Day 51: Lunch

[sanguinario]

Edward was glad to wake up to a period of respite. While he had been conscious during breakfast, he'd requested to remain in his room for extra "sleep", which had consisted waiting until the room was vacated to ingest the vial of Venom's blood. The vampire had lost his chance last night, but that might have been for the better; this way he wasn't

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[tartaros_avatar]

Hamburgers and hotdogs. In modern America, there was nothing so proletariat nor soul-crushingly advantageous to only the most cold (and grease-stained) corporations. Frankly, Recluse minded neither, just as long as he didn't have to be exposed to either. A good portion of the Rogue Isles was fed on Nutri-Paste, after all, the chemical-filled wonder that came from Aeon Laboratories. What was the line Aeon used? Ah, right. "Made to the highest standards of nutrition under quality-controlled industrial conditions". Such was the wonder of results-based total deregulation.

With that in mind, being stuck with the American standard for protein and calories was relatively lucky. If Recluse had even the slightest shred of optimism about anything besides his own designs for world domination, of course.

Such was how he came to be glowering at his tray of 'food', and considering whether to raise tariffs on foreign imports of low-quality foodstuffs when he returned to the nation he ruled. Today was not exactly going entirely well.

[Free to an evil home!]

[war_wounds]

There was nothing Ratchet was looking forward to less after a morning spent defending the validity of inorganic life than going through yet another organic refueling period. If this place was trying to drive him crazy, it was making a good start.

Glaring down at his usual pile of vegetation (now with the addition of a 'tofu-dog' thanks to the nurse) he heaved a sigh. Even cheap motor oil would be preferable to ingesting this nonsense three times a day. Too bad that would probably kill him. Wouldn't it? Ratchet turned to his neighbor. "Say, you wouldn't happen to know what the lethal dose of motor oil is for a human, would you?"

[tartaros_avatar]

Well. That wasn't the oddest conversation starter he'd ever been subjected to (that probably being either "We have reports that a sentient television sent an emissary to threaten Doctor Aeon" or "Spies have confirmed sightings of the 'giant amoeba' outside of Paragon City."), but it was certainly notable.

"I'd guess it would take quite a lot, the last time I tasted any was ninety years ago," Recluse answered, raising an eyebrow at his neighbor. Working at the shipyards when he had been human had meant any number of unpleasant incidents, including catching a facefull of engine oil on one occasion. "While it does taste sweet, I wouldn't recommend it for ingestion. Humans aren't really meant to ingest petroleum products." He studied the man, red eyes calculating and colder than his tone.

"Given your phrasing of the question, I am assuming you were non-human before this place. One of the robots, maybe?" There always seemed to be a few of them around, regardless of whether the useful ones were gone.

[war_wounds]

Ratchet wasn't sure what a human would consider 'quite a lot' of motor oil, but he wasn't keen on accidentally poisoning himself to find out. It had been a silly idea anyway. "I thought as much. No point ingesting something this miserable meatbucket can't process, anyway." He tore off a small piece of the tofu-dog and tried it, unable to hold back a shudder and a half-hearted gag. Something about the texture was off, and he didn't even know how to describe the flavor except that it was unpleasant.

That staring was a bit unnerving, but Ratchet did his best to ignore it. "Congratulations, professor, you guessed it." He sipped at his water to try to get the taste of tofu-dog (horrible-unknown-cylinder would be a more accurate name for it) out of his mouth. "And if you're going to make any anti-inorganic remarks, I'd appreciate it if you got it out of the way now and be done with it."

[tartaros_avatar]

"I doubt you would get much from it, no," Recluse poked unenthusiastically at the food on his tray, lifting up the bun to examine the hamburger. Really, he might not mind so much if they had cooked it rare. And regardless, he needed the energy. His body was nowhere near as self-sustaining now.

Was there really such a biochauvinist bloc out of the prisoners to give that remark any cause? He doubted it, but humans had myriad methods of stupidity. "On the contrary, robots and cyborgs make up a good deal of my army. I am quite aware of how useful and adaptable they are compared to an unaugmented human." Of course, not all of the cyborgs were willing to receive the completely altering modifications needed to turn them into his Tarantulas, but the brainwashing dealt with that problem well enough if they resisted.

"On any given day outside of this place, a good portion of the world would mistake me for a cyborg, even." Apparently the more feeble-minded found it far more comforting to think that the spider limbs were not actually a part of him. That and the edge of metallic distortion to his voice (yet another minor detail he missed here) seemed to quite thoroughly confuse the general public.

[war_wounds]

"Hmph. Nice to know they're so useful." Not that Ratchet would count himself and his fellow Cybertronians as the same sort of robot this man was likely talking about, of course. There were sentient robots that lacked sparks, as evidenced by HK, but this 'army' most likely consisted of attack drones, and those weren't alive by any meaningful measure. In fact, it was more than a little irritating to be compared to some mindless automaton, but Ratchet kept that complaint to himself.

Ratchet wasn't familiar with the term the man was using, but he gathered it was something to do with robotics. "You have technoorganic traits, then?" he asked, more interested in this than the man's provincial opinions on robots. "Something integrated into your system?"

[tartaros_avatar]

"I'd be more politic about it, but I'm not in the mood for propaganda," Recluse replied, finally resigning himself fully to having to eat a hamburger. "But given the frequency with which my nation is invaded, 'useful' is high praise."

"Not as such, but enough similarities to confuse many. The term for what I am is 'metahuman', but the word encompasses everything from those simply possessing preternatural talent in an area to incarnations of major deities. I fall under the latter category." Or did, really. His senses were still sharper than a baseline human, and he was maybe a little stronger than even his musculature would make one think, but his powers had been stripped so completely those traits were barely worth mentioning. Given the nature of Incarnates, this most likely couldn't last forever, but it had gone on long enough as it was.

"The real confusion usually stems from my extra limbs. I usually have eight more, and they do not outwardly appear to be organic." The fact that he had taken to wearing a signal disruptor in the past few decades had prevented most attempts at scanning anything on his person, a useful feature he'd taken full advantage of.

[war_wounds]

"Fair enough." Ratchet got more than his fill of propaganda back home as it was, and if he'd thought Ultra Magnus had been bad about it (and he did think so, vehemently), that oaf Sentinel was proving to be even less trustworthy. Another tidbit caught his attention, if only because the man was so casual about it. "Angry neighbors?"

"Whatever. I don't care what it's called as long as..." He paused, a piece of leaf halfway to his mouth. "Did you really just claim to be a god?" Humans were primitive, sure, but Ratchet put enough faith in them to assume they wouldn't claim to have divine power just because they happened to be fancier than the standard model. Even Promethius Black didn't have such delusions, and that particular human was, in Ratchet's professional opinion, crazier than a turbofox with its equilibrium apparatus on fire. "You have got to be kidding, human."

"Outwardly?" He had hoped this man had integrated circuitry, if only so that he could ask what sorts of medical problems or quirks the man dealt with. Sari's technoorganic system was something outside the experience of the medical communities of both Earth and Cybertron. Anything Ratchet could learn about such a system, even if it was only roughly similar, could be helpful should any problems arise. "What do they inwardly appear to be, if you don't mind my asking?"

[tartaros_avatar]

"And unwanted guests in the form of several dozen international criminal organizations. National defense can become... complicated." He often longed for a straight-up fight, just for the excuse to go out and get blood on his hands. Intrigue and countering others plots was always a welcome challenge, but it was so dry compared to an all-out war, which unfortunately he had to try and prevent most of the time.

"Not a god." But he wouldn't protest the idea if it came up under favorable terms. "There are deities that made Earth their home in my dimension, some of them passing on powers to humans. I just happen to be one of them." He gave Ratchet a completely level stare, acting as if he were talking about nothing so controversial as the weather, or what a terrible mastermind Landel made. "I am not a god. But I was ranked among the most powerful metahumans in existence." And he certainly had a shot at 'most notorious' and 'most death sentences ruled against one individual in abstentia'. He’d stop paying attention after twelve.

“Organic. They grew out of my back after I became an Incarnate.” And it was still a mystery why none of the others went through such radical outward changes. He'd found no reason to bemoan the changes, of course, but most others saw him as a monster. "I fully armored them to afford the limbs some protection. Which is an entirely relative term, of course, most weapons fire would bounce off my skin anyway."

[war_wounds]

"Sounds messy," Ratchet said, beginning to lose interest in the woes of some random organic state. "I'm no politician, but the Autobot Commonwealth keeps a closed border. Seems to serve well enough." Not that the Elite Guard didn't burn through a lot of energy and funding on border patrols (and there was an awfully long border to cover), but all crime in the Commonwealth was domestic, so that was something. Possibly.

Ratchet remained doubtful. At least the guy wasn't claiming to be a literal god, but the full explanation wasn't much better. "I'll have to take your word for it," he said, as diplomatic as he ever got. "No such things as gods where I'm from." The Church of Primus most assuredly did not count. Every species had its population of lunatic doomsayers-- didn't make the nonsense they spouted true.

"Oh." Well, there went that idea. The man sounded more like one of Black's experimental subjects. "Never mind, then." He didn't bother to hide his dissapointment. If he'd learned a bit more about the interplay of organic tissue and circuitry this extended nightmare at least would have had some point to it, but no such luck.

[tartaros_avatar]

"Incredibly so." If everything else failed, Nemesis would always be plotting something. Even when his best agents reported zero activity, someone would say that was proof there was a Nemesis plot going on. There was always the distinct possibility that Landel's itself was a Nemesis plot, but really, he hoped not. That ancient Prussian automaton maker was insufferable.

"Just as I have to take your word that you are a robot," Recluse retorted, leaning back in his chair. He really didn't care whether he was believed or not. It was still the truth, regardless. "Speaking of which, I've failed to make introductions." They weren't necessary, but a name was always an excellent way to keep track of someone here. "I am Recluse."

"And as I said, a large portion of my armed forces are cyborg: Part machine, part organic," he explained, not entirely sure the term has been understood. "If you have some curiosity about the concept that I could answer...?"

[war_wounds]

"Hmph. As if I needed a reminder," Ratchet snapped as he got ready to force down another leaf. "I don't know how you people can stand to live like this." He hadn't thought to introduce himself, nor did he really see the need. "Ratchet," he said flatly, wondering how long he'd remember this Recluse fellow's name. Not long, probably.

"I have a young friend with a uniquie physiology," he ventured, nervous about discussing Sari in much detail. Still, if there were ever a time to do so, it was here and now with a person who didn't have access to her. "She's a human with fully integrated Cybertronian circuitry, and I have no baseline to work from if she develops any medical problems." After all, if he didn't know what was normal for Sari, how was he supposed to help her when something was abnormal? The wiring bypass he'd done on her last stellar cycle had been complete guesswork. He'd kept his misgivings to himself, but in all honestly she'd been lucky to survive that operation.

[tartaros_avatar]

"I haven't. Not for the past ninety years, an entire lifetime as far as humans are concerned." The greatest insult of this place really was to have to be reminded constantly of what he had been.

And... Ratchet. He remembered that name from the board, when Scourge had still been one of his followers. And if the handwriting had stayed relatively consistent... "I think we've actually conversed before. Were you the one who asked about the Geneva Conventions?"

How interesting. Yet another thing his scientists would kill to get a chance to examine. "Without further information, I cannot say much with certainty. However, she will most likely be susceptible to diseases that target humans. There are always treatments for those, but you would have to ask a human in your home dimension. Since you seem to have no metahumans, it is likely that medical technology is vastly different between my Earth and yours." Recluse was likely never going to be able to do anything with this information he was collecting, but really, nothing could ever be ruled out. "How long has she had these Cybertronian parts?"

[war_wounds]

Ninety stellar cycles was a comparatively short time to Ratchet, though it did remind him exactly how short-lived humans were. He had to make allowances for a species whose members died just when they were getting the hang of things.

"Yes I was, as a matter of fact." Well, it was a small insane asylum after all.

Sari had already demonstrated her ability to catch human disease during the crew's second winter on Earth. "She's already had influenza." Complete with one instance of late-night vomiting, and guess who'd gotten to clean that up? "And I don't know of any human doctors I'd trust far enough to have a look at her. Or other Cybertronian medibots, for that matter." His thoughts drifted to the Science Guild and his lip curled in an involuntary snarl. No, none of them were coming anywhere near Sari.

"Her entire life. Eight or nine stellar cycles-- like I said, she's young." And Recluse didn't seem to quite understand what a technoorganism implied. "She isn't a human that happens to have Cybertronian parts. The two systems can't be separated, as far as I can see. She's somewhere halfway between our two species." Which was bizarre in itself, as they should have been completely incompatible on any level.

[tartaros_avatar]

"Well then. You already know how I stand in relation to the Decepticons." Wishing that the useful one would come back, actually. Scourge had made an excellent minion. And he'd actually become interested when Megatron was there. It had been weeks since he'd dealt with another evil mastermind, and he'd been looking forward to the challenge. Still, he wasn't about to let Ratchet know that.

"Then I'd check human medical databanks yourself. Information on symptoms of common diseases should be easy to find," Recluse watched Ratchet's expression with interest. "But generally, there is an easy distinction that can be made between different types of human diseases: bacterial, viral and fungal. Depending on which of those categories the infection falls under, you chose from a broad category of drugs specifically designed to combat one or more types." Recluse hadn't gotten sick in almost a century, but when your country produced a staggering amount of illegal weapons, chemical, biological and nuclear, you tended to at least keep a general knowledge of the especially deadly end of disease.

"Interesting." Recluse would have commented further, had a loud voice suddenly made him turn to search for the source. "Oh gods, not another one." He hated heroic inspirational speeches. They were always so trite. Standing on the table, even. All they needed was a flag flapping in the background and the man would have hit every single cliche possible.

He waited until all of the shouting was done before giving the man the most sarcastic slow clap he could manage, although he wasn't sure if a man so completely without subtlety would be able to detect something so nuanced as a facial expression.

"I've heard far too many of those speeches," Recluse turned back to Ratchet, looking infinitely more irritated than he had before he was interrupted, "I've never liked them."

[war_wounds]

"Yeah," Ratchet said cautiously. "Well, it's not like you're the first 'Con sympathizer I've run into in here." And frankly, so far the Decepticons weren't proving themselves much of a concern. They were probably occupied with trying to find their frames, much like Ratchet was. As long as they were keeping their heads down, he had no reason to stir up a fight. He wasn't much good with diplomacy, but he understood the importance of not going out looking for trouble.

Mildly irritated, Ratchet rubbed at his temple. "Well, gee, professor, I never realized it was that simple. And here I was worrying about what foreign chemicals or coding would do to a system they were never meant to be used with." Spark, but he hated armchair physicians. They looked through a few data files and read a few medical journals and thought they knew everything. Slagging annoying.

Ratchet, too, was distracted by the human doing a reasonable impression of Prime in one of his Great Autobot Machine moods. "What in the world does that human think he's doing?" If he hadn't been working on a processor ache before, he certainly was now.

"This happen often?" Recluse wasn't alone in his irritation. Ratchet had had more than his fill of pep talks for one lifetime, and he'd lived a very long time.