WHO: G1 Wheeljack, BV Bumblebee, probably BV Ratchet later
WHAT: Getting the new guy patched up.
WHERE: Zone Five - Wheeljack's workshop, possibly moving to St Fallen later
WHEN: This afternoon, in tandem with
thisWARNINGS/NOTES: No warnings except for some crossed wires, L-LOL There was a question of if we'd wanted to action spam or do a narrative
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He gestures for the mech to come in the rest of the way. "No problem, pal! An' . . . well, that's . . . kinda a good question." Considering the problematic Shockwave still at large, not to mention his own issues under a month ago. "Paranoid's not a bad thing, especially comin' outta a long-time war . . . an' knowin' the enemy's in the city too. Problem is . . . there's only two ways'a tryin' ta make it in this city that I can see - leadin' what most would call a 'normal' life, an' stayin' hidden. Unless ya turn ta theft ta support yourself, or have someone else who can help support you, stayin' hidden really isn't somethin' that can be done too easily for very long. Not that it can't be done, just not easily at all. But a 'normal life' isn't something ya can really do an' stay hidden either." He pulled a deep cycle of air through his vents. "I'm not gonna lie an' tell ya there isn't still danger. Frag, I myself just spent a deca-cycle bein' held by my own Stream's Megatron for a project he wanted me ta work on. But . . . honestly, that . . . that's pretty rare. Really much of any interaction between us an' the 'Cons isn't too common, except maybe for trollin' on the network." He shrugs, optics darkening a hair. "I'm more leery of the TransTechs than the Decepticons, ta be honest with ya. Especially Shockwave..."
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It follows, he decides 'aloud', gesturing to the ID bolt fixed to his person. It seems we all have bigger concerns right now than our war. And he never thought he'd say or think such a thing, but here he is. I guess I should be exploring my options for allies here. I saw some organics on the way ... so it's not just limited to Cybertronians? Those that 'slip'?
Nonetheless, 'Cons will always be 'Cons, so although he lowers his electromagnetic sensors - his 'wings' and droops a little in sympathy at Wheeljack's story about Megatron, he nods as well.
And his optics darken at the mention of Shockwave. I don't care whether the Transtechs are advanced or not: I wouldn't trust Shockwave or Soundwave any further than I could throw them. He pauses, then plays a laugh track over his speakers. Which is decently far, but not far enough!
Rolling his shoulder, he adds, I don't want to keep you too long, so - here's a log of the damage. And he transmits the data: a lot of superficial damage, of course, but a faulty ignition, long-term low oil damage, loss of his holotech, and worst of all, the crack in his frame. He gives Wheeljack time to digest the log before indicating the poor man's welding job done at his hip. I did the best I could with it, but it isn't generally load-bearing.
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"Oh, it's okay! I honestly really don't mind, an' I like company." Still, he accepted the data, nodding as he went through it in detail. "Yeah, this is all stuff I can take care of for ya, no problem. Have a seat?"
He led Bumblebee over to a stool by one of his workbenches and started pulling together tools and supplies. He talked as he worked. "Gettin' back ta the TransTechs' Shockwave, though . . . there's somethin' you should know about that. Always best ta be as prepared as ya can be. See . . . one'a the problems we've been havin' is that periodically, someone'll go missin'. No warnin', no trace. Even if there was someone by 'em before that. Like . . . like Ratchet. Primaxian Ratchet." Since there was an open link between them, Wheeljack took the liberty of sending Bumblebee a few quick images unless they were blocked. "He an' I are roommates. We share an apartment up on Level Three. I've installed a security system that, frankly, is slaggin' near impossible ta get through. But . . . someone did. An' they took Ratchet..."
The knowledge that someone had breached his security system didn't upset him quite as much as the fact that Ratchet had been taken and what had been done to him. But it still galled him. He realized his hand had clenched in a tight fist on the tool he held, and he made himself loosen his grip. He looked up at Bumblebee as he continued his work.
"Three days. The one missin' is always gone for three days, an' then turns up in some random location in one'a the lower levels. Six or below. No memory at all of the abduction or the intervenin' time. An' it doesn't seem ta be Autobot or Decepticon, because both sides have suffered activity. Even some'a the organics! An' the worst part? They always come back . . . changed in some way. Somethin's different about 'em. They heal faster, or their voice works different, or . . . o-or their mind's been tampered with..." Again, Wheeljack has to remind himself to loosen up on the tool in his hand, his optics darkening to deep, angry indigo at the last. "They've been basically experimented on somehow. We have reason ta believe it's Shockwave, the TransTechs' Shockwave . . . but the fraggers won't listen ta us. They think they've got a good leash on 'im or somethin'. There's one who might listen ta us, but we gotta gather enough proof that our presentation is absolutely irrefutable . . . and the glitch who's doin' it is good. Leaves basically no trace whatsoever, so we really have nothin' ta go by."
And . . . he realized that he'd rambled on. He paused, glancing away as he rolled his shoulders to release the tension in cables and struts of his substructure. "Sorry . . . I know that's a lot ta absorb, but . . . well, we do our best ta look out for each other, ya know?"
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