spilled at some point and abandoned. Hah... classic... make a mess and leave it for others to deal with! Carbine knew that trick well, and was no stranger to it. He had just finished getting that mostly cleaned, just good enough that another Cybertronian would probably not notice the discoloration while walking around, when he decided to get things ready to do a pass with cleaning upstairs.

Towel like rag in hand, bucket of soapy water in the other from the wash racks, he walked into the Rec Room to start off there as long as no one else was present. If it was empty? He could clean it up, and get out of there before someone else decided to trash it up again. Then, and only then, he could say he did his rounds and was done and it wasn’t his fault and THEY had to clean whatever new mess was up now! It was brilliant! Except, the moment he walked in, he was met with a damn murder scene.

Scuzin...?

Carbine stood in the doorway to the room, gawking at the sight that lay before him. His peds planted down wide from one another for balance, while rotors and helm crooked upright in sudden alert tension. This was one heck of a mess, and it was unlike anything he had seen before.

Energon to be consumed, and Energon from someone's lines... it was different from one another, but only subtly. Viscosity changes, subtle color tones... Carbine has seen more than his fair share of bloodbaths in this war, and absurdly enough, maybe even more before the war from killers on the streets. He has seen chop shops, he has seen scorned lovers break apart their significant others to bathe in their fuels. He has witnessed slaughterhouses of death and destruction from deranged drug lords proving a point to their subordinates. As much as what was before him looked at first glance to be a murder scene, instead...? He recognized some of the signs that pointed to it being something else.

There were no sprays of fuel up on the walls with sickle like curves indicative to a blades hacking. There were no speckles of fine blue powder that would scream of a solid round gunshot impact. The splatters didn’t radiate out from one another with chunks of body parts from a hammer's blow, and no char marks from lasers or plasma weaponry. As gruesome as a thought it was, there were no passive drops and the fuel wasn’t pooled into a single puddle as if from someone cutting into themselves to force a bleed out... no... It hefted from a singular source, radiating out into a splatter that was low volume velocity.

Carbine would have recognized it as vomit from the fuel itself and the centralized pattern, if it weren't for the crystals that jutted out of it in odd irregular patterns. It turned a two dimensional painting of an incident, into a three dimensional mass that was fascinating and oh so very wrong all at once.

But SO wasn't going to be his problem.

Slowly, Carbine eased backwards out of the room, optics wide in horror. He was NOT going to be blamed for this! If he reported it, then they'd think he was lying in order to save his own hide! He had to put distance in between him and it, maybe seek out Javelin or someone that would listen and not throw him under the bus instantly. He thought about Bee, but they weren't really on good terms yet. It was while he was escaping the scene of the 'crime' that he heard a muffled sound down the way.

Freezing again, Carbine listened, optics squinting lowly.

Gunshots...?

He knew that sound!

No... not in the base...

But...

Another one broke out a short distance after, and he hurled the bucket of water and rag down to the ground with a slap.

----

Player Four has Entered the Game

Optimus' sword was out, he was damaged, bleeding, protecting Jazz who was downed. Ratchet was approaching Bumblebee who looked like he had that same crystal stuff on him and did not look well. The scout was standing atop some mech Carbine didn't know the name of, with a ped on his chest, and a blaster at his face. The red mech was injured badly, trying to get free, gun drawn...

Waiting for full answers was a chump's game. When shit goes off the deep end, you had to act, and react no matter who the target was. In this case, there wasn’t even a moment's hesitation, as the large black and white mech eased back just enough to roll his weight into a reeling stance, arms swooping back, peds grinding down against the ground, before he kicked off at full speed.

A sound of transformation... armor shifting and sliding into place with heavy clunks and snapping latches of locking mechanisms clicking in place. Shields of reinforced plating slid out from beneath other armor panels, spreading up to cover vulnerable spots and joins, reinforcing other areas to be able to endure heavy blows and gunfire without goring into the inner layers. While Carbine was a light individual for his size class, he had the majority of his weight in these front panels, his riot armor literally built from his creation to take a blast and keep going.

One... two... three...

He hefted forward intent to ram past Ratchet, long legs cutting through the air like a blade. For all the times he tackled and attacked Bumblebee... in their spats and struggles, their play fighting and drunken games... he always did so with intent to disarm and restrain. Now?... well... now wasn't TOO much different, but the big change was the fact he did not announce himself. He did not let Bee know he was coming, he didn’t laugh, or joke about it, nor draw his attention with an angry growl. Instead, he simply slammed forward with all of the speed he could muster as a pursuit officer, and at the last fraction of a second, he used his much higher height to his advantage.

Ramming the rubber lined prong of his triangular ped down, Carbine's right leg hooked up and off the ground, reinforced shin armor slicing up at Bumblebee's chest or head with a ramming kick that was propelled by the full mass of his momentum and speed he had gathered a moment prior. Carbine put so much force behind it, he let out a growled huff at the last moment, trying to get Bee OFF of the red mech, and knock him down to the ground at any cost.

While he anticipated the hard impact to follow, if it didn’t for some reason or another, he was prepared to drop his wheel styled heel down, to skid to a halt and keep himself from careening over.

[Optimus Prime]

"Why is he attacking!?"

That was the million dollar question.

One Optimus had no immediate answer for.

"I do not know!"

The words were strained, confused, pain scraping at raw nerves beneath a hazy layer of his species equivalent to adrenaline. What more could he say to Ratchet's question? This was a huge mystery that seemingly came out of nowhere in a way none of them could have predicted. The Prime had his own small flickers of ideas, his own concepts over what could be the source of the incident, Megatron and MECH being the top contributors... but it was something that could be discussed later, when the immediate threat was over with. For now, they had Bumblebee to restrain, and injuries to get patched up, which is why he tossed Bumblebee like he had, trying to get him to the floor in front of Sideswipe so that he would be an easy grab.

A goal that was short sighted and ended with failure.

While he couldn't really make out the impact visually, the sound of the two mech's colliding was unmistakable, a scuffle occurring just afterwards that hopefully would end out well for them all. After the toss however, he took note of an odd feeling upon his palm that gave him momentary pause. It didn’t feel like flaked off paint, nor the powdery texture of dirt or dust from the earth's surface... it also wasn't liquid like Energon, yet... it was blue like it, the luminous specks barely visible through his damaged lens, peppered over gray metal. He wouldn't have long to contemplate it, when the scuffle evolved into an even less ideal situation.

What happened next seemed like a blur, in more ways than just visual. It was too much, too fast, Ratchet's words, a snarled buzzing growl, the implied shapes of Bee standing up aiming his blaster at Sideswipe, all punctuated by tiny words that came from behind Optimus, that were almost so faint he didn't catch them.

Rafael was here!?

A lance of horror shot through Optimus at this realization.

Rafael should NEVER be around a situation like this, too much movement, too much danger. He could get crushed or thrown in the chaos; he could be shot or hit by shrapnel or debris from impacts. Even shed Energon was potentially lethal to them, the toxic compound causing any number of unknown issues with organic life. Nothing about this situation was acceptable, even more so when it was Bumblebee who was the one that caused it.

He needed to be removed from the situation immediately; they needed to get distance between him and the danger. The issue was, Optimus had no clue where Raf was other than a vague idea of 'behind him'. Too scared to move, too nervous to take a step... Any shift in his weight or any new footfall... for all he knew it could take out Rafael. He wanted to tell himself that humans were smarter than that, that they would move to the edges of the room, or find shelter of some kind out of the way. They were intelligent, far more so than he was certain most Cybertronians gave them credit for, but logic... logic did little to soothe the irrational worry. This wasn’t something that could be considered an 'oops' situation if it went wrong somehow. It forced Optimus to halt any new actions, his arms held out at either side, sword still extended, though was now pointed towards the ground, until the second shot ripped out shortly followed by a new scream of pain.

Everything was a haze, everything was not right. The room seemed to twist and turn in unnatural ways, while questions bombarded his processor. He tried to rely on impulse, tried to rely on experience, but in war... if Bumblebee had been a Vehicon, of if it had been some other foe... the scout would have been ended before they even got to this point. He would have been sliced clean through with the blade for attacking them directly, and had any damages he could have bestowed upon the Autobots, ended in an instant. But this was Bumblebee, and that fact alone was disorienting enough with his injuries and the fear of Raf's position to make him hold his ground

Optimus' frame wobbled a bit, before his knees locked and he held his ground resolute, fiercely trying to look for an opening in the chaos in front of him to help. If he could grab Bumblebee again, if he could just get a firm grip, he could pun his arms down to his sides and hold him still. It is what he did to Air Raid... it is how he restrained the red mech when MECH had taken over. Why didn’t he keep hold and do that again before? Why did he toss Bumblebee? Hindsight made it seem so clear, but it was over now.

He thought he saw an opening then, knee buckling a bit to prepare to nervously lift to allow him to move forward in the hope Rafael was still behind him, but he saw a new blur of black and white, and he grit his dental plates and pulled away.

He was a liability so long as he couldn't see clearly, and as such, Optimus focused on Raf.

Counting on his armor to deflect anything Bumblebee could throw at his back, and counting on Carbine's appearance to back up Ratchet and get Bee restrained, Optimus' frame turned around with upmost care, ped placing down with a tentative step. After he was turned, he slung down into a half kneel, his right knee placing upon the ground while his right forearm transitioned back into his hand.

"Rafael, I cannot see. Where are you? I will get you out of here."

Strained, worried, the small cyan pinprick of his optic flicked and danced across the ground to frantically look for the puff of brown. He thought the voice came from lower on the floor, but he simply couldn’t make it out if he was there, unaware the human was safely tucked beneath the control room's terminal. While he knelt, Energon dappled and splattered onto the ground, now trailing down his neck and windshield in thin lines, frame wobbling a bit again in subtle movements.

[Bumblebee]

Somewhere, deep down beneath the rage, beneath the hatred that consumed Bumblebee? He heard the voice of his best friend cry out for him to stop. It was this frantic scream that saved Sideswipe not once – but twice. Not only did it make Bee pause his movements – seemingly making him rethink his choice of shooting the red mech point blank and no doubt killing him, it also finally spurred Sideswipe into action. It snapped him out of this overwhelming feeling of hopelessness. While Bumblebee did still shoot, as that was pretty much unavoidable, and the shot was still devastating – it was nowhere near as bad as it could've been if Sideswipe had just laid there unmoving.

No, he moved – flinching away at the last second and fighting back just enough to smack out at Bee's arm, deflecting the worst of the shot. The majority of the blast hitting the concrete beside him in a deafening crash. The shriek that left the red mech was indication that he'd been hit – but Bumblebee seemed unimpressed, quickly swinging his arm back down to point yet again at Sideswipe. He was vastly outnumbered, and threats needed to be put down, and fast, before more arrived. He wouldn't falter this time, and his optics would narrow.

What he hadn't expected was for Sideswipe to keep fighting. Sure he'd blindly smacked out and swatted Bee's arm away, but he'd expected that to be the end of it – especially after getting hit. Movement, a sound of transformation... Bee's gaze would fiercely snap downwards just in time to see the red mech reaching for his ankle.

Not so fast.

Adrenaline, or whatever this was, had made Bee hyper-aware, and he'd quickly shift backward just out of Sideswipes reach. Although he'd... seemingly spaced on the all too familiar sound of transformation that'd come with the movement, and it hadn't clicked as to what exactly it was that was going on, and nor would it until he felt the burning sting tear through his leg.

Another high-pitched squeal of a beep left him, it was laced with static and his engine would rumble angrily within his chassis – his vents inwards were still raspy and ragged, he'd buckle some but would remain standing - and he'd turn his attention back to Sideswipe.

A mistake.

Before he could get another chance to aim his blaster and fire – finishing off the job he'd started moments earlier – there was a blur of black and white movement, followed by a heavy slam and a heavy thud of metal impacting Bee's helm before he could even work out what happened. Another shot rang out, Bee blindly firing his blaster in some feeble attempt to shoot whoever – or whatever – that was.

His world went black, if only for a second, and he'd stagger backward from the sheer force of the kick – quickly losing his footing and crashing to the ground.

His vision blurred, the world spinning around him due to the heavy kick, and yet - he'd stare defiantly up at the black and white blur that'd come from nowhere. He couldn't focus fully, both from the pain in his helm and the burning from his leg, but it was obvious that it was Carbine who'd now entered the fray. The side of Bee's helm was dented inward, his right optic – while still a brilliant white – had dulled just slightly due to the impact, and part of his mouthguard had been crushed inwards. His leg had an almighty hole through it; having been shot at close range and no attempt at dodging had been made. Inner workings were visible, lines frayed in two - Energon spluttering out freely down his melted and singed yellow paint and onto the floor. 

He should've finished Sideswipe off while he had the chance.

He was so very outnumbered now. He should just admit defeat. Give up. Surrender. But something in him told him no, and to keep going until the very end – no matter the outcome or consequence. He'd all but forgotten that Raf was somewhere nearby, witnessing all of this, the small human – his best friend – was the last thing on his processor entirely.

All he knew was he had to get up. Down here, he was an easy target - and if he were down for too long with his leg injured the way it was? He might not get another chance, he may not have the same drive to push himself up. His processor span, his vision still blurry, but he'd make an attempt to scramble to his pedes. His field still bubbled with anger and hatred toward those around him. Carbine was currently the biggest threat. All Bee had were his blasters, and knowledge of fist fighting should anyone get close. It wouldn't be enough to take down everyone – but he would try his best and fight till the very end. 

He remained still, staggering some to catch his footing as he tried to counter the fact his world was spinning out – waiting for someone to make a move. He was leaning heavily on his uninjured leg, the one that'd been shot was oozing fresh Energon that leaked down his ped and onto the ground around him. There was no way he'd rush in, not with so many around him and not with the injury he'd sustained, but he would hold his ground. The sound of transformation could be heard once more, and his right blaster would yet again slide into place.

Bring it on.

[Raf Esquivel]

Things just kept getting worse!

Raf remained huddled under the console, peering out at the insanity that was going on inside the base.

He flinched back violently when Sideswipe gave a horrible scream, almost clapping his hands over his ears.

Stop stop stop stop stop stop please stop.

He was about to cry out again, to scream for Bee to stop, when a black and white comet hurtle past, blocking his view. Rafael saw Carbine take Bee down, with a resounding crash.

Suddenly, his view of the battle was interrupted when Optimus suddenly turned, and kneeled before him, reaching out a hand blindly, his voice sounding a little tight.

He can’t see!? Rafael thought, He shouldn’t be kneeling!

Rafael was suddenly torn, not sure what to do.

Part of him wanted to run to Optimus, so badly. Optimus was safety. He was sanity in the sea of insanity that was going on. Whenever things started to go bad, Optimus always showed up and solved things, calmed things down. You could count on him, always.

But he was so hurt. A part of Rafael was mentally shrinking back from the damage on the Prime’s face. It was so awful to look at. It wasn’t that he was afraid of Optimus himself, but seeing the optic damaged, just a pinprick moving about....it was like seeing a good friend’s skull partially exposed. It made Raf want to shrink back and just hide his own face so he didn’t have to look anymore.

A third part of Rafael, for a second, though if he went to Optimus, maybe he could lead the Prime to safety! If Optimus couldn’t see, he couldn’t defend himself. Raf could get in his hand, and give him directions on getting out of the area, going away where it was safe, where Bee couldn’t...couldn’t hurt him anymore.

But Rafael was also aware of Optimus enough to know that there was no way Optimus would leave that battle, even unable to see. He was so adamant that he wasn’t a good person when they spoke, that he did bad things, that Optimus would insist on taking Rafael out of there to keep him safe, get hurt in the process, then turn around and lumber right back in, getting hurt again.

The only thing he could offer Optimus right now, was relief.

“I’m ok, Optimus!” Rafael yelled to be heard over the ruckus going on behind Optimus, “I’m safe! I’m hidden and I’m safe! Don’t worry about me! Just...please, don’t hurt Bee! He’s sick! His face is...he’s sick! He doesn’t mean to do this!”

[Ratchet]

Ratchet was about to lose his mind.

He wondered if he had fallen into recharge while sitting at his desk. None of this made any sense whatsoever, unless....

Was it possible Megatron was still somehow present inside Bumblebee’s mind? Ratchet himself had searched afterwards but there were so many layers to the central processor.

If it was Megatron, whoever had hidden him had done an amazing job. All this time, and no sign, and now this?

Was this, then, the betrayal he had been expecting? A “truce”, and then this?

No matter. There was no time!

Scanning the floor as he moved, keeping an eye out for Rafael, Ratchet started to close in on Bumblebee.

Finally moving around and past Optimus, Ratchet saw the damage done to the Prime for the first time. A portion of his mind was horrified, but it was pushed to one side.

He had seen too much though the war. He knew that to stop and gawk now was to potentially kill Optimus, or one of the others.

When Carbine took Bee down, he saw his chance.

Rolling forward into a charge, Ratchet’s peds slammed down as he gained speed. No lightweight himself, Ratchet managed to get up some decent speed as he hurtled down on Bumblebee, a heavy, plodding run.

Keeping one eye on Bee and another on where Carbine was, Ratchet waited for his chance.

When Bee managed to scramble upright, the medic was there.

With the sound of transformation, one of Ratchet’s hands shifted back, replaced by one massive blade. It slid out with a heavy ka-thunk!

“Sorry Bumblebee, but these need to go!”

Taking his chance, Ratchet swung in a hard overhand sweep, attempting to shear one of the scout’s barrels, and hand, clean off his arm.

[Deleted]

Sideswipe knew from the high-pitched sound Bumblebee made that his shot had connected. As soon as his servo had met empty air, he’d fired, hoping that his still-adjusting vision wouldn’t cause him to miss. His left optic was completely dark, leaving him half-blind and disoriented. Despite the confusion and pain that had mixed into a state of complete disequilibrium, he had the fleeting thought that missing in these quarters would be potentially devastating. He could hit one of the others. Or shoot the scout in a more vital area than originally intended.

As his remaining optic managed to focus on the scene, the components within contracting and loosening wildly as his optic sensors tried to make up for the loss of its counterpart, he saw that he had indeed managed to shoot Bee in the leg. Point blank. His spark clenched. He hadn’t meant to do that. At least he’d move-

But he wasn’t. Despite the gaping hole in his leg, Bee stayed where he was, pede on Sideswipe’s torso, keeping him down.

Sideswipe gritted his denta, his eye finally fully focusing as his body compensated for the loss of the other one. He gathered himself to surge forward, driving his servo into the concrete and jerking forward to regain his feet and, hopefully, throw Bumblebee off balance enough for him to get up. Preferably before the scout could shoot him.

His attempt went better than expected as the weight suddenly disappeared from his torso. All Sideswipe registered was a blur of black, white, and yellow, a clang of metal, and the sound of blaster fire. The red mech flinched involuntarily, expecting to be shot again. But, the pain never came. He continued his movement, rolling to his pedes, his blaster still humming, coming up just in time to see Bee crash to the ground a short distance away. The movement caused Energon from the hole in his neck cable to trickle, gravity pulling the liquid from damaged lines. A tiny stream ran from the injury, down under his chestplates. He let out a hissing vent between his teeth as the rawness of his head injury smarted, paint turned to ash flaking away from his head and shoulder. At least that was all that had been done. He could have literally had his head blasted off.

His optic flicked to the black and white mech who had saved his life in that moment. Introductions and thanks could come later. Sideswipe let his hand return to its usual form, servo replacing blaster as he prepared to enter the fight again. All he really wanted to do was sit back and nurse his face, but, backing down wasn’t in his nature. There was too much on the line at the moment. Their leader and their only medic were currently in danger. From a mech that Sideswipe would really rather not have to put down too hard. The corner of his damage optic smarted, cutting off his barely-there beginning of a plan.

Dammit. It was hard to think straight when he had damage reports joining the low energon warnings on his HUD, not to mention, the burning pain that lingered from the shot. He didn’t think he’d ever taken a single hit that had fragged him up so much. And he was lucky.

Sideswipe looked up quickly, trying to take stock of the room. He didn’t see the human boy, which was bad. Hopefully, he was out of the way. He seemed like a smart enough kid to know that getting into the middle of this was a bad plan. Ratchet was taking advantage of Bumblebee’s prone state, it seemed. Sideswipe wondered vaguely what the medic planned to do. Maybe sedate him? That would be really, really nice.

The red mech did not expect the doc to whip out his blade and go to cut off Bumblebee’s canon.
He felt a brief flash of something like nausea, taking in the scene. The state the scout was in was sickening. Bright white optics staring, the innards of his leg exposed, energon pooling, his helm dented. He’d been put through the wringer…and it was his comrades who’d done it. Sideswipe pushed down a bubble of distress that threatened to make itself known. This wasn’t over yet.

Banking on the fact that Bee would likely be distracted by Ratchet, the frontliner moved to flank the scout. If he could get his arms around him, he could help restrain him. He aimed to get behind the scout and catch him in a hold, hooking his arms under Bumblebee's and locking his servos behind the scout's helm.

[Carbine]

That worked out better than he could have hoped!

Carbine's shin collided soundly with Bumblebee's helm, the impact strong enough to stop his partial spin, and allow him to wrench his center of gravity back enough to no longer need to continue his charge. To further aid in his abrupt stop, the black and white mech's wing like rotors flared out at either side, plates slicing through the air and lurching forward to counter any residual momentum that had been left. This allowed him to ram his ped back down to the ground without an additional stumble, just as the blaster shot rang out.

The shot skimmed by his side and past, it aimed sloppily due to it being done mid strike. The laser struck the far wall with a sharp bite, goring into the concrete there and leaving a nice paint of ash behind in its wake. Carbine wasn't concerned about that, nor was he paying heed to his new paint job. The strike had left a scuff across the front pane of his shin. It would ordinarily not be noticeable, not really discernible among the myriad of other scratches and marks he has obtained already on this planet, if it weren't for the small fleck of yellow. It starkly contrasted with the rest of the dark armor, showing that he had most definitely landed a solid hit.

Leaving his peds locked down, Carbine's stance shifted more upright again, watching carefully to try to pick apart the situation, and discern his next best course of action now that someone wasn’t going to get decapitated by a point blank gunshot. His rotors that had flared a moment prior, now folded neatly behind his shoulders, out of line of sight from the current threat. He would make sure that his chest would perpetually aim at Bumblebee, just in case, but that didn't mean he did not cast a sideways glance over at the red mech he did not know.

The injury...

Primus that injury...

Yellow optics locked down solidly onto Sideswipe's head, the angular shape rounding out in shock and alarm once he got a good look at the severity of the wound itself. Bumblebee had done that?... no... no he couldn’t have, yet... he did. He had taken out half of a comrade's face, downright obliterating it, Carbine easily picking out the glints of dental plate among the spattering of blue and black. It caused nausea to boil up inside of him, which felt surreal and out of place.

He has seen worse! He has seen so many injuries in his days! But the one to cause it wasn’t some unnamed psycho, or a Decepticon, it had been Bumblebee, and that alone was troubling and did not settle well with him at all. Carbine put so much value in his team, so much value in the 'pack'. He always felt a need to work with others as a group, a need formed from the squad of officers back on Cybertron. These people, they were his new family, Bumblebee one of the best out of the new ones despite current events and their past argument, and yet... he had done this... this injury that was so surreal to look upon as he was.

Sharp yellow eyes snapped back over to look at Bee, ready to approach, ready to just walk forward and challenge the scout to try to shoot through his riot armor. He believed he could walk right up to the mech, and probably grab him with just damages to his paint and surface plating... but when he looked up to get a bead on his location again, he saw Ratchet cut forward with a blade.

What was he...

The strike was decisive and sharp, a pointed attack that seemed to have hit if the new spray of blue had anything to say about it. Carbine could barely believe it, and couldn’t even see how bad the damage was in the flurry of movements. Not only did someone take a blade to Bumblebee instead of a fist or kick, but it was their medic, the one that the scout had not long ago praised and looked up to with so much admiration.

--You know he saved my life, right? I mean, after Megatron... Ratchet and Optimus were the ones to find me. Gotta give him some credit, he's a good Medic. Amazing Medic, infact. He fixed me up with a lot less than we have now, that's for sure...--

"R̤͠a̛̺͔̫̦̜̦̭t̖͈͠c͙̲̪̖h̳̮͓e̸t͏̦͉̦!͏̱̜!"


A startled cry, a yell that was a mix of disgust and shock that was laced in plenty of static and electrical pops that made the name barely recognizable in his stress. This attack... it caused Carbine's tank to churn a moment, forcing him to pause long enough that a movement of red acted before he could manage to do anything.

The injured guy!?

Tiny white pinpricks flicked over to look as Sideswipe charged past, attempting to still fight, to take advantage of Ratchet's distraction. It was smart, but Carbine didn't really EXPECT him to get up, let alone still be in the fight after such a hit. That alone impressed him, but it also shook him from his momentary stupor.

Dislodged from his locked shock, Carbine lurched forward. If Sideswipe managed to get a firm grip on Bumblebee, he would assist by attempting to grab Bee's peds to pin them under his arms and lift the scout. A suspended mech would have a lot more difficulties getting the wrenching power needed to twist out of such a grip... or... so was Carbine's thought process.

[Optimus Prime]

Optimus simply could not pinpoint where exactly the child was hiding. He could see rough shapes, but no details that could lead him to the source of the previous words. Was he even still in this direction, or had he maneuvered elsewhere in the amount of time it took him to kneel down? It was then that Rafael's voice sounded out again, allowing the Prime to get a better bead on his location. It turned his sweeping passes over the immediate area, into a far more focused gaze down towards the underside of the Control Room's console and the gap that lay there.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, the underside of such a large and protected portion of the room, was a rather good safe point. It was somewhere Raf could remain hidden from crushing peds and direct blaster fire, and any other number of issues. Someone could even be thrown into it, and as long as he wasn’t peeking his head out, he would be shielded. It was not a hundred percent safe however, skittering shrapnel or pooling Energon could encroach in his small patch of safety, bringing all sorts of issues with it. But... if the fight was clipped down soon, than the risk of that is minimal, and trying to coax him out and assure him it is ok, could put him in far more direct fire, making him an easier target even if he was shielded within his hands.

Despite his desire to get Rafael out of there, Optimus knew when a win was impossible. He was going to waste too much time talking the child out from hiding and into potential danger, when he could work towards stopping the root of the threat altogether. With a rattled ex-vent of defeat, Optimus placed his open palm down against the ground, speaking to the small human.

"Remain safe..."

With this, he pushed off of the ground abruptly to be able to focus back in on what was happening, frame heaving upright with a growl of mechanics and snarled hiss of hydraulics. Once he stood, he turned, trying to angle himself so that he could actually decipher what was going on, no longer fearing that he was going to crush Rafael underfoot. Thankfully, all individuals present had distinct frame base colors so it was not terribly hard to figure out which blob was who in the chaos in front of him, but what WAS hard to stomach and process what he saw next.

Ratchet had cut his blade into Bumblebee, blue spattering into the air.

This situation was out of his hands, it was all out of his control. Things had devolved so far so fast, and not just in the immediate situation that lay before him. He had no grasp of control in play, no ability to manipulate the outcome. He was unable to protect any around him, his actions leading them to this low point on Earth. In only a handful of months... what had been a quiet outpost with the Decepticons laying low due to their Warlord's absence... exploded into nonstop chaos and stress.

The events all folded over themselves, meshing together.... colliding to create even more shrapnel that corrupted things around it like the very Dark Energon Megatron brought back to this world. Ripped out of lore and legend, the compound was pulled to the forefront of their struggles, raising the dead, driving the Warlord further into the brink of madness, and in turn starting everything down a ramp of chaos. The traps overlooked and narrowly survived... Scraplets brought into their very home, leading to his Autobots nearly being eaten alive, while he and Arcee almost froze to death in the arctic. There were infiltrations, Makeshift barely getting away with the location of the Outpost, if it were not for Wheeljack's fast thinking.

They had new enemies come to this world, Airachnid being a sore spot that sourced unrest, countered by new friends that arrived to help. But allies did not always bring good things with them, some might as well be enemies by the amount of stress they brought down upon the base, and the destruction they left in their wake.

Killing humans... cutting them down out of ignorance...

"-‘cause I found out the hard way manmade copters can’t take a tackle like ours can..."

Triggering one of their best soldiers and a great help to Red Alert into leaving...

"I'm not going back there, I refuse to- I'm not going back with you. You have no idea what it's been like. No idea!"

Blindly seeking sanctuary at the cost of others.

"'s how I get around base, if I need to. When I don't want to be seen. Which is some the time. Most of the time. ...all of the time."

Instigating conflicts for nothing more than amusement.

"Yeah! Let's mak-̨m̴-m͟-̶construct it look like in you k̶̸z̨zt̴̀͞ got a damn BRAWL!"

Dragging the children away unannounced.

"Ya wanna ditch this sour note and hit somewhere cool?"

Advocating for blind murder despite other options.

"As for your soldiers, sir, I really can't blame them..."

If they weren't being torn apart from the inside out by their own, they were being mutilated by MECH. Vehicons disappearing, Breakdown abducted and pulled apart as well as a femme that was used to test targeting and pain responses... There were also the Neutrals that also fell under their hands, Cleaver's head discovered in the destroyed facility they failed to even infiltrate successfully... they failed to save her, and failed to even get the most basic of information to prevent it from happening to others. It all paled in the presence of one of their own who not only was ripped into, but was mentally controlled and bent to their whim.

“Air Raid?! I – yes, Optimus.”

Failure.

Air Raid was a failure that was hard to swallow. Cliffjumper had fallen in battle to the Decepticons, likely executed under their control. His death was a hard loss, one that the Prime still mourned, but Air Raid was not given a clean death or a proper end to his story. He was denied peace, locked into a perpetual state of processor death while his body clutched and clawed for life. Wanting to live, wanting to survive... with nothing to guide it. Optimus went far as to rely on the truce to allow a Decepticon to try to find a solution before they had to admit defeat and let him go.

"I mean, usually I'm real quick cuz they're offlined and you can just rip that sucker right outta the socket and take the direct line to the brain module, but, uh, extenuating circumstances."

The truce... it was going to be a trap...

"A most impressive document, Optimus. Certainly something we can work with."

It was going to end with someone hurt badly. But if they could get one breath of fresh air, one moment of reprieve to settle their own internal conflicts and seek fuel, than it would all be worth it. If they could seize an Energon mine, and stockpile the priceless material, than they could focus on the war again without fear of starvation looming overhead. But that fear still came to be. They orchestrated the fragile truce to combat MECH and find stability, and still they starve. Still they suffer, masking it over for the team to not make others worry. Hiding from the truth.

"He's having a tantru͠m̕, he͞ ́h͘ąs mor͏e fuel th-t͠han ̷m̸e. I will distri͘b͟ute͏ ͜i͡t̷ ̶once ̨w͟e ąre on the field!"

Nothing was turning out right. Their own home was crumbling around them. Generators in constant need of repair, their primary systems breaking from conflicts between Cybertronian and Human technology. The very walkways the humans relied upon, fell down around them.

"I….um…I need to report something. Something that happened earlier. I did something I shouldn’t have, and….and there was an accident."

Even the most simple and innocent of situations brought undue stress that should simply not be.

"You know Raf's book bag is up in a tree?"

Friends holding things together and hiding from solutions so that they are not a burden.

"You know full well that I never set foot in the medbay unless I absolutely have to."

There were even additional scientific threats they now had to consider, the unexpected merging of space bridges creating a void that pulled the children into. It was only out of luck and desperation they could even get them back through the harrowing experience. That was manageable however, they knew the cause, they now knew how to fix it... mostly... what they couldn’t understand was what happened to Wheeljack.

"Congratulations, you showing up here is probably the least weirdest thing to happen to me in the past few minutes."

A simulation... pulling one of his own into another world. Too complex to be a dream, it too detailed, revealing a tangled web that stretched deeper than he could even begin to formulate. Hidden Autobots on Cybertron, refugees... scientists... a Decepticon helping them? Or was it a ruse? Meant to trick, meant to disarm, or was it truly meant to purge the processor of the victim and override their frame? How many more have befallen such a fate? For Wheeljack cannot be alone. Starscream couldn't seem to even grasp the severity, making the truce a null point.

"Skywarp does as Skywarp does. Probably sightseeing and looking for the Loch Ness Monster or something because he was bored."

Were some of his own corrupted already? How do they tell the difference between this unknown user, or MECH's mind control if the human's technologies were to improve more? So many questions, so much unknown. Neither the Prime nor the Matrix itself had answers to it. He was able to make hypothesis, try to piece it together... but...

What if that was what was happening to Bee?

The agitation. The frustration. Optimus had not told Bee he definitely could not come, he simply said they needed to evaluate the plan before they promise a spot on the mission. Yet, the scout departed in a huff... leaving the entire mission to crumble apart under Zoom-Zoom's persistence and Optimus' own negligence of the truce.

Boiled over... stress...

How much more could he stomach!? He had gone so far as to reach for help to Jazz, Jazz who was now kneeling to the side in a state of shock, or was it injury? He couldn’t see... couldn’t get the details... Bumblebee had shot him... the words so foreign to even sound out in memory. He had been shot by his most trusted scout, the youngest of them all who Optimus tried to guide and help grow... trying to preserve some fraction of innocence left in this war ravaged world they all suffer. He didn't want them all to drown... he had to make sure they were raised above failure even if it was narrowly, yet nothing was working.

He wasn’t able to save Cliffjumper, he couldn’t save Air Raid... he was unable to stop danger from coming down, and was no longer able to manage his own troops that clash and slam against one another with conflicting personalities. They refuse to work together, refuse to see others thoughts and views. No meshing, no unity. Simple issues that could be resolved with a few well thought out actions, were slashed apart into ribbons, Sideswipe injured badly, Jazz downed with unknown injuries of his own... Ratchet's blade cutting into Bumblebee... that... that was the last straw that he simply could no longer burden, causing everything he has endured and stomached these past months, causing all of the weight of the war that Orion scrabbled to remain in control of for hundreds of thousands of years, to come crashing down around him like shattered glass.

"ENOUGH!"

The word roared out, a booming yell that tore through the immediate area with anger and rage that was never heard in his voice. It practically echoed in the expansive room, bouncing across the strung catwalks and distant metal pipes and panels. The Prime moved forward at this, footfalls crashing against the ground, progress made in split moments to bring him upon the scuffle. The small pinprick of paling blue that remained in his damaged optic, locked down upon the four, fierceness behind it.

"I do not know what has happened to you Bumblebee, but I will not have this chaos in my base!"

His height allowed him to look down upon the others as the scuffle commenced, though he did not directly interact, planning on Sideswipe and Carbine to get the situation under control with their grappling. With his next words, he pointed sharply in the direction of the Medical Bay, or at least where he thought it was.

"Ratchet, cease actions and prepare a sedative!"

It was out of the norm for Optimus to order Ratchet like this, he often looked to his oldest friend as an equal on many things. He gifted the other mech his own free reign of the Medical Bay, allowing him to make his own rules and lead emergencies such as these to his preference for the betterment of them all. But the Prime was at wits end, and if Ratchet was going to cut into their scout and cause more Energon loss, a loss he didn’t think the base or Bumblebee could handle too much more of, than he needed to be halted.

Deep down... a small voice reminded Optimus that Ratchet was trying to help. That he could and WOULD repair whatever damage he just did, and that the medic would not cause undue harm for no reason. It told him the old mech was doing something to disable Bumblebee effectively so more were not hurt, rather than injure for the sake of injury... but it was so quiet to him. The voice of patience and wisdom seemed so distant, and he could not see the full extent of what had happened.

Stress and frustration bubbled up inside of him, mixing venomously with his own hunger, Energon loss, and injuries. The Prime wavered a bit at this, optic shuttering hard before the lens within flexed and contracted desperately. He wanted to bet this order would backfire on him just like everything else seemed to here on Earth. It would end poorly somehow. Maybe his exclamation and outburst would distract the others and Bumblebee would hurt them, or telling Ratchet to back down would end with Carbine and Sideswipe losing control of the situation. The small voice cried out again, telling him he should focus on Jazz, that he needed to make sure he was still functional, but another was scared the impact had been far more lethal and didn’t want to know.

The room spun, Energon flowing over and through neck cables and exposed mechanics to drip into internals in a sticky mess. A hefted vent pulled fresh air through stressed systems, systems that were running hot not from combat, but from compound anxiety and rage surging through eons old barriers. It caused him to stumble a bit, before the side of his leg impacted the staircasing platform that rose up towards the humans area. With a rough slam, his forearm collided into the platform to catch his fall, the metal barrier snapping clean off and ramming through the couch and coffee table as if it were nothing. It is here he remained leaning, using the platform as an anchor for stability.

The smaller voice took enough control for calmer words to be forced out, a mere mumble that ghosted into the room.

"We will get you help..."