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

[Javelin]

Javelin moved along the hallway singing to herself. She had spent a goodly portion of the day looking up music on the human’s internet, and discovered a lot she really liked. Everything from “The 70’s” clear up to today’s stuff, she was enjoying it all. She really enjoyed a group called “Journey” and had been exploring most of it. It had a strange pull to it, she found. It was apparent to her that she was going to continue to be a huge fan of earth music, if what she had found was any indication of what it was like.

Now she was heading out towards the main console room to see if anything interesting was going on. Her dampeners kept her pedfalls muffled slightly as she wound her way along.

“If he ever hurts you.....true love won’t desert you...you know I still love you...though we touched and went our..sepera...”

Her words died in her mouth as she turned the corner, and her optics fell on the spilled energon just outside the control room, and leading into it.

Javelin came to a complete stop, her hand rising swiftly to her back where she pulled her bow from her back. An arrow was taken from the slot beneath her left arm, and nocked. That done, she remained perfectly still, a dark blue and purple statue, as she let her audials search for any clues as to what had happened.

Should she sound the alarm? What had happened? It was eerily silent, no sounds of fighting, yelling, impacts. Just silence.

One ped raised, and slowly came forward. Settling it down carefully, she was silent, easing her weight forward, only a faint hiss as pistons settled inside. Her other ped rose in a similar manner, easing down equally silent. In this manner, she carefully eased her way forward, nearly silent. Her optics scanned the area swiftly, looking for movement, anything that would indicate an incoming attack.

As she continued to move forward, her eyes focused more closely on the spilled energon. She had noticed it had crystallized, and looked like it had somehow lost some of its brilliant blue color, being almost translucent.

That....is a lot of spilled energon.

As she moved closer, more became apparent. Here, scorch marks on the ground, from what looked like a point blank blaster fire. There gouges in the floor, scrapes. Indications of a physical fight. Here and there a few scrapes of black or white paint. Yellow. Red.

There was a smell of scorch in the air as well, heavy and thick, and the sickening smell of burnt energon.

What had happened here?!

Now inside the console room proper, she noticed more. The railing around the human’s area had been crushed and warped. One of the large monitors positioned above the main console had been knocked backward, and was dangling loosely, the screen jittering and popping with green lines sliding vertically across it.

Something else caught her eye, and she turned to see something yellow lying back near the entrance to the console room, hidden from her sight for a moment. It took her a second to identify it, and her stomach lurched.

Javelin was just about to turn, to move toward the damaged console to sound the base-wide alarm, when she heard voices coming from the medibay. And while she couldn’t make out what was being said, it didn’t sound like a fight.

Replacing her arrow, snapping her bow back onto her back, she stepped forward, avoiding the spilled energon, and moved into the entrance to the Medibay.

Oh.

This was....

Her eyes took in the scene. Optimus was sitting on a large berth, and ...oh his face....

Another Autobot, one Javelin thought was called Jazz but she hadn’t met him yet, seemed to be handing him something. Just behind him, she saw Sideswipe lying on another berth. From the angle she stood, she wasn’t able to see the full extent of the damage to the face, but his other injuries were apparent, and it was clear he was badly hurt. And to the side....

Bumblebee?

The other scout looked awful. He was literally strapped down, and missing an arm. It verified what she had seen outside, lying on the floor. There was a gaping hole in his leg, that she could see.

What in Primus?

“Uh......”

[Ratchet]

Ratchet continued to watch Bumblebee as the pain killer entered the lines. After Ratchet entered more codes to override Bee’s circuits, the medic watched closely for signs of adverse effects. When he saw none, he nodded, relieved to see some of the pain and discomfort seemed to leaving the scout’s frame.

“That’s it. Relax.”

Glancing over towards Optimus and Jazz for a second, Ratchet was satisfied to see Optimus was at least getting some basic treatment, but those injuries would have to be cleaned, and soon.

He started to turn his attention back to Bumblebee when movement caught his eye, and he looked up to see a newcomer standing just inside the Medibay. The other scout...what was her name? She stood there, optics wide, looking in as if she were looking onto a battlefield...which wasn’t all that far from the truth, really. If not a battlefield, the remains of one.

“Not now,” Ratchet warned her, “As you can see, I’m extremely busy. I’ll get to you- wait. Wait!”

Shaking his head, Ratchet suddenly lifted an arm, pointing with a servo towards a bench on the far side, “Javelin, right? I need your help. Congratulations, you’ve just become a nurse. There, on the bench. That red tube. Take it and put that oil on your hands. Once it dries, you’re going to start cleaning Sideswipe’s wounds. In the drawer there you’ll find a tall bottle, white, marked “Decontaminate". There will be large pads alongside it. Pour the liquid on the pad and start cleaning off any dirt and energon you can see.”

Ratchet glanced back to Bumblebee, then back up to see Javelin was still standing there, optics wide and looking like she might bolt at any second. Her voice was unsteady, “But...I..”

“Now, Autobot! Move!”

Grumbling to himself as the femme suddenly lurched inside, making a beeline towards where the medic had just pointed, Ratchet looked back down at the yellow scout. Once Sideswipe was seen to, Optimus’s injuries would have to be likewise cleaned, before infection could set in. They didn’t need another Rust Plague.

“Now. Can you tell me what happened? When did this start? What were you feeling when you vomited? Were you hearing voices? Were you in control of your actions?”

Ratchet still felt strongly that Megatron was somehow involved in this, and was convinced Bee would say he had been hearing the warlord’s voice.

[Jazz]

     "I won't have anythin' to report after all th-- oh wait. You're.... yup, you're seriously orderin' me. Gotcha." Jazz knew that tone, though it wasn't just from hearing it out of Optimus. Oh, he'd recognized that 'you're in a world of shit and you'd better be able to run fast enough cause help Primus if I catch you...' condition. He didn't really get what Optimus was getting on his case for, especially after he'd stuck around in the medical bay long enough to give him one of those patches he'd asked for. Some bots just couldn't be satisfied. 

     Jazz paused when he heard the entry of someone new into the vicinity. Really, he couldn't understand why anyone would want to come here on their own! If they were functional they shouldn't be pouring in here just waiting for the medic to go prodding around on them. Really, some of these mechs and femmes just... had sick ways of spending their free time, and not sick in that 'totally rad' sort of manner.

     Ratchet's voice was carrying again and Jazz turned his helm slightly so he could properly triangulate the direction of it. There was no immediate response, but with the words being said, he knew who the medic was speaking to without having to look. Jazz just... he couldn't bring himself to look at Bee, not after what had happened. His anxiety started to kick up again and he shifted his favoritism from one pede to the other in his telling sign of discomfort. 

     "Leave him be, Ratch. He's had a rough day and he don't need to be grilled like he's in the psych ward. Go fishin' in the Pits and give the kid some time to rest. Not to mention... you're talkin' way too fast. May have to change your name to motormouth." 

[Optimus Prime]

Optimus' issue with Jazz at the moment had nothing to do with not being satisfied. He wasn’t expecting everything to be perfect, he didn’t expect to have Jazz come over and help his injuries, even if that was something he would have done for the other mech... No. His 'issue' was the fact that Jazz was being antagonistic and aggressive, during a time where it simply was not warranted and was not appropriate in the slightest. Add on the fact the mech seemed keen to want to leave, only to opt to stay after he was essentially TOLD to leave? Choosing to provoke Ratchet more while he worked...? And it simply was enough to tip over Optimus' raggedly frayed patience one more time.

Scraping claws over raw nerves...

A broken seam that was fractured further...

The single cyan optic gradually lifted to look over at the other mech, the small pinprick latching down to where the blurred shape of Jazz's faceplate was. The optical lenses twitched and moved visibly in their attempt to focus, ash and grit crackling faintly with each rotation of the aperture as the fissured crystal plate snagged on the edge. The look had a dark halo behind it, the Prime's field hollowing out to an empty nothingness that radiated away from his frame. The typically calm aura, the powerful veil of control he offered out as a steady balance... it had vanished once more.

No... Optimus wasn't petty and 'not satisfied', his issue had everything to do with a mech he thought he could trust, not stepping up to help or getting out of the way, instead choosing to banter and rake at Ratchet for every little thing he was doing to help them in a stressful situation with no assistance. Primus forbid the medic show concern and try to help, when Jazz had shut down entirely and become unresponsive when things had gone belly up.

"Do you want to be here or not!?"

It was not a yell, he did not bellow these words, but it was a louder tone that bordered such a thing, a forceful growl that would get his point across on just how displeased he was. Optimus didn't plan to beat around the bush any longer, or simply sit quiet and let everything go on around him, but the decision to speak up was not taken lightly. He didn’t want to bring extra stress to a medical room, where things were already running a bit high. But Jazz was doing that already.

"In case you haven't noticed Jazz, something is wrong here, and we all hold great stress over it. Do you believe I am happy with everything? Do you think I do not hold immeasurable unrest simply because I am staying quiet?"

The rest of the room was dead to him at the instant. He blocked out anything Ratchet or Bumblebee may be saying, he did not address Javelin when she had entered the area and was set to work. For this moment, all that mattered was dealing with the snagged edge that was pulling threads out of the room's already questionable stability.

"I sympathize you have your burdens to bear, I am not disregarding your turmoil. But do not throw your pain in our face when we try to help, only to pretend everything is normal after I gave you what you wanted and asked you to leave."

It seemed like nothing could be done that would be what Jazz would desire. When a peace offering was given, to give him the 'out' he initially seemed to want to get away from this room? He had spat on it by acknowledging its presence, only to stay put and start harping on Ratchet again. It didn't matter that the Prime agreed; that Ratchet was asking too much, too fast... what mattered was the overall situation. You simply did NOT badger the medic under this circumstance. This wasn’t some routine checkup.

"Address your actions like the adult you are."

A warning.

"Either leave and tend to your injury as you initially desired, or stay, and be of some actual use and assist Javelin."

This was not a nice suggestion. The Prime was not offering ideas to see if Jazz would favor one of them and be pleased with the outcome. No. That tactful and kind attempt to work with his friend was gone, and he would protect his medic and the situation they were in, even if it meant turning against one of their own. If Jazz was going to be difficult? Optimus would throw it right back at him, and directly confront with no more grace or care for feelings.

This was War, and this was a crisis.

This was not a psych ward.

[Bumblebee]

For a moment there, Bumblebee's optics would dim ever so slightly.

The fact the pain was mostly gone now, thanks to the overrides blocking the majority of it out – and the sedative that ran through his lines? He was finding it very, very hard to stay awake. He wanted absolutely nothing more than to slip into recharge, where hopefully he would wake up in his room and find this was nothing more than a horrible dream.

But he was nothing but stubborn, nothing but a fighter – and he would defiantly fight the urge, fighting through it with everything he had. Forcing himself to stay awake. Forcing himself to stay alert. Optics brightening once more - still that eerie white – whirring as they adjusted and refocused, glaring up at the ceiling. 

He wasn't sure what Ratchet was going to ask. The obvious question here was 'why'. Unfortunately, he would have to wait to find out – as there was the familiar hiss of the door as it slid open. He didn't recognize or even really hear the confused noise that came from whoever it was who'd moved onto the scene, and so for right now, he had no clue who had made their way into the room.

Another threat.

It was a good thing he stayed awake, and another pathetically futile attempt was made at pushing himself against the restraints while everyone was no doubt distracted by the newcomer – a movement that was cut short by the almost-yell from Optimus that seemingly came from nowhere. His movements against the restraints were sluggish and weak, infact he wasn't even sure he'd pushed against them at all he was so tired. 

He froze, slowly turning his helm as he tried to work out just what was going on across the room. His systems whirred quietly in protest at the movement, and it was then he realized that Ratchet had been speaking to him. Asking the questions that so many wanted the answers to.

He struggled to focus his attention on the Medic, finally relaxing once more against the berth and laying quiet. Trying to process his words. Trying to work out the answers... There was so much going on that he was finding it hard. There was so much confusion that was quickly being translated into anger, where normally they would've talked it out reasonably. It was all his fault, and yet he – at the time – had felt completely justified in his actions, hence why he hadn't stopped. 

This was a long overdue breaking point for a lot of his friends, it seemed, and the guilt was going to eat him alive.

He'd never heard Optimus raise his voice the way he had, and today he'd done so twice. Partially muffled or not, he could tell by the tone of which Optimus spoke that things were bad. Jazz, who was so carefree and fun, was displaying an attitude that was befitting someone much younger and immature – and toward one of his oldest and closest friends at that. When all Optimus was doing, Bee assumed, was trying to work this mess out, and starting the long process of repairing the damages that'd been done – just like the rest of them were.

The aperture-like lenses of his optics would audibly whir once more as they adjusted, trying to keep his attention on Ratchet, and Ratchet alone. Trying to ignore whatever else was going on so he could concentrate and think.

D-did he ask if he was hearing voices? He'd asked so many questions that Bee didn't even know where to start – the words had spilled out and become a muddle. Question after question were asked, and he hadn't even been listening to the first few - and he tried desperately to think what they could've been. 

The confusion, the guilt – the pain of doing what he had, and the inability to admit why? Was written all over Bee's face, and he lay silent for another painfully long moment. 

He didn't know what'd happened. No amount of mulling things over gave him the answers that he needed. It'd just felt like the right thing to do at the time. He'd wanted to do it. There was no outside influence – he knew who Ratchet was refering to, and it wasn't him. Now he wished it was. It wouldn't take away the guilt – nothing probably would – but it'd at least make this easier to explain and hear than a “I wanted to.”

Start there, work backwards. It wasn't like he could remember any of the other question anyway. At least not to the point of wanting to answer them out loud. 

--It wasn't M͏e͞gatŗon͟,-- He started slowly. His beeps still chattered and popped as he spoke, they were slurred almost, and laced with static - it was beyond evident that he was exhausted and fighting a losing battle. 

--I did th͟is̢.--

That hurt to say out loud. At the time, he wanted nothing more than to hurt those he cared about – the anger had fuelled and overtaken any and all rational thought, so he could see why they'd jumped to conclusions about it being an outside influence.

But it wasn't - and that was the one thing he did know.

[Javelin]

Scrap scrap scrap scrap…….

Such was the mantra Javelin kept repeating to herself as she lunged into the Medibay, heading for the area Ratchet had pointed to. She was utterly panicked, and trying very hard not to show it. She was pretty sure, though, that her field was screaming blue murder the entire time.

I can do this. It’s only cleaning a wound. I’m not operating, for frag’s sake.

Keeping her eyes down on what she was doing, Javelin tried to make herself as small as possible, so no one noticed she was there. Perhaps if she kept quiet and did her work, no one would ask her to….do something utterly horrifying and disgusting.

Javelin had seen injured people before. Mecha with their insides outside, energon splashed all over the ground. Bodies flung here and there. But it was different when you were just there by accident, and when you were expected to pull your weight and actually look at the injuries. The sights and sounds of a hospital threatened to bring back memories she did not want to remember.

Put the oil on my hands. Got it. Oil. On. Hands. Yup. Doing it now.

The oil smelled strongly of some lubricant she had encountered before, but it was fading swiftly as she fanned her hands back and forth, trying to hurry the drying process. Keeping her eyes on her peds, she realized she must look like an odd bird trying to take flight, flapping uselessly.

Once they were dry, or she thought they were probably dry, Javelin yanked open the drawer and took out the cleaning pads and cleaner as per Ratchet’s instructions. She had just moved over to stand beside Sideswipe and open the bottle when the Prime’s voice sounded out, louder than normal and sounding angry. Javelin’s hands jerked and the bottle nearly went flying from her grasp. It was only the luck of Primus that she managed to grab it again before it literally bounced off Sideswipe’s helm.

Spark pulsing a little harder, Javelin poured out the cleanser onto one of the pads, put down the bottle, and really got a good look at the frontliner for the first time.

Oh.

Oh Primus, his poor face.

Javelin froze for a second, her optics sweeping over Sideswipe’s face, or what was left of it. It was as if for a second she literally had no idea what she was supposed to do, as if things all went haywire in her processor for a minute.

Swallowing, she reached out, and placed the cleansing pad on the least injured side of his face, and using gentle pressure, started wiping off the ash and residue of the blast. She carefully worked from the outside in, a slow circular pattern, leaving the more heavily damaged areas for another, fresh pad.

Javelin kept waiting for him to wake up, and she prayed he didn’t. That must hurt so badly.

All she could think about was how he was usually smiling when she saw him, and how he had willingly brought her into the group. It made her spark hurt a little, and she hoped he would be able to flash that charming smile again.

Just keep cleaning, she told herself.

[Ratchet]

Ratchet huffed faintly as Jazz spoke.

The next person who questioned his skills and technique was going to get a wrench bounced off their helm.

Pulling the curtain across with a snap, Ratchet turned back to Bumblebee, blocking out the outside world for now, so his patient didn’t have to content with confusing distractions.

Ratchet listened as Bumblebee spoke, and frowned.

Not Megatron?

“Why?” Ratchet asked Bumblebee quietly, leaning over a little more so Bumblebee didn’t have to speak loudly, “Why did you feel you had to do this?”

Ratchet’s processor was going a mile a minute. If it wasn’t Megatron, if he hadn’t been forced somehow to do this, why had he done it? And why was he coherent now? Bumblebee had shown all the signs of being controlled, someone or something having taken over. His optics were still white instead of blue.

Nothing made sense.

Only half hearing the conversation going on outside the curtain - Optimus’ voice carrying through rather well, considering it was only a piece of material between them - Ratchet kept trying to make sense of what had happened.

The few times he had seen anything like this - aside from when it had been Megatron - had been back when he ran a clinic on Cybertron. He had received many patience from a place called Dead End. It had been an area of little hope and poverty, and many residents tried to escape their misery there by partaking of circuit boosters and other stimulants. A few times he had seen mecha go crazy when one booster or another had been poorly made, and it had made the user violent and crazy.

Bumblebee had been similar….but the booster users never came down that quickly, it usually took hours. Unless what was basically a complete clean out of the scout’s blood had flushed the drug from his system? It might explain the odd crystallizing of the energon….

But Ratchet could no more believe that Bumblebee had partaken of circuit boosters than believe that the human children would suddenly sprout wings and fly.

Unless….it had been accidental? Bee had been starving himself…maybe he had eaten something else to try and ease the hunger?

Knowing he was losing the scout to the pull of the sedative, Ratchet spoke clearly, firmly, “Bumblebee, did you eat or drink anything out of the ordinary? Anything other than the energon from the rec room?”


Ratchet watched Bumblebee’s face closely, hoping he could answer that question before powering down due to the sedative.

[Jazz]

     The entire time Optimus had been talking, Jazz had been working... or rather, his systems had. Clearing out old cobwebs, sorting through files, pushing other things to the wayside to be dealt with later. He was always doing something, even if to the naked eye it just seemed he was standing there taking his hits from his leader. His oldest living friend. His first Autobot comrad. The reason he joined in on this side in the first place, when he could have swayed the other direction and fought for the other team. This was stuff he remembered, but things that just couldn't be taken into account at the moment.

      So as Optimus flared up and gave him his just deserts, he continued to cycle through things. His face plates held no emotion, and for once his visor was almost completely solid. By the time the commander was done and had issued the final say, Jazz had straightened himself up and was now looking right at the larger mech.

     "Good to see you still have that fire in ya from Cybertron... though ya really didn't have to yell about it. I may be old and just on the brink of rust, but I still got a good set of audials. Inside voice." Jazz smirked some and tapped on one of his protruding 'feline like' sensors ontop of his helm to bring the focus to that spot, then lowered his servo. "Don't look so worn out next time, or else someone may take advantage. If you don't look like you got the willpower anymore, how ya think these kids will react? Gotta make sure our leader isn't only caring and patient, but can still throw down with the best. Now, take that spunk and get yourself better. Lookin' so defeated and over it ain't becommin' of ya."

     Jazz reached over and gave Optimus a small punch in the shoulder, lightly in the case that his sensitivity levels were raised. He then stepped close enough to readjust the patch that Optimus had attempted to place on his own wound, being as careful as he could with it, then offered a pat on the closest shoulder. "Rest, old friend. Your team can take things from here." He gave a little nod then turned his helm towards Ratchet's direction to watch what he was doing.

     While the medic was trying to speak softly to the yellow scout, he could still pick up on good chunks of the conversation. Heck he could pick up on a lot of what was going on as long as he paid enough attention. A spook gathering information probably wasn't the best thing to have in the medical bay when one was trying to control the 'doctor patient privilege' thing. Sometimes eavesdropping wasn't the most pleasant thing to do, and hearing Bee was especially painful. Just had to pretend he wasn't hearing what he was.

     "Ratch," Jazz called out to the medic. "Make sure you patch him up real good, ya hear? We've got unfinished business and I can't have him dippin' out before he pays up. Right, Bee?" He looked at Bee and offered him a smile, though he didn't know at this point if the scout could even see what was going on anymore. Still, he tried, and he directed his next words to the scout. "We got that race to finish once you're better. Heck, I may even let you win. Maybe."

[Optimus Prime]

Optimus could appreciate Jazz's more lighthearted nature, adding humor and a different view to a situation that may be a bit tense for the moment. That said, there was a time and a place, and as far as Optimus was concerned, that time had already long passed. It is because of this, it only bristled and raked over nerves that much more, when the blue and white mech had the gall to reply to what he said, with a sort of flippant comment about using an inside voice, only to then transition it to make it sound like getting him upset, was some grand 'master plan' so the 'kids' could see he wasn’t truly down for the count.

The punch against his shoulder did not enact a different view. It didn’t jostle his thoughts, or make him try to take an emotional step back from the situation to look at it it a different way. What always worked for Orion, had simply fallen flat in this high tension situation. The broad plate of red armor, didn’t so much as budge upon the impact, the limb held solidly in place so that it was as if the other Cybertronian had struck the side of the metal berth instead of a living entity. This tension should have been a first warning sign, but as Jazz moved forward, he should have also been able to pick up on the ridged and borderline hostile aura that seemed to bleed from between his plating like venom.

A tightened jaw, a rigid posture, what remained of Optimus' 'good' eye fiercely watched the other mech as he reached up and started to fiddle and fix up the bandages on the side of his face. What would have been appreciated before, and looked upon as someone assisting him which he would have been grateful for, was now tainted by Jazz's blunt disregard for what he had said previously, brushing off his words as if they were mild suggestions or just funny commentary.

Optimus' pride was a very awkward thing. Sometimes it showed strongly with his inability to always accept help when he needed it. Sometimes true humility showed in how he would lower himself in front of someone under immense stress to put them at ease. He was not above many things, but being ignored and being talked down to as if he were a child? Especially in front of others that may start to think such things were even remotely acceptable? It was a solid line he hasn’t had to draw for so long he almost forgot what such insult felt like.

The sharp cyan optic followed as Jazz maneuvered around, abandoning him readily and further snubbing his directive, only to then interrupt Ratchet AGAIN and interject words that were not helpful in any stretch of the word. If Bumblebee was truly on the verge of passing out and being unable to give them answers? The LAST thing they needed, was for him to be distracted by imagining some frivolous race. If Javelin where to lift her helm and look in the Prime's direction, she may be able to see the small flicker before the storm, his upper lip twitching before peeling back into a gnarled grimace.

A rumbled boom, heavy peds planted firmly down onto the ground once more, as the Prime arched up into the air back onto his feet. The motion was fierce, rapid, perhaps a bit too rapid for one whose Energon levels were so low that basic balance and functions were compromised. Such things did not matter however, pushing upright so hard that the cable pulled the datapad forward to fall off of the medical birth, swinging at the far point before gravity took full hold and it snapped free to fall back down to the ground and skitter across the floor.

"Do you think this is all a joke!?"

Any attempt at an inside voice was now gone. Sure, he was going to distract Bumblebee, but obviously saying nothing and trying to play even slightly nice, even by NOT playing nice was not working to get Jazz to shut the frag up and actually realize the situation they were in.

"I will not be ignored so blatantly!"

At these raised words, the door to the medical bay slid open with a snarled hiss, locking fully open as Carbine stood awkwardly in the frame, holding his crystal encrusted hand up in front of him warily as if scared he would touch anything bad with it. However, just as soon as he appeared, the black and white mech took a slow step backwards, optics as round as disks to allow the door to slide back closed again.

Optimus couldn’t believe this. He couldn’t. How could Jazz, someone he trusted so much, be disrespecting him like this?

Stepping forward, the Prime's looming figure started to cross the room, balance compromised, frame unsteady, but still an imposing individual that commanded respect, charcoal smeared features twisted in rage. There was a sort of unstable edge behind his gaze, the fire from earlier in the night blooming again to chew and eat through all the barely mended thin sinews that would otherwise hold his tongue and throttle his actions.

"You no longer have options. I want you out if the Medical Bay. NOW."

Stopping not far from Jazz, the Prime squared off with the smaller Cybertronian, broad shoulders arched high to blot out some of the overhead lighting. Challenging... no... DARING him to continue what childish game he believed he was playing, and think twice about what he was going to do next. Optimus' internal battle systems roared alive once more, a deep rumbled growl that was steadily churning through his limited fuel. If things had to get physical, despite how weak he felt, and the trauma his system has taken, the Prime seemed ready to go up to the plate with fire behind his eye.

"Think well before you choose to ignore me once more."

[Bumblebee]

There was the question he'd been waiting for.

Why.

Even despite the voices from across the room, he was spacing out juuuust enough that he kept his sleepy gaze and attention on Ratchet only. He was fighting the sedative – and hard. He wanted nothing more than to pass out, but if he left them with unanswered questions? It meant they'd have to wait longer to get to the bottom of whatever this was.

--I ̶was̢ ̢a͢-̡a͡n͢ǵr̷y̧-- his beeps were quiet. That was... really the long and short of it, and the easiest way to explain it. The only way he really could explain it. He was angry. Nothing more. The anger he felt? He'd never felt anything like it before. Of course he'd felt annoyance in the past – all of them had! He hated losing – if he got beat in a video game or a sparring match? He'd felt himself get worked up over that. But never to the point of lashing out and actually hurting others, never to the point of almost killing others. Especially those who'd done nothing wrong and were trying to help.

He'd been overly irritable a lot recently... Tiny things that normally he'd brush off had caused him to inwardly seethe, lashing out with short, blunt comments and being overly standoffish. Things that normally wouldn't have bothered him at all had really gotten to him on a deep level, and he'd carried that anger for far longer than he should've. He'd put it down to hunger. But why would it get worse to the point of him shooting everyone once he actually ate?

His remaining servo would tighten some into a weak fist, as if trying to keep himself moving and putting some strain on himself would keep him awake – but he was fading fast.

Ratchets next question was nothing more than a mumbled drone, Bee's optics fading as he lost the battle against the pull of sleep. He didn't hear Jazz, even though he would've no doubt smiled at his comments. They did have to finish that race, they never got the chance before...

He was still.

When suddenly Optimus' voice cut through the air once more. Loud, angry. It startled Bumblebee just enough that his optics would whir to life once more and he'd turn his head in a panic – as if expecting Optimus' yell to be directed at him for daring to fall asleep. The Prime wasn't there – it was still just Ratchet. The curtain was thankfully blocking off the rest of the room, but he was certain that the anger was directed at him now. Optimus continued to yell though; his voice, paired with the rumbled boom of pedes landing on the ground - and Bee's frame would tremble weakly.

He'd done this.

He'd never heard Optimus like this before. Not ever. Not even during the heat of battle back on Cybertron when they'd been fighting alongside each other. Yells of support to motivate and give morale sometimes when things looked bleak, but he'd never snapped into anger. Not like this. Not in front of everyone.

He'd done this. And he was so, so sorry.

A low drone of a beep sounded, as if he was trying to relay this to Ratchet - but his optics would dim into blackness once more. The sedative once again winning the rather one-sided battle.

[Javelin]

I don’t want to beeee heeeeereee……

Javelin was trying to make herself as insignificant as possible. She was literally starting to wish she had stayed in her quarters and just listened to more music.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help. She did! Cleaning poor Sideswipe’s face wasn’t all that bad, and if would help him, then she’d do it.

It was the atmosphere that was killing her.

The femme had gone through several cleansing pads, and had finally managed to make the less injured side of his face almost spotless, and now she was starting on the more….shattered….side.

Attempting to be as gentle and careful as possible, Javelin slowly wiped the ash and soot from the torn edges, being careful not to let the material from the pads hook or catch on the sharp edges and ragged sides of the open injury. She was terrified he would wake up because she had caused him pain, so was doing her utmost to be feather-light as she cleaned.

There was energon spilled inside his face - she could see it pooled slightly inside, as he had bled from the damage done to him, but there was no way should could reach inside to clean it out without having to force the cleaning pad inside, and she was not doing that.

Javelin still had no idea what had happened, but she wasn’t about to start asking questions. There was a tension in the air, and almost vibration that she felt, and it made her want to duck and cover. A combination of fields, rippling outward, edges jagged as if a saw. There were several, overlapped to the point the blue scout couldn’t tell where someone’s began and someone else’s ended. It felt like walking into a room of silent spinning buzzsaws, waiting to cut.

Her audials, though, worked fine, and she listened closely when Ratchet started speaking to Bumblebee. Maybe she could figure out what had happened if she….

Wait.

What?

Bumblebee did this?

No, that….that made no sense. She obviously wasn’t hearing the entire conversation. The question was, who had attacked, and how had they gotten into the base? Why didn’t the alarms go off?

In the corner of her eye, Javelin saw a massive red pillar suddenly seem to rise up from the floor as if sliding into position, up and up until it seemed to reach the ceiling.

And everything in the room exploded.

The voice, the one that guided the actions of the Autobots, the one she heard on holovisuals giving orders and rallying his troops, the baritone voice of their leader, sounded in the smallish medibay like a thunderous retort of a cannon. It almost deafened her in the confined room, flat surfaces wonderful platforms for sound to bounce off of.

As a ground recon scout, Javelin’s job had always been to sneak in, stay hidden, observe, learn what she could, and get out, passing along information. If she was spotted, speed was her best course of action, with the use of her bow to discourage pursuit. When badly startled, her first instinct was often to flee.

When Optimus’s furious voice sounded, her first instinct would be to grab her bow and take off. Preferably behind cover, because surely they were under attack again. Even as her processor insisted they weren’t being attacked because there were no attackers in the room, the rest of her processor was still searching the room for cover, for a safe place to hide and use to shoot from. Trying to figure out how to somehow keep Sideswipe protected because he obviously wasn’t in any position to protect himself at the moment…..

Her peds, however, remained planted, as the part of her processor seeing what was going on was stronger. While part was screaming run, the other part was screaming “shut up and stay put you idiot”. Her hand had half risen towards her back, though, and she quickly dropped it, picking up her dropped cleansing pad and going back to Sideswipe’s face.

The femme hunched over the frontliner, trying to keep low. She did not want that anger turned towards her, thank you very much.

Hunched over in such a manner, she barely saw the doors open, and Carbine’s horrified face, and the weird, crystals accumulated on his servo, before the doors slid shut again. For now, Javelin pushed that image out of her head. She kept low, and cleaned.

[Ratchet]

Ratchet was more and more confused.

There was something he was missing. It was as if Bumblebee was talking an unknown language. He was saying words, but the words weren’t making any sense to the medic. He was angry? That made no sense. Ratchet got angry, but he didn’t shoot anyone. Neither did Bumblebee.

Ratchet had spent a lot of time with the yellow scout. Back on Cybertron, he had fixed Bee up more than once, from minor dings to the more serious injuries he had suffered at Megatron’s hands. Ratchet had seen Bumblebee angry before. Like most others, he paced. He muttered or growled to himself. Occasionally cursed if really angry. But just bringing out his weapons and firing? On allies?

On Optimus, his hero?

“You were angry?” he repeated, as if trying to find a possible hint in there, something that made sense.

Hoping for more answers, Ratchet’s spark sank as he watched the yellow scout’s optics fade as he was dragged down into a power down. The sedative was taking effect, and the medic knew when to give up. Not only would Bee not be able to fight it for long, but doing so wouldn’t help his ravaged system.

With a sigh, Ratchet stood up straighter.

What was he going to do? He needed to triage the wounded. Sideswipe’s injuries, while horrible and severe, weren’t life threatening, and as long as he kept him in a power down, could get to him shortly.

Optimus was the same. While Ratchet wanted to ensure he was ok - mainly due to the fact that his stubbron attitude would only make the Prime try to leave before being truly inspected or else refuse treatment outright for fear of something foolish like “wasting resources” - he knew that the injuries Optimus had suffered weren’t life threatening either. Severe, yes, and needed to be seen to swiftly, but not life threatening. As long he remained calm and still, his systems would be -

As Optimus’ angry voice filled the room, Ratchet started to move towards the curtain. He was only stayed when he saw Bumblebee’s optics flare to life again, upset and possibly even frightened.

Ratchet was about to speak to the yellow scout, to try and soothe him, when he saw the optics dim again, and once more Bumblebee was pulled down into a full power down.

Behind the curtain, Ratchet warred with himself. It had been a while since he had heard Optimus sounding that angry, and it raised conflicting emotions in the medic. Part of him wanted to go out, to see what was going on. Why was he shouting like that? To find out what was wrong and attempt to fix it.

A second part of him was irritated. This was not going to help Optimus, shouting like that.

A third was indignant that there was apparently some sort of fight going on in his medibay, and one of his patients had been affected.

Ratchet and Optimus had an odd relationship. They had been friends for a very long time, each understood the other quite well. They had both been through a lot, and Ratchet proudly claimed he knew what Optimus was probably going to do in just about any situation. And he knew Optimus could claim the same about him.

The CMO’s job of the Autobots was clear cut. You supported the Prime, and took care of the Autobots. Each role was well formed and shaped. Only in their positions, there was an odd overlapping that often moved and swayed, formed and reformed as new situations arose. While Ratchet had every right to eject even the Prime from the medibay if he was upsetting a patient, Ratchet also knew Optimus well enough to know he didn’t become angry so easily, that something had pushed him over the edge. Still, this was a place of healing, and not a brawling arena.

So while Ratchet’s first impulse was to go storming out and start yelling himself, driving everyone from the medibay to stop upsetting his patients, Ratchet tampered down his temper as best as possible.

He moved to the curtain, and with a swift motion, shoved it back. His voice, when he spoke, was steady, but still acidic as normal.

“I need to check Bumblebee out, now. Optimus, when you’re….finished….please sit again. Javelin will see to cleaning your injuries.”

[Jazz]

"A joke? Hardly. Ya ain't the jokin' type anymore. Forgot that for a split klik." So that was a stab that Jazz probably didn't need to make anymore, but hell, this brawl was gonna happen sooner or later. May as well when the two couldn't get into a full on heavy-hitting punching match. Not that Jazz wouldn't be up for it, but he didn't feel like doing so here. In the medical bay. With a protective CMO around who he knew of through reputation. As far as the ignoring went? Not that Optimus could be ignored when he was the tallest- and currently the loudest- one in the space. He'd pushed his luck enough already, though, and he wasn't really wanting to do more to irritate the commander for the time being.

"Yeah, I get it." Jazz held up his servos in a mock surrender and shrugged. "Orders out. Gotcha. See you later, then."

Only not.

Jazz would be hellbent to return here, not only because it was the medical bay, but because he didn't really want to deal with Optimus anymore. He had to tell himself time and time again that this wasn't Orion, and different things pushed him different ways, but it was like Jazz was learning a whole new person all over again. It was confusing and he hated it. The whole situation was just... well... frag it all.

"Je m’en vais," he snorted then turned and made his way out of the facility with no immediate plans to return. Camp out in his quarters and handle his repair in quiet? Sure, that sounded good. He probably would get restless and venture out afterwards, but in the meanwhile he really needed the time away to reset.

So that was where he went, and where he would be, until he decided otherwise.

[Optimus Prime]

The top edge of Optimus' lip twitched up into a sneer as Jazz snapped back a quip that was unwarranted. It is true that Optimus has changed a great deal from his days as Orion, no longer laughing, no longer offering an awkward joke or trying to get involved in social situations because his few friends were involved... He was no longer the mech he once was, though some of his old self could be found if individuals took the time to look for it. That said, this situation had nothing to do with a personality shift, and had everything to do with Jazz being a nuisance for the sake of being one it seemed.

Orion himself would have acted out to try to get Jazz to stop if he were here. He would have been more cautious and nervous through it, but there would be a cautioned word, attempts to misdirect Jazz's focus away from pestering Bee and Ratchet... he may have walked over and placed a hand on Jazz's arm and tried to pull gingerly to get him away from there, but Optimus was different. While he had verbally followed the same path, it was from a direction of authority, expecting the other mech to respect his words and back down without having to be talked down. It seemed Jazz did not respect him or his rank however, and that final jab further outlined this well.

The mock surrender is probably all that kept Jazz from a second wave. Optimus was not entirely sure what he would have done, if it may have been more verbal snarls, or if he would have forcibly ejected the mech from the Medical Bay, but it didn’t matter because Jazz opted to leave soon after. It was while the mech had departed, that the Prime's frame turned to remain aiming at him, shoulders broad and imposing, framing out the doorway to make sure Jazz WAS leaving and he wasn’t about to do anything else foolish.

To be honest, Optimus half expected Jazz to yell something out at his departure just before the door closed, a final punch to disrupt the medical bay before he would leave. It thankfully didn’t happen, but that did little to settle frayed nerves and heightened stress.

It was a victory at last, but it wasn’t a satisfying one.

Optimus did not want to have to go to such measures. He didn't wish to yell at someone on his team, let alone someone he has known for so long... but when an individual undermines his authority and becomes a nuisance to those that are injured and the individuals trying to help, than there was no other option. Jazz was acting out of line, and it had to be done. Now that it was, he could focus on the others, helm crooking over slowly to peer at Ratchet, or rather... the blobby shape of Ratchet.

Without an immediate word, opting to let the Medical Bay slip into a form of silence, Optimus would take an eased step back, trying to center his balance, before he turned and began to walk slowly towards 'his' slab. Now that he wasn't posturing, and trying to uphold the iconic look that was expected of him in order to push Jazz out, he seemed to wobble in his stride once again.

Energon loss was such a frustrating thing to endure. Optimus would rather bear through raw pain any day of the week before needing to wrestle with this. The weakness, the strain, the extra push needed to do minimal things while the mind spins. He half wondered if his balance center was compromised from the gunshot, but he knew that was untrue and he was simply trying find blame that was more befitting than 'blood loss' to disable him. As he got up to the large berth again, he reached his hand out to grab its edge, steadying himself a moment.

"Javelin, when you change task, may I have a cube, pending Ratchet's approval."

He could have moved and simply gotten one on his own, he knew where the small dispenser was, and he could vaguely see the generic outline of it, but he didn't know if that would work out well with whatever Ratchet planned to do. If this was any other day he liked to think he knew enough about medicine to know that a quick top off on fuel would only help, but this wasn't a normal day. Bee was sick, and... well, there was no saying what may happen next in the following hours.

After this question was asked, tone of voice low in an exhausted rumble to not bring unwarranted noise, Optimus would turn and sit down once again onto the berth, helm slumping forward for his hand to reach up and run tiredly over the good half of his faceplate and helm.

[Carbine]

Ohhh boy.

This was bad.

Somewhat interesting!

But mostly bad.

Carbine awkwardly stood just outside of the Medical Bay, leaning his back up flush against the wall beside the slide away door. His right hand was idly folded over his abdomen, almost a nervous protective action, while his left elbow rested upon the broader forearm of his armor and arching plates. The left hand was left aloft with this support, fingers curled loosely in an idle stance, the small glints of blue flecking across its surface like small needles and collected crystals.

This argument... wow...

The black and white mech had not heard everything, he did not know the full situation AT ALL, but he caught onto the last bit and it was a bit eye opening. This base... despite all their hardships and troubles, it had seemed so complacent and at ease. The people in it all appeared to get along, and when someone got in legitimate trouble, it was clipped down fast by a few slightly raised words, and some off base work to labor off the trouble as punishment. People weren't beaten when they stepped out of line, they weren't shrieked at or demoted down. It was a 'family' approach he had recalled someone saying, the concept still a bit weird to Carbine, yet it was something he could understand on some levels since he had 'family' of his own with Bolo.

But this was different.

It reminded him of some of the other generals he served under. Harsher words, snarled warnings, an unspoken threat of possible violence. It was... normal seeming, and typically would feel like an everyday standard occurrence, if it hadn't been done at the Omega Outpost. That is what made it so surreal, Carbine listening in, hoping to get more of a picture on what had set off the Prime. Thunder didn't even get Optimus to raise his voice like this, and he had unintentionally MURDERED a human! It was a MECH human... but still!

No more gossip could be skimmed off however, for a moment later the doorway slid open, and Jazz made his way out, swiftly retreating to get the heck out of dodge. It was the smartest thing given what Optimus had said, but oof, the tension was still thick in the air, and one didn't need to feed off of a dog's heightened senses to pick up on that. It was after the source of the conflict seemed to leave, that Carbine eased forward a bit, pushing off the wall to slip inside the doorway before it could close, moving off to the side to be out of the way.

Carbine didn't speak, he didn't draw attention to himself. He didn't want to get in the way and be yelled at, but he did somewhat need to be in here to see what Ratchet would want to do with his hand. It is because of this he tucked his back up against the wall again, letting it sit flush so that his rotors were pinned and left to drape down behind his legs. Once more his right arm would fold anxiously over his stomach, before his left elbow propped up as best it could on the forearm despite the elbow flaring that branched out.

Yellow optics settled across the room, trying to take stock of what everyone was doing.


((Bumblebee is out for the count, skip him for now))