[ti]Ep 3[/ti]The mauling of it all [closed]

[Red Alert]

Episode 3 | Week 2 | Day 6

Omega Outpost > Jasper, Nevada

Red Alert liked to think he was handling certain recent developments well, for a given definition of handling, and a given definition of well – which is to say he had somehow managed not to completely lose his shit in a spectacular, swear-filled fashion despite having every right and inclination to do so. It was difficult to say whether this could be attributed more to Red Alert's own sheer force of will or everyone around him having the good sense to keep a wide berth and not do anything to provoke his ire and put themselves on the receiving end of a truly inspiring fit of pique – both were equally likely, though not by Red Alert's estimation. In his experience, people were rarely ever so considerate of his mood as to avoid doing things that would, as Miko would put it, rustle his jimmies. If he were a betting mech (which he wasn't, what with gambling being antithetical to the principles of risk-mitigation), he'd say it was just a coincidence that things had been relatively uneventful, in the days since Ratchet's retrieval.

They wouldn't be for long, he had no doubts about that. They were simply enjoying a brief reprieve, the calm before the next inevitable storm. How things could possibly get worse than they already were, Red Alert could only guess – which he did. At length. To excess, really. But worrying obsessively over every potential future wasn't the only thing Red Alert had been doing during the calm – far from it. He had done what he always did whenever some new disaster struck; he did damage control, then tried to get ahead of the situation and take aggressive measures to prevent it from ever happening again.

Of course, as with any innovation born of tragedy, Red Alert was left to mourn and curse the fact that he hadn't thought to take such measures before they became necessary. For a mech as dedicated to his job as he purportedly was, it was occasions like these that forced Red Alert to question just how deep his dedication actually ran. Surely, if he were as devoted as everyone thought, as he should have been, as his comrades deserved for him to be, he would have prepared for this. He would have prevented it.

But he didn't. Despite all his plans and precautions and all the endless hours spent anticipating disaster, the worst still came to pass. All his efforts had amounted for nothing. He might as well have done nothing at all, for all the good he did Ratchet.

It was this thought that spurred Red Alert on through the night, working on the security measure he ought to have thought of and implemented long before something like this ever happened. Nevermind spite, guilt was the strongest motivator in Red Alert's mind, guilt and the stubborn resolve to never make the same mistake twice.

He should have slept, probably. At some point. It would have been a futile effort, he never would have been able to sleep even if he had tried, but he was sure Ratchet would have appreciated it if he had at least made a token effort.

Not that Ratchet was in a position to lecture him on his atrocious self-maintenance habits. He wasn't in a position to lecture anyone about anything, because Red Alert had failed to do the one thing he was good for – the thing he was quite literally built to do – and so Red Alert had been free to shut himself away and work on his project to excess without fear of reproach.

It only took him four days to finish, though it would have taken him considerably less time if there weren't so many other duties for him to stay on top of – duties he couldn't trust to anyone else, not when the slightest mistake or oversight could lead to an endless cascade of disasters. Red Alert had already allowed one tragedy to come to pass, and he would be damned if they suffered another so soon after the last.

Hence his latest pet project. He would need help implementing it, insofar as he couldn't leave the outpost without a partner. No one could. That had been one of the first rules established after Ratchet's disappearance, and since Red Alert wasn't about to break his own damn rules he had no choice but to find someone willing to suffer his company for an evening.

Nearly everyone at the outpost was ineligible, for one reason or another. Either because they were too important to risk exposing to unnecessary danger, too untrustworthy or aggravating to deal with, or too likely to question his mental and physical well-being. That left only two or three mecha who were qualified for the task, and of those mecha only one had volunteered their time to Red Alert in the past. He could only hope she would be inclined to do so again.

::Javelin - if you're available, I could use a spotter::

[Javelin]

Javelin had been lying on the floor of her quarters when her com crackled to life.

There were times when her left leg still ached some, and today was one of those days. It wasn’t bad, she wasn’t crippled, but sometimes it just felt off somehow, weaker than normal. Ratchet had worked on it, and she fully trusted he had done an excellent job. But he had told her afterwards that sometimes an injury couldn’t be completely undone. Even if her entire leg was removed and replaced, the joints, the circuits, the bearings…everything had been stressed and traumatized by the collapse of Haven. In such cases, the only way the damage could be one hundred percent removed would be to give her an entire new body, and even if they had one just lying around, spark transfer wasn’t something she wanted to take part in.

So, one of the easier fixes she had discovered; lie on the floor with both legs up, bent at the knee, the lower half of her leg resting on the flat of the berth. It probably looked ridiculous, but felt pretty good, so she just made sure the door was locked when she did it.

So she was lying there, holding her datapad up over her face, reading, when Red Alert’s voice suddenly spoke in her head without warning.

Startled, the first thing she did was drop the datapad directly onto her own face with a heavy thunk.

“OW! Frag it!”

Shoving the datapad off her face onto the floor, she raised a hand, rubbing at her face, trying to keep her voice normal.

“Oh, Red Alert- uh sure. Give me a minute, I’ll be right there. Meet you at your office?”

With a quiet grunt, Javelin rolled over onto her left side, shoving the datapad further away from herself, in case it tried to murder her again, bringing her legs to the floor. Getting her peds under her, she stood up, staggering a little to her left when she first put weight on her leg.

Wait, a spotter? We’re going outside? We’re going outside!

At this point Red Alert could have said they were going to go slogging through mug pits up to their eyeballs, and she would have eagerly agreed. Needing a buddy to go outside meant you didn’t get to go outside just to drive around.

[Red Alert]

If Red Alert heard Javelin's mishap with the datapad, he had the decency not to mention it – not that he was in the habit of mentioning his observations to anyone, unless it was prudent. The sheer number of things he noticed in a given day with his sensory capabilities would make such an endeavor exhausting for everyone involved, and besides that, everyone was already under the impression that he saw and heard everything like some sort of nigh-omniscient cryptid, so the point was moot.

::I'll be here:: He confirmed, even because where else would he be?

He was a creature of habit. Or, less generously, obsession. He had his routines, needed to observe them as much as he needed to recharge and refuel – not that you'd know he needed to do either of those things, judging by how often he forgot them or put them off in favor of tending to a (debatably) more important task.

Like implementing his latest pet project, for example.

It wasn't that he was unaware of the dangers of failing to meet one's basic needs – he had countless medics (Ratchet chief among them) lecture him over the years on his deplorable self-care habits, so he wasn't neglecting himself out of ignorance. He was simply ruthlessly efficient when it came to prioritizing his time. There were only so many hours in the day, and rarely ever enough to complete every task on his docket, which meant some had to be pushed down the list to be seen to the following day. And life, being as unrelenting and unpredictable as it was, often saw fit to fill each new day with a plethora of challenges which shuffled the order and pushed certain tasks further down the queue.

It just so happened that eating and sleeping tended to rank rather low on the priority scale, in the grand scheme of things. It wasn't as if he was deliberately throwing his health away for the sole purpose of giving Ratchet an aneurysm - not that Ratchet remembered that habit of his. He had forgotten, along with everything else, and Red Alert wasn't about to remind him. The last thing the mech needed was to be worrying over someone else when his whole life was in shambles – the last thing Red Alert needed to do was be a thorn in his side, to add insult to the injury of having failed to protect him in the first place.

He couldn't ever apologize enough to make up for that, but he could amend his mistake, do what he could to keep history from repeating itself. With any luck, his latest project – comprised of three identical devices – would do just that.

Pushing away from his desk, Red Alert moved to stand and found his head severely disagreed with the wisdom of that decision. The finials atop his helm crackle-popped with a small burst of electricity as his balance wavered, forcing him to catch the edge of the desk to keep himself steady while the head-rush cleared. It was a common enough occurrence that it was more of a minor annoyance than anything to be concerned about, but it was still frustratingly inconvenient.

Once he was no longer in danger of swaying, Red Alert made his way to the door, so he could begin the lengthy process of unlocking it. There were biometric scanners he could use to expedite the process, but he very much doubted the optic-scanner would be able to recognize the current state of his optics. They had been online for too long, and made to focus on code and microcircuitry. They would be fine once he had the chance to rest them for a bit, but until then he would just have to deal with them being blown wide and glowing fever-bright.

After keying in his exceptionally long and complicated (ie: secure) passcode, the door's many, many (many) locks began to fall away, allowing Red Alert to step out into the hall, to wait for Javelin.

[Javelin]

It didn’t take Javelin very long to make her way down the hallway towards where she knew Red Alert’s Office was located.

Everyone knew where Red Alert’s office was located.

The majority of Autobots always gave it a very wide berth.

Javelin hadn’t actually been back at the base for a long time, but the thought of being able to go outside again gave her a slight spring in her step.

As she made her way there, she wondered just what it was that Red Alert needed a spotter for? He didn’t go outside a whole lot. Like a lot of the officers at the base, the majority of his work was actually done at the base, and it didn’t require going out very often. It was one of the things that made Javelin grateful she would likely never make officer rank. She honestly didn’t think she could stand being inside so long.

Then again….Ratchet went outside, and…well…

Still. She couldn’t blame him. No one knew just why exactly he went outside and risked himself, but considering there were no injured Autobots outside at the time, a part of her thought maybe he was just tired of staring at the same four walls.

Not even Ratchet could be content being inside all the time…..could he?

Taking a slight turn in the hallway, she was now able to see Red Alert waiting for her outside his office. A small part of her mind worried she might have been keeping him waiting….although she had come straight here from her quarters.

Her next thought was that he seemed to be looking….off. Not quite up to par.

Probably just my mind, she thought, and the lighting. I know his job is stressful, but come on.

However, as she grew closer, she could see that, no, no, he really was looking decidedly …..stretched.

"Here I am, ready to go."

Javelin pitched her voice a little lower, a little quieter. Rumor had it that Red Alert’s hearing was exceptional to the point of frighteningly god-like. She wasn’t sure if it was true, but if it was? Well, it wouldn’t hurt her to tone her voice down a notch or two.

“Er…where exactly are we going, anyway?”

[Red Alert]

Red Alert did not consider himself to be self-conscious in the traditional sense; he was no more conscious of himself and how others perceived him than he was aware of literally everything else – which was to say he was painfully, acutely aware. He realized that his powers of perception and his predilection towards hyper-vigilance set him apart from the norm, but even so he found it difficult to fathom how one could go about their life so blissfully unaware of just how much of themselves they left open for scrutiny.

There were the obvious biometrics, of course. A person's appearance, their body language, their voice, and the particulars of their speech – those were the most easily recognized identifiers, and subsequently the most heavily censured. Most people tended to be mindful of these traits, making conscious or unconscious adjustments as necessary to communicate as much or as little of their authentic selves as circumstance demanded -

But Red Alert was not most people.

In fact, most days he felt as though he only qualified as a person under the most generous definition, if one allowed for a tangle of neuroses, compulsions, and maladaptive behaviors to qualify for person-hood, but more to the point – Red Alert rarely ever made adjustments to himself or his behavior to improve how others perceived him. He didn't see the point. Even if he was sociable and charismatic and well-liked by everyone who knew him, he would never be able to believe it. If he was doomed to find misgivings and ill-intent no matter where he looked, he figured he might as well save himself the wasted effort and not even bother to try to win anyone over.

And yet, despite not doing any sort of social manufacturing to make himself more palatable, some people still gravitated into Red Alert's orbit and inexplicably found him to be more or less tolerable. Or at the very least they were quite good at pretending like they did. Mecha like Optimus and Ratchet had a wealth of empathy and concern for their fellows, Jazz was sociable to a fault and could find something worth liking nearly everyone he met, and Javelin – well.

He wasn't exactly sure what was wrong with Javelin but he was sure if he allowed himself to speculate he could come up with a variety of explanations that wouldn't be flattering to either of them.

Thankfully, Javelin was quick on her feet and arrived before any such speculation could take place. She gave him a cursory once-over (which Red Alert did not care for at all even though he was guilty of subjecting everyone around him to far more invasive scrutiny) then made the conscious effort to speak more quietly which Red Alert took as confirmation that he must have looked at least half as terrible as he felt.

Lovely.

“How far are you willing tae go?” He asked, deciding to answer her question with one of his own.

His voice sounded a bit rough even to his own ears, though whether that was due to the lack of sleep or the abundance of stress he couldn't rightly tell.

“I'm wanting to install three transponder stations across the county, each the same distance apart. Bit of a drive if we don't use the bridge.”

Which he would prefer not to, considering how much energon that would waste and how conspicuous the bridge was as a general rule.

“Would prefer a trilateration range that covered more than just a few thousand square miles, but until I can convince Fowler to give me access to an Earth Terminal, we've got tae make due.”

[Javelin]

If Javelin had known how apparent it was that she had purposefully modulated her voice volumn, she would have felt awful. You do a thing to try and make the other person feel more comfortable - not make it uncomfortably apparent you felt they needed help. Still, Red Alert didn't make any comment, so she remained blissfully unaware.

Coming to a stop somewhat near him, and loosely folded her arms in a relaxed manner.

"I can go as far as you need," she replied, inwardly rejoicing that she was going to get to go outside. Javelin had been trained in Terrestrial Recon for a reason - that in general, she actually enjoyed being "out in nature" more than the average Cybertronian. Some were absolutely disgusted with anything that hinted at dirt, or rain, or plants, or the local wildlife. "I'm always up for a drive."

She nodded to his next comment. Unlike the 'Cons, the Autobots were limited by distances. It took huge amounts of power to open a bridge - especially to distant locations. Even if they had a Space Bridge, Javelin didn't think they'd ever be able to jury-rig a way to power it up. Not with their usual cobbled-together tech of Cybertron and Earth.

She had gotten very up close and personal with some planet's terra....

"Anything you need me to carry, or are you good?"

[Red Alert]

"Anything you need me to carry, or are you good?"

It was a perfectly innocent question, one asked as a courtesy, either to be helpful or polite or deferential to a superior officer. It wasn't a trick, Javelin's words weren't loaded, she wasn't fishing for confirmation for some undisclosed presupposition. She was just asking a perfectly innocuous, straightforward question. Red Alert knew this. He knew this. He knew this.

But still, internally, he winced.

And he wondered.

Because, yes, the most likely scenario was that Javelin was being straightforward with her intentions and she was simply offering to help in whatever capacity she could – but there still remained a chance, however slim, that Javelin had some sort of ulterior motive for wanting to get her hands on his equipment. Maybe he looked as awful as he felt and she could tell, and she was trying to subtly manipulate him into giving her the transponders so they wouldn't be damaged in the event he veered off the road and crashed into a guard rail. Maybe she wanted to see the transponders for herself to confirm they were actually functional so she wouldn't have her time wasted on a fool's errand. Maybe she thought he was somehow going to lose them during the drive, and felt they would be safer in the hands of someone who hadn't been awake for four days straight.

Not that Javelin would have any way of knowing that he had been awake for the past 102(.47) hours. Not unless she had been watching him, which wasn't possible because he would have noticed. He would have noticed because he always felt like he was being watched and acted accordingly, always looking over his shoulder and taking pains to secure his privacy. If Javelin somehow knew about the odd hours he was keeping, then it was likely because she had made an educated guess based on his appearance and general disposition – not because she had firsthand knowledge. That would be absurd.

...Then again, stranger things had happened.

He nodded once, stiffly, mindful of the growing ache behind his optics.

“I'm fine, aye.” He said, because he was – within the very specific context of Javelin's question.

He took a step away from the door, sparing a backwards glance to confirm it was as shut and locked as he remembered it to be, then nodded towards the hall that would lead them out to the central hangar.

“Let's be off, then.”

As he lead the way down the hall, through the control room, and out into the cool night air, Red Alert found himself wishing he had the emotional bandwidth to be a bit less brusque about this whole affair. He knew he was standoffish and distant at the best of times, but he could sense the strangeness of his own behavior just from the few words he and Javelin had exchanged. His voice sounded off, agitated, cagey. Playing it back in his head, he counted at least six small magnitude brief duration perturbations in his pitch and tone, though whether any of those perturbations were noticeable to the average ear, he had no idea. Javelin likely would have said something if he had sounded especially off, but then it was just as likely that she would have kept the observation to herself to spare his dignity and avoid and awkward and unnecessary conversation. Or perhaps she didn't want to bring it up because then he would make more of an effort to sound like himself, and she wanted to see just how out of sorts he was -

 -Or maybe he was making something out of nothing and would be better served paying attention to the bloody road, for Primus sake.

[Javelin]

She nodded to his reply – she had assumed he’d rather carry thing things himself (he seemed that sort of person), but felt it was polite to ask.

Another nod to his “Let’s be off, then.” and she fell into step behind him.

Their footfalls sounded faintly as they moved down the hall – hers a little quieter than his, thanks to her sound dampeners in her legs – the pitch changing as they passed outside and into the night air.

She suppressed a desire to raise her arms over her head and stretch. There was always a sort of delicious sensation when she left the base behind – sort of faint sensation of freedom against the mesh of her skin. Javelin always enjoyed the differences in heat and air currents as day moved to night, and sometimes she wondered what it must be like to be an organic creature, even more attuned to temperature and humidity.

The thoughts of being so squishy, though….

She continued to remain silent as they walked, although part of her wanted to make small talk. She didn’t know Red Alert very well….which was natural, after all. He was an officer, far outranking her. And considering his duties with security, it wasn’t like they’d run into each other very often.

She...didn’t...have a lot of friends.

Javelin knew it was her own fault. She was a loner, and people didn’t seek out someone who seemed to want to be alone. She just….she didn’t know how to put herself out there anymore. Too much time had passed. Too much had happened.

Besides….she knew Red Alert didn’t like small talk, so she put aside any questions she might have asked, or random stupid things she might say, and focused on just helping, and not making a fool of herself.

[Red Alert]

The trek was excruciating, and not through any fault of Javelin's own. She was not doing anything wrong, though she wasn't doing anything right either – by virtue of there being no right thing to do in the first place. No matter what action she did or did not take, Red Alert knew his mind would find a way to twist things around so that he was presented with the very worst possible angle. If Javelin had tried to speak, to make polite small talk or friendly conversation, then an ugly voice in the back of his mind would suggest she was trying to manipulate him somehow, get him to lower his guard or become distracted. A kinder but no less suspicious suggestion would follow, arguing that even if Javelin were to be given the benefit of doubt – which she deserved, because the first speculation was so contrary to her established character and modes of conduct – a malicious third party or some sort of unforeseen obstacle or disastrous event could catch him unawares while his attention was diverted.

And wouldn't that be a remarkable way to end his illustrious career - getting himself and his comrade killed or worse because he was engaged in a discussion about the weather rather than doing his job and keeping constant vigilance.

Walking in silence was strategically more sound, but it felt just as harrowing as the alternative. While Javelin's silence allowed him to focus on everything else around them, it also opened his mind to a plethora of uncomfortable possibilities, each worse and more implausible than the last. It was entirely possible that Javelin, like him, was not especially talented in the art of socialization and so was choosing to remain quiet rather than try to spark up a conversation that she would have to struggle to maintain. It was possible she simply didn't have anything she wanted to say, or at least nothing she wanted to say to him. Perhaps she simply wanted to get this errand over and done with as quickly as possible and didn't want to slow things down with unnecessary prattle.

Or, less optimistically, maybe she had some sort of unspoken grievance with him. Maybe she was only helping him out of a sense of obligation and was eagerly awaiting the moment she could finally be free of him. Maybe she was staring daggers at the back of his helm wishing he would drop dead for reasons he could only begin to speculate on; which he would, because he couldn't not.

Primus, he didn't even need idle chatter to distract him when the voices in his head had already put themselves to the task. He figured he might as well risk a few words, if only to break the awkward silence that was beginning to feel more than a wee bit suffocating.

“...I appreciate the help, you know.” He began, his words stilted and uncertain as he tried to find the right ones – or at least avoid the wrong ones.

He risked glancing over at Javelin instead of keeping his attention on the road ahead, his tone becoming as dry as the desert around them as he stated the obvious.

“I know I'm not the easiest person to work with, and there's not exactly a queue of volunteers waiting behind you.”

[Javelin]

Javelin had been lost in her own little world for a few minutes as she followed along behind Red Alert. She was aware of her surroundings, just keeping to herself so as not to bother First Aid too much. So she had actually been sort of surprised when he suddenly spoke out of the blue.

“I appreciate the help, you know.”

She had been about to lightly brush it off – “Oh, no biggie.” “No worries, I wasn’t doing anything important,” or something like, “Happy to help!” realizing how horrifically chirpy the last one sounded, when he turned and glanced at her. His eyes seemed tired, and yet at the same time they seemed capable of catching one unawares. His eyes were almost startling in their intensity, and she had been wondering how eyes could do that and look tired at the same time, when he spoke again.

“I know I’m not the easiest person to work with, and there’s not exactly a queue of volunteers waiting behind you.”

And what, by Primus, did one say to something like that? Laugh it off? Brush it aside? No, it wasn’t said in a joking manner – it was an honest confession – laughing it away would be ignorant. And his tone with which how he said it indicated it was something that he felt sensitive over. Even if only a little. Agree? “Yeah, you’re a real pain in the ass!” Something like that could be said to a friend, but….

“Oh..well…” Javelin sort of laughed weakly, completely at a loss for words for a second. She was searching for the right thing to say when honesty seemed to override her, and she was speaking before she knew it.

“I don’t mind,” she said softly, “I’ve spent so much time away from other Cybertronians. And I don’t mind helping. I like being useful.”

She fell silent for a second, inwardly cringing at how weak that sounded. She ended up just giving him a faint smile and a shrug.

“Besides,” she added, “Anything that gets me outside, I’m up for.”