Ongoing
Black holes. What utter nonsense. And from Ratchet, no less. Perceptor snorts softly to himself as he considers that maybe the medic has been spending too much time with the humans; That had sounded suspiciously like something Verity might have said. As had Ratchet's desires, though Perceptor finds himself hard pressed to disagree with the sentiments.
There had been a time, not so very long ago, that Perceptor would have been horrified by the thought of rending a mech down to their constituent parts. Even Megatron. So many things had changed on Turmoil's ship, though, and Megatron is not the only one whom Perceptor would not mind seeing reduced to unfeeling components for the safety and security of all. Xaaron's edict/advice is quite clear, however. There will be no unnecessary alterations to Megatron's frame while in his care, at least.
As he signals the observers that all is ready, though, he catches a glimpse of while hovering at the edge of the viewing window. A distinctive bit of white, with a very distinctive Greatsword resting flush against his back.
Drift.
Perceptor feels something near his spark clench for a moment, and he suddenly finds himself wondering if Ratchet's nonsense about mechs with black holes inside is not so very far-fetched after all. As his scientific pursuits are kindled hand in hand with his cowardice, as he assumes the former once again, the latter reasserts itself, as well; shoving the ache of loneliness and regret aside, he slips away and attempts to make himself scarce the moment his duties have been discharged.