D E A D L Y

"Well, the breathers that were constructed by us are mere collars. Easy to hide. I can rebuild one here for you to deal with Dimension X's atmosphere." Building something solid is a lot less challenging to him than working with chemicals to alter mutagen, anyway. It frustrates him that there's not really much in his saved files he can work with, but he doesn't want to admit that he's not sure how to dilute and alter the mutagen effectively just yet. He'll bring it up later, after figuring out how to do so without sounding like a sore loser.

"Perhaps," they hum, four eyes scanning the outer mechanisms with a curious and eager light. "Better than creating something from scratch, at the very least. However, something tells me that we'll need to make some... alterations. If I'm correct in assuming so, your current identity has been compromised. This Bishop will know you when he sees you."

They briefly turn their attention back to the device on their arm guard, typing in a few characters before scanning a long list of inventory.

"Huh--?!" Oh, a bot...At least, he hoped it was a bot. There had been times he'd been caught by Swerve talking to a glass or the wall thinking it was someone, and for a brief moment the other wasn't sure if he was talking to someone actually there or not. But they had approached him, so he'd say...Yes, they were real. "My apologies Ma'am....Mister...? I--I'm so sorry I'm a bit of a mess...You're real though, right? I-I'm not talkin' to myself again, or...Am i..?" He slurred, resting another servo on the wall to keep himself balanced. This was a lot worse than his previous times getting drunk, he felt woozy, his tanks lurched and his intake ached, he was debating if he was going to purge or not, but that rather soft, soothing voice seemed to keep his processor busy enough not to focus on the nausea. He looked in the direction of the staring Decepticons and then back, he'd barely been able to register they were even there. "Huh...Well, I'm not lookin' for no fight here, I jus' need to get back to the Lost Light, we've been parked for a bit waitin' on a supply run before we head off again, If....If you know any way over, i'd appreciate it very much. He seemed desparate now, a soft frown of concern for himself appearing on his faceplates not a moment after speaking.

They eyed him up and down, brow furrowing. Still, they supposed they’d be nice. He looked like he was about to empty his tanks all over the pavement, and letting someone die, even if he was an idiot and an Autobot, wouldn’t do wonders for their image.

They grumbled a curse in their native tongue before grasping onto the bot’s larger servo. They were obviously stronger than their size implied. They were able to help keep the stranger upright with little issue or complaint.

“And it’s neither mister nor ma’am. Just call me Blackarachnia.”

As they painstakingly moved forward in the dim light, they observed the group of ‘Cons unsubtly point in their direction and then disperse. A shadow of a smirk crossed their features. Their venomous reputation still proceeded them.

"Yes, well who else could match such a strong personality?" he asked in amusement. They said something about how opposites attracted, but Megatron wasn't so sure about that. He and Blackarachnia shared so much in common. If anything, that allowed them both to understand and respect each other.

His optics remained on the multiple ones. Some may have been uncomfortable or even turned off by the fact that she had four, but that meant all the view to admire him in, right?

"I should not have risked it... Any excuse for Prowl to have me locked away in a cell for the rest of my life. But..." His hand tightened just a little at her grip and the thought of someone having tried to kill her.

And they were both clad in heartache and war, despite those current days of so-called peace.

Their eyes briefly flickered to their side, still wrapped in gauze. At the very least, the wound would leave a very dashing scar, and serve as a testament that their assassin failed. They survived and would continue to do so out of spite.

Even if they received little thanks, Cybertron was still their home, and they would fight to see it flourish again.

“Better?” they echoed with a furrowed brow, reaffirming eye contact. “You are better still. I would never want you to stop fighting for justice.” Their black lips twisted into a frown. “What do you think Prowl would have done with an Autobot trying to assassinate a Decepticon? They would have been placed in prison for a few stellar cycles maybe, and then released for good behaviour. So much still needs to change.”

But nothing happens, and the silence hangs in the air for a moment. She shuffles and rearranges herself, shoulders hunching inwards as she contemplates her options.

Julie has always been a people pleaser, always worried that her choices were going to disappoint someone. It had been trained into her from a young age. She can still remember her parents faces when she told them she was going to major in history and not go to nursing or law school. But her parents weren't here, and she didn't care what they thought, not in the moment. She didn't have to stay here, and be treated like she was dangerous, or like she was in the way.

But it would mean betraying the flimsy trust that Optimus had in her. Would he see her as an enemy if she left with their prisoner?

"Let's say that if you were to escape tonight, you might need help--though I'm sure you'd be more than capable of getting out of here alone. Hypothetically, of course. But if someone were to get you a set of NEST fatigues.. They would see a solider escorting a high-priority civilian, and not a prisoner breaking out. But, I'm sure you already have a plan, so said civilian is more than willing to follow your lead."

She can't believe that she's going through with this. Though she does wonder what made the Decepticon take an interest in her in the first place.

What if it was all a trap? What if she went from being an almost prisoner to an actual one?

“Blitzwing and I were going to raze this place to the ground, but you’re right. Subtlety is key here.”

They tilt their head at the sound of heavy footfall. Probably Optimus arriving to interrogate them again. They clench their jaw. They aren’t sure how long the Prime is going to stick with heavy scolding before he moves onto more physical tactics, but they refuse to show that they’re afraid.

Blitzwing is coming. They would not die like this.

“Come back here at 0200 with those fatigues. I can handle myself until then.”

Any further commands die in their mouth the moment the bay doors open and Optimus steps inside, the ground trembling beneath them with his every step.

"How fascinating." he spoke, with no trace of his usual, cold demeanor. "You seem to be taking more and more after your mother each day." Who is quite the intelligent femme and apparently educator as well.

Before he himself even knew it, the doctor reached down to pat the child on the head - its size dwarfing the child's head.

Truly her mother's daughter. No more than six and already learning microbiology.

The doctor could find no room for doubt that this child held amazing promise. This would be a fine scientist, or even doctor some day! And he would do everything in his power to help he reach her true potential.

And since he warned her to take excellent care of it, it must be special.

Mama was sleeping, so she couldn’t clap; instead, she took to hopping in place, hands shaking. “Really? You wanna—“ Realising how loud she was being, her eyes widened, and she tried again in a dramatic whisper. “You wanna give me a special gift?”

“It was of a incident long ago..." Pharma finally brings himself to look at them,figuring that would be enough to dismiss the subject and transition on to more lighthearted ones.

“I was bound to wake up anyway,” they waved away his apology. “Rivets Field was just the start of my very long project, and when Mira is asleep, I like to take advantage of the quiet to work.”