Tarantulas

Tarantulas has been waiting increasingly restlessly ever since Overlord was brought into the picture, nearly driven to actually letting go of Prowl for the sake of his signature agitated pacing. But no – he’s cut off before he can do so, in a flash of an arm and a shattering of glass. “S-Springer!”

Tarantulas is completely blind to the revelation of Soundwave’s face, far more fixated on the one who’d revealed it in the first place. Despite Springer’s blatantly violent intent, Tarantulas rushes forward, not so much to shield anyone as to – to – well, honestly he’s not sure. He just knows Springer’s awake now, and pits if he’s going to sit on the sidelines while Ostaros - Springer - is in obvious distress.

Prowl

When Springer suddenly shoots upright, Prowl jumps to his feet (and almost loses his balance)—Springer is alive, he’s awake, he’s—

Punching Soundwave. “Spri— Soun— cut that out!”

And then the civilian with the crunchy, organic, but absolutely terrifying-looking body mods decides to charge at the furious half-conscious Wrecker. "TARANTULAS! Get back here!"

Springer

Whoever he punched was definitely not Overlord and the amount of force he has used is probably misplaced. Even so, Springer curls his fist up in a defensive gesture, prepared to punch the next mech approachin. But, it is the familiar push of a claw that forces a temporary ease.

Whirl's presence seems to capture his attention for just a moment. He glances at him briefly, preparing to ask what's happening, when he feels an approach. His anger erupts as if it never dwindled and he quickly reaches for the hilt of his sword. He doesn't know who this mech quickly approaching him is, but his name is being said by too many voices he's unfamiliar with. He swings the sword into the air in an arc and reaches forward with his other servo. A gentle (not that gentle) of a shove to Whirl.

“Move-!”

He reaches for something he's unfamiliar with. Tufts? Fur? He doesn't know-he doesn't need to. He hoists his frame up and lunges from his lying position, pulling his sword around and under the chinplate of the mech in purple. His optics are narrowed, burning blue with an anger and fury unmatched. The blade shivers against the pieces of plating it touches, threatening to pull up any second.

“Don't move.”

Soundwave

Soundwave's not going to leave himself or his minicons where Springer can get at them again. Tarantulas - Tarantulas' loss would be a shame at this point, considering Prowl's attachment to him, but Soundwave's isn't so great he's willing to risk more important lives by interfering.

He backs up even more, at least twice past Springer's arm's reach, and starts searching his subspace pocket for a spare visor with his free hand.

...Just the old set that will be too recognizable to risk wearing. Damn it.

Tarantulas

Oh – oh Primus. In an instant Tarantulas’s concern for Springer is completely subsumed by fear and panic, two reactions he should not have to be having around Springer. Because this is definitely Springer, not Ostaros. Ostaros wouldn’t – this isn’t what Tarantulas wanted him to be, he wasn’t –

Tarantulas is frozen, unable to think straight, completely forgetting the myriad ways he could safely escape the situation. Instead he’s paralyzed, haunted by flashes of the last time he was face-to-face with his creation, memories that are far too similar to what's playing out before his optics now.

Whirl

Whirl lunges after him again, loosing an undignified blart of sound that is half-static, half-electronic warble. He intends to grab Springer and pull him back again, but hesitates, seeing how close Springer’s blade is to Tarantulas s throat. If he jostles Springer too hard one way or the other, that sword might slip.

This isn’t at all the way things are supposed to go. Springer wasn’t even supposed to see him, and now he’s got to try and talk the mech down. Whirl hasn’t even had time to be properly relieved that Springer’s up and about again, as all of his attention is focused on making sure he doesn’t kill everyone else in the room. “Primus fraggit, Springer, calm down! You think these people would be alive if they were a threat? With me in the room?”

Prowl

Prowl’s wires freeze, and his spark stutters hard enough to send painful electric shocks across his engine. No, not Tarantulas, not after everything they went through to get here—

“Springer, no!” He lunges at them, shoving Tarantulas back and the sword to the side, sliding himself in between them—and if that means the sword’s aimed at his neck now, so be it. “Springer, remember Kup! Remember Tsiehshi! You’re doing what he did—you’re attacking the people here to rescue you! We're ALL here to HELP.”

Springer

Springer's optics flare a brighter blue, bordering on the rage of white. The adrenaline, though sudden, is pumping through him at an incredibly fast pace. Whirl's words make his grip tighten on the hilt, optics narrowing at the mech in front of him; the stranger he doesn't recognize. Even so, Whirl wouldn't let just anyone waltz into a room; if they were a threat, they would be dead. Still, the lingering presence of Overlord within the confines of his mind is pumping fear and vengeance through him.

The sudden jostle of his sword is probably not a good idea, either. It only irritates him more and his tension only winds tighter. Prowl. A familiar face, but one he is not expecting to see. “Rescue me,” he says, sounding skeptical, optics roaming the crowd. Whirl is unpredictable, but he knows this as a fact. The two strangers in the room make up half of his supposed rescue party?

Kup. He remembers. He remembers and it twists his spark into a knot. Attacking people who are there to help; he's seen the worst side of it. The turmoil shows in his optics. Does he trust these strangers with mechs he's known to be comrades? Or does he shove Prowl back and continue to wrangle them up? His servo grips the hilt tighter before he swings the sword back to his side, but the tension has gone absolutely nowhere. “If you're here to help, then help.”

His agenda has changed; it shows in his serious facial expression.

“Where is he?”

Tarantulas

In the midst of Springer’s attack and Prowl’s intervening, the sword against Tarantulas’s neck manages to nick a cable, and the tiny sting of pain shocks Tarantulas, snapping him out of his daze. Thanks to Prowl, though, that’s the only damage he takes – he stumbles back, thrown off balance and barely able to keep from collapsing to the floor.

There are no words from his vocalizer – only choked sounds of what feels like betrayal and grief. His visor's blown wide, shining pale. Twice. This is the second time. He can't believe it - but at the same time, he can. He has to. This is - this is Springer now.

Prowl

Crisis averted? He doesn't know what Springer's going on about—they already DID help—but he just came out of a coma. And Springer's always been easy to read, it won't take long to figure it out.

He never looks away from Springer's sword (and the massive chest behind it) as he reaches back to search for Tarantulas. "Who? Kup?" Prowl shakes his head. "Not here. He's—ahh—was in the Sol system, last I heard from him. You can comm him later."

After a moment, he finds Tarantulas's arm, and slides his hand down to take his claw. You're safe.

Soundwave

[[Overlord is nowhere,]] Soundwave thinks, somewhat irritably. Springer may be able to tell that the voice is coming from inside his helm, not through his audio receptors. [[That Overlord was a dream - one he designed.]]

He doesn't turn around. Springer doesn't need to see who he is from the front. The back is bad enough. He'd meant his involvement in this to stay secret. Won't work now. There's nobody on that Cybertron like him or the crowd of minicons.

[[You have been comatose since the real Overlord's attack. A zero point in your helm - incurable, until today. But you would not wake. It was his duty to lure you out of your own mind again - out of the bar with the nebula ceiling and the other Wreckers, and the crumbling ruins of that prison.]]

[[He isn't really a geologist.]]

{{And this being Bird voice, yes. Not 54N-D.}}

[[If you will only trust one mech, trust Whirl.]] Soundwave extrudes a feeler and points it in Whirl's direction. [[In your helm, he was the voice of suspicion. Ask this one for the truth.]]

Tarantulas

Tarantulas clasps Prowl’s hand tightly in return, suddenly desperate for the reassurance and contact. His own visor never leaves Springer, either, but he’s not nearly as wary as Prowl, simply stunned.

So that’s what was going on with Overlord. Tarantulas thinks he might know a fraction of what’s going on, but honestly he’s not wholly certain of much at the moment. The only thing he’s 100% on is that even if he could speak, he HAS to keep quiet. This isn’t about him right now, no matter how much it pains him.

Whirl

Whirl remains still, letting Prowl put himself between the blade and Tarantulas, and listening to everyone’s various explanations. While Soundwave confesses as to his methodology for luring Springer back into the waking world, Whirl gives a huff of exasperation through his vents, though he isn’t too surprised, considering Frenzy’s earlier request.

Still, can anyone blame Springer for overreacting to that particular brand of therapy? Whirl doesn’t dwell on it. Soundwave has paid enough. Whirl hadn’t expected to hear that he was part of Springer’s internal psyche at all, but of all the roles he could’ve played, he supposes that Springer’s inner suspicion isn’t too off-base.

“He’s telling the truth, Chief.” Dammit. It slipped out that time. “Just chill for a second and try not to cut anyone to pieces before we can explain it to you. None of the other docs they sent your way made any progress. So...” he shrugs. “We decided to try things our own way. It’s...” Whirl suddenly realizes how much explaining there is to do; Springer doesn’t know anything about the multiverse crisis, or alternate dimensions, or anything like that.

Well, we’ve got to start somewhere, he thinks to himself. “Honestly kind of complicated, but I wouldn’t have brought all these guys into it if I thought they’d do more harm than good.”

Springer

Cobalt optics don't miss the movement. The slow joining of hands and the surveyed horror on one face, wariness on another. He isn't a murderer; he doesn't lunge to split them apart. Instead, his lipplates tug downward as he tries to process the situation at hand. He gives Prowl a look of neutrality, but the cowering mech behind him receives a mixture between judgment and a silent threat.

Don't make any sudden moves

Annoyance floods his face and he rolls his optics.

“Not Kup-.” Interruptions. The tension in his frame winds up tighter as he listens to the various voices around him. Some familiar, mentioning familiar places and speaking in tones he's heard before. Others are familiar in a more realistic way. His optics linger on Soundwave for a moment, listening to the explanation. So, he was in a coma? The bar? The Wreckers- they were never real? Everything was all in his head? He lets his limbs loosen the more he listens, his optics flicking away from Soundwave as thoughts swirl up into the forefront of his mind.

He remembers the feeling of something impacting his face, tearing upwards. It's the last thing he remembers before the remnants of a dream that linger. Before the bar, the wreckers, the nebula. He flinches at the sound of Whirl's voice. It's a lot to process and he finds himself wishing things were moving a little slower so he could catch up; when did history suddenly move at the speed of Blurr? His grip on his sword loosens and he reluctantly slides it back into the rotor sheath on his back.

His attention is on Whirl. A mech he understands and knows that he can at least trust more. More than anyone else in the room. “Whirl,” he says, looking at the mech. The nickname, if it can be called one, is well received,  but there's no time to relish in it.

“Who are they? They don't look familiar at all.”

Prowl

Crisis averted.

... Even if it stings that Springer can't even recognize— has Prowl changed so much that—?

No. Shut up. Lock that away. Prowl's expression doesn't flinch. It doesn't matter.

He takes a few steps backwards (and out of sword's reach), taking Tarantulas with him. Don't say anything dumb, Whirl.

Soundwave

They don't look familiar at all.

He can't help but wonder how Prowl's going to take that. But he'll let Whirl do the rest of the talking for now.

Tarantulas

Even though Tarantulas retreats with Prowl, his mind is still crying out no, Prowl please no, don't pull him further away - because even though Springer's lashed out at him twice, his spark can't bear to be dragged away from the one he just helped rescue from the brink.

But - now Springer's looking at him, and Tarantulas wilts. He can still feel the aggression there, and it's killing him. Please, he wishes you could understand...

Whirl

“Well, you know Prowl,” Whirl says, nodding to him. “As for the rest... first thing you need to know is that the war’s over. Mostly. Still some pockets of ‘Con resistance, but Megatron’s been apprehended and they’ve got him on ice—as far as I know, permanently. Lotta mecha went neutral, and most of the ones in here are just that. The fuzzy one’s Tarantulas. He fixed your zero point. He’s a neutral.”

He nods towards Soundwave. “That there is Soundwave, who is also a neutral so don’t try anything, and he’s the one who pulled you out of your head. If he looks different, there’s a reason for that, but it’s a really long story that I’m gonna take one step at a time. Are we all on the same page so far? Right? Ragtag group of misfit Cybertronians all banning together to save your ungrateful hide?”

Whirl jabs Springer with a claw. He is, perhaps, being coarser than one might expect under the circumstances, but these are mannerisms that Springer should be very familiar with at this point.

Prowl

"To be clear," Prowl throws in, "NOT the Soundwave you know. Same name, different person."

Soundwave

He's still going to edge a little closer to a safer spot in the room, just in case Springer takes it into his head to fire a gun or throw a sword. Whirl and Prowl get grateful pings, though. They didn't have to go even that far explaining his existence and he knows it.

(Over in the corner, the prisoner whimpers quietly. They were hoping they were wrong about the identity of their captor.)

Springer

Prowl. He looks back over at Prowl and nods his helm. Definitely knows him, but the appearance is a little different. Even so, he seems to be more and more at ease the more Whirl explains. He looks over at the fuzzy one- Tarantulas. “Never heard of him,” he grumbles, looking over at Soundwave. The name alone makes him tense and it's clear that he'd like to reach for a weapon, but he refrains. Prowl had said that these people were here to help him and Whirl was confirming. For now, he has no reason not to trust them. He looks like he's trying to cycle through it all and understand where it all fits. He looks over at Whirl and reaches up a servo, sliding it up to nudge the claw away from him. "I'm gonna trust you, Whirl..."

He's used to Whirl; he's known him long enough to read mannerisms. Maybe not this Whirl, but Whirl all the same. “I'm not ungrateful,” he says, “You've got strangers running up on me when I'm waking up. What did you expect me to do?” He looks back at Soundwave, then Tarantulas, then Prowl. He hasn't forgotten the way the two seem to huddle together- not that it's his business, he just finds it odd.

“Prowl.” A nod. “Tarantulas.” A judging nod. “Soundwave.”

A pause.

“How's your face?”

Soundwave

[[Sore. And not for your optics.]] He's silent for a moment. Breaking, stealing, or otherwise messing with his visor and exposing his face when he's not ready for it is up there on the list of Personally Decided Sins. But it was probably his fault for using the tactic he did. And he'd really like to change the subject. [[He's fine.]]

Prowl

Prowl glances back at Soundwave. Still hiding his face?

A holomatter sham-wow appears in front of Soundwave. Here. Bandana?

Soundwave

Still hiding his face. Only one person in the room has the right to see it and this is entirely the wrong setting for that.

Soundwave twitches slightly at the sudden appearance of a floating cloth, but doesn't question it. He remembers this thing from the Titanic night, and knows who it came from. Prowl gets a second gratitude ping while Soundwave makes tiny knots in the corners to tie it to either side of his crest.

Much better. He can let his arm drop now.

Whirl

I’m going to trust you, Whirl. Whirl hadn’t expected those words to fill him with such relief, but they do. All right. This entire enterprise hasn’t gone to shit. Yet.

“Okay, that’s fair. This guy’s kind of emotional, “ he nods at Tarantulas, “but as far as I can tell, he mostly means well. Nobody here’s gonna hurt you. Okay... uhh. Damn, where do I eve begin?” Whirl looks down and taps the underside of his helm with his claw. “Well, like I said, war’s over. You’ve been under for years. Right now things are kind of... in a way, quieter than before, and in another way, even more crazy. Good news: Cybertron’s safe, though. It’s livable again, and we’ve got a couple of cities there. Bad news: the neutrals elected Starscream their ultra-mayor or something. But so far, it hasn’t gone to hell yet. So, that’s something.”

Whirl looks back up. “Do you have any specific questions right now? Because I’ve got a lot to fill you in on, but it’s probably best if I don’t dump all of it on you at once.”

Tarantulas

Tarantulas suddenly suppresses the urge to laugh. The sudden appearance of the cloth, now tied up as a veil, and the way Whirl dismissively calls him ‘emotional’ – it’s surreal, more ridiculous and outlandish to him than anything else was this mission. Yes, maybe he’s emotional, but if you knew even half of the story…

Springer

He shrugs at the answer he receives from Soundwave. He could have hit him harder, honestly, so he isn't sure if there's a reason to apologize. In fact, the thought fades away as quickly as it arrives. Soundwave knew what he was getting into, he assumes, so a hit is most likely part of the natural course of things. He turns his attention back to Whirl, finding the information mostly reliable through him. As far as Tarantulas goes, he can see the emotion on his face- it hasn't changed in the last few minutes. “That's obvious,” he says, arms crossing over his chassis. He shifts his weight and reminds himself that he isn't so stiff anymore; he can move.

“War's over,” he repeats, confirming that he registers it, “That's good news, I guess.” Even if it means he missed a majority of it. He wrinkles his nasal as he mulls over the new information. Cybertron safe? The relief is almost visible in his optics- almost. Then Whirl drops another bombshell and it isn't one he expects. “Are you joking,” he asks, sounding serious, but skeptical all at once. “Why would they elect Starscream? The guy couldn't find his way out of an oil can if I gave him a knife to open it.”

He's bristling and it's beginning to show. “Sounds like he cheated if you ask me,” he grunts. He drops his arms to his sides and thinks of the most important questions he could ask, but there are too many to possibly get answers for right now. He looks at Prowl, Soundwave, Tarantulas, and finally Whirl.

“... Where's everyone else? Are we still together or did we fall apart?”

Prowl

"He did cheat," Prowl confirms, "and also most of the voters were NAI—neutrals, who have no idea what Starscream is capable of and weren't willing to listen to the Autobots."

The questions, he assumes, are about the Wreckers; so he's leaving that to Whirl.

Whirl

“Basically, what Prowl said. It’s because the city’s mostly populated by a bunch of idiotic self-righteous neutrals who think they know what’s best for everyone,” Whirl snaps irritably, “honestly, it’s not worth it to go to Cybertron if you can avoid it, these days. As far as everyone else...”

Whirl trails off for a moment before he gathers his thoughts. “A lot of the Wreckers are still around. Impactor, Guzzle, Kup, Perceptor, and Verity made it off G-9 with you. They fixed Fort Max—he’s doing great, actually. Verity’s on Earth, now, and last I heard Guzzle and Impactor had shacked up and were off on their own. Perceptor’s on Cybertron right now, and Roadbuster’s still on Debris. I don’t... know about anyone else, because I’m out. Veto.” He doesn’t dwell on the topic, but he won’t lie to Springer if he asks.

“But the Wreckers have been effectively out of commission since G-9. I can’t tell you whether or not there’s any way to re-form them, or anything like that.” He shrugs.

Springer

Prowl and Whirl both confirm that Starscream basically cheated. Well, that's enough to get him to stay away from Cybertron for a while. “Not planning on going there.” That takes Cybertron off of his map, however, and he isn't sure where else he can go. He isn't even sure where he is at the present time, more concerned about the people around him. He looks around the room with slight curiosity, listening as Whirl continues to explain everything.

His helm jerks back down when he hears Whirl's next statement. They were alive, but everyone sounds like they scattered. How disappointing. “Debris, huh?” He tilts his helm as he rumbles in thought, optics dimming as he mulls over the list of where the Wreckers are now. Well, mostly ex-wreckers, right? “You? Out?” He scoffs, as if offended for Whirl. “Saw that coming,” he comments, bitterly, “No one ever takes a second to think things through. You're fine.”

He huffs and lifts a servo to rub the back of his neck cables, easing tension. “Guess I'm gonna have to start cleaning up the mess I left.” Pause.

“So... where are we?”

Prowl

"Classified."

Sorry. Reflex.

Whirl

Saw that coming. To his credit, Whirl doesn’t flinch. There are too many people here he’s uncomfortable being vulnerable in front of for him to lose control of his reactions, but that does genuinely hurt. His antenna gives a momentary, miniscule flick backwards., but he steels himself against any other reaction. Springer was probably right. His days with the Wreckers had been numbered from the beginning.

“I’d tell you where we are, specifically, but I don’t know. We should probably get you back to debris, though. We kind of... stole you. So, the sooner we get you back there, the better chance we have of nobody noticing that we stole you. Look, you’ve got my frequency—“ He pings Springer once, just to be sure. “—you can call me up if you want more questions answered. But it’s probably best that we get some more doctors to look at you, anyway. But you should probably get home, for now.”

Prowl

Which brought up an important point. "As Whirl said—we kind of stole you. Everyone in this room has willingly risked their safety, their freedom, and potentially their lives to save you." Because Prowl didn't doubt that some of the Wreckers would have attempted to kill them for this stunt. "... Except him."

He points to the Decepticon in the corner.

"If you tell anyone about this—we're all endangered, for helping you. So don't."

Tarantulas

Finally, Tarantulas starts to say something – but he stops himself, because what does it really matter, to argue about medical health? It’s not like he’s going to get the chance to examine Springer any more himself, and he can’t stop him from leaving and seeing other medics.

The thought – Springer, leaving – makes Tarantulas clench Prowl’s hand hard.

Prowl

Prowl squeezes back.

Springer

Springer's nasal wrinkles up. It's a lot to take in, honestly. The news of no more war, of the Wreckers being disbanded, Whirl present, Prowl a different look, this Tarantulas and Soundwave. And now the fact that his rescue is a secret? His optics flash and he lifts a servo to rub at his faceplate, digits pressing against his temples. It makes his processor hurt and the throbbing is beginning to pound louder against his helm plating. He accepts the ping and returns it to ensure the transfer of comm links.

“All right. So, I'm supposed to tell people I just woke up?” He figures that if he was in a coma, people will be surprised to see him. He shifts his weight, moves and finally takes a few stressed steps to the side, rubbing his palm up his faceplate as he hisses out his frustration. It's a lot- so much to get through.

Home.

He needs to get home.

The rotors on his back spin around just once.

“I have to go to Debris. I can't waste more time.”

Prowl

"Tell them whatever you want. As long as you don't tell them we were involved."

Whirl

“Here, step back. I’ll send you home.” Whirl shuffles away until he has enough room to transform; he does so without hitting the floor, as always, bobbing neatly in the air. In another moment the room is illuminated by the swirling blue vortex of a space bridge. “Don’t worry, it’s safe,” he says, “I travel by them all the time. And, I’ll explain that later, too.”

The bridge is going to take Springer right back into the room they took him from. There’s a moment of silence, and then, before Springer leaves, Whirl blurts, in a manner that seems almost involuntary, “Roadbuster’s really going to want to see you. So...” He seems abashed, but goes on. “Be sure to go see him as soon as you can.”

Springer

Roadbuster. Right. Hed have to stop by and see him. In fact , that's where he's going first. He looks around one last time. "Thanks," he says, but he looks at whirl to continue, "I mean it." He waves a servo up above his shoulder at the others. "See you sometime, Prowl." And, well.

"Hope you get that fixed." To Soundwave.

"And, uh... hope you figure out those emotions." To Tarantulas .

And he's off.

Prowl

A nod.

Thanks. That's enough for Prowl.

Soundwave

Of course he's getting that fixed. He's getting that fixed as soon as he can. Which may take a few days. He's out of spares again. Damn it. Still, he'll take that.

Whirl

Whirl simply bobs in the air. It’s an acknowledgement that Springer should be familiar with. In his alt mode, he’s even more inscrutable, so it’s anyone’s guess what’s going through his mind, or how he’s feeling.

He holds the vortex open long enough to see that Springer’s through, and then he dismisses it.

Prowl

And as soon as it's shut, Prowl sighs wearily. "Mission accomplished."

Soundwave

\\FINALLY.\\ Frenzy pulls his drills back in and shakes his hands out. All that explaining! How boring. \\AIN'T THE WORST ONE I EVER BEEN ON, I GUESS.\\

Tarantulas

This is happening a lot quicker than Tarantulas thought it would - Springer's on his way out already? And Tarantulas hasn't even said a single word to him yet, he should mention something, anything -

But then comes 'hope you figure out those emotions' and Springer's gone. Tarantulas doesn't even have a chance to say what those damned emotions ARE or why they're there, or - well, literally anything. He simply has to watch Springer walk through the bridge and disappear.

His hold on Prowl's hand remains tight, though it slightly shakes.

Prowl

Tarantulas. Right. Prowl might have been content with one word of thanks, but Tarantulas—he'd been so desperate to speak to Springer. To tell Springer who he was.

Prowl turns to him and says, softly, "Thank you for showing such restraint. I think you hardly said a word to him." And he means it. Out of Tarantulas, it had been a very pleasant (and relieving) surprise.

Tarantulas

Does Prowl want to kill him. Does he. Because, despite the softness of his tone, the words sink in deep like a knife buried in Tarantulas's chest.

"I - I - suppose you're welcome."

He lets go of Prowl's hand.

Whirl

“Nah,” Whirl says. He hovers for a moment longer before shifting and landing in a crouch. "None of us died, which is usually better than half of the missions I end up on going.” He stares at the spot where the vortex was for a moment, unsure how to feel. For a moment, in the heart of it all, he’d felt as if someone had poured his old self into him like you’d poor energon into a cube. But now...

Now, he doesn’t know how to feel, or what to say. It’s all done. The weight of it sits on him heavily, but it’s not necessary a bad weight. “Well,” he goes on, wryly, “I’m guessing I’ll probably hear from him sooner or later.”

Soundwave

Well. That's over and done with. And Soundwave is one hundred percent ready to curl up on the scorched berth Springer had been on and pass out under a pile of snoozing minicons. Unfortunately, he has other, more pressing matters to take care of before he can do that.

He walks over to that matter and lets a feeler drift close to their face so he can see them, thinking. Ravage brushes up against his leg and quietly informs him that their name is Slingshot.

They can't trust Slingshot to keep quiet about all of this on his own. For once, Soundwave doesn't have enough to ensure they won't break their silence. But he can't kill them, either. He won't. That doesn't leave too many options, does it? Not ones he can say out loud. Deep down, the others might know what he's planning, but that's not the same as being comfortable with consciously confronting it.

[[Bring him,]] he says, trusting the four who aren't docked to herd Slingshot along without incident.

He turns toward Whirl then, and, approaching without a word, offers his hand in the same silence. Whirl trusted him more than he'd deserved, fought well in the hallway, and verbally protected him during Springer's jitters. A small shake and a sincere nod is the best thanks he can think of, for now.

Prowl

Prowl glances tiredly at Soundwave and Whirl. He needs to say something to them—to thank them, to ask about Soundwave's face, probably more he can't think of—but right now? Right now, he only wants to get home and pass out.

He looks back at Tarantulas. "I'm going home."

Tarantulas

Tarantulas's visor widened a fraction. "You're -"

Of course Prowl was going home. He wasn't even supposed to be here in the metal. (Primus, how long had it been since Tarantulas had actually touched him, up until the hand he'd just let go...)

"You - yes. V-very well. I'll have to stay behind though." A gesture around at the various tools scattered on boxes and floor.

Whirl

Whirl doesn’t look away from the space where the bridge had been until he senses Soundwave drawing up, and he swivels his helm to regard him curiously. In another moment, Soundwave is offering his hand. Whirl stares at it for a moment before he reaches up, takes those spindly fingers carefully between the great curve of his claw, and shakes back. By this point, Soundwave’s more than earned that privilege.

It’s something of a solemn moment, but Whirl can’t help but be amused by Soundwave’s impromptu Sham-Wow! Veil. “I guess you can back those gladiator stories up,” he says at last, which is as much of an admission of mutual respect that Whirl can articulate at the moment. Prowl’s sudden announcement draws his attention back, and he releases Soundwave’s hand. He feels himself almost saying, Me too, but well...

Well.

He can leave, but he can’t necessarily go home again. “Sounds like a good idea. You all know how to reach me, if you need anything after this.” Part of him feels that there’s something more significant that he should say, but he can’t think of it, for the life of him, and nobody seems inclined to linger. If nobody else has anything to say to Whirl, he’ll shift right back again and open a bridge to Cybertron. “Don’t step through that, Prowl, it’s in the air,” he warns quickly.

And, with those poetic parting words, he glides forward through the portal, which shortly closes up after him.

Prowl

Honestly, Prowl isn't going "home" either. But he's too tired to pull out anything but a stock phrase. I'm going home it is.

"... Right." Prowl looked around them. What a mess. They can't leave this here—if the Decepticons come to investigate why this base has gone silent and find all this here... "I'll come back to help you clean." Even if all he wanted to do was sleep.

After a moment of hesitation, he decides, screw it, and leans forward to nuzzle Tarantulas’s forehead. There’s no one here who doesn’t already expect that. He’d offer one to Soundwave, too, but there is a prisoner in the room, and the prisoner may have already seen Prowl holding hands with Tarantulas but he hasn’t seen Prowl showing affection to Soundwave, and Prowl plans to leave it that way.

Besides. Prowl doesn’t feel like walking over to Soundwave.

He does send Soundwave an affection ping, though. One, two, three.

After he draws back from Tarantulas, he trudges over to the box of solder and soldering irons he found earlier, picks it up—Hook's been complaining about needing more solder, Prowl owes him this much—switches his shamwow projection from his projector to Tarantulas's portable one, waits for Whirl's bridge to shut, and opens up his own.

And he's gone.

Soundwave

Yes. Yes he can.

And now... nothing, he supposes. There's nothing he wants to talk to Tarantulas about. None of the questions he has about Springer can be asked. Nothing he says will make up for Tarantulas being threatened by his own creation and left without conversation.

Soundwave looks at Prowl a little longer than he should, which probably amounts to the fact he's looking at all. There's a lot he'd like to say. He can't shake the thought of that glow, or how useless he was then. He wants to pull Prowl close and feel the metal and the warmth, and damn the dirt, anyway. He wants to know if this is - if it's made Prowl even the slightest bit happy to see Springer up and about.

But this moment isn't his to borrow. Both creators will need time to process and talk, here or elsewhere, and he isn't one of them. So he just watches Whirl and Prowl go, gives Tarantulas a nod as well, and pops open a bridge. They're through in a hurry.

On the other side, he counts to three, has a small revelation, and sends the prisoner along with Rumble and the others. He's gonna need a seat. And a nap. And maybe a little while to think about things he's been trying not to think about. He can take care of the other problem after that.

Tarantulas

"Help me - ? Ah." In holomatter. Right.

Tarantulas is completely thrown by the forehelm-nuzzling - affection? Here of all places, now of all times? It makes his spark seize for the hundredth time this mission, and in a sparkbeat he's already forgiven Prowl for that knife and for leaving so soon.

If he had followed him instead of stood there wavering, Tarantulas would have gotten the box for Prowl - the mech just underwent a spark jump, for Primus's sake - but by the time Tarantulas begins to protest, Prowl is already gone.

And Soundwave - Soundwave's gone too, with a simple nod. Of course, there's no reason for anything more.

Tarantulas

It’s no surprise that Tarantulas hasn’t even noticed Soundwave’s prisoner, much less thought about the killing that must have gone on outside the lab. Right now it’s all Springer – well, mostly Springer, with a decent helping of Prowl.

Speaking of – Tarantulas pings Prowl a warm thank you for the map and sets to work retrieving pieces and reattaching them, directing Frenzy as needed. It’s a few moments before he realizes Soundwave had asked a question, though.

“I – yes, he’s currently still in induced stasis, miracle of miracles. I’ll be reversing that once we’re certain we’re prepared.”

Soundwave

Soundwave nods and steps back to allow those working on Springer room to do what they're doing. Frenzy cheers at the helpful map of where things might've gotten blown off to; between this and his own he should be able to gather and hand over each successive piece with very little time in between them now.

Prowl

Prowl slouches back in his seat, upper doors hooked over the back of his chair, and lets his optics dim. It's not actually terribly comfortable—especially on his door hinges—but he's tired, he doesn't want to hold himself upright anymore, and a little discomfort is worth that. From this point on—he hopes—he'll have nothing to contribute; and he wearily watches Springer's reassembly.

Tarantulas

It’s strangely quiet as Tarantulas and Frenzy work, almost too quiet – no more Cons, no more battle, no more whining generators, exploding equipment, or buzzing electric shocks. It’s just the sound of metal on metal, welding, drilling, and a fit of spitting sparks here and there, with oddly synchronized back-and-forth between Tarantulas and Frenzy to coordinate the process.

Eventually all the armor’s back on, the arms and legs are reattached, the kibble replaced carefully bit by bit. Springer might not look as good-as-new as he did when they retrieved him, but he’s finally whole again.

Tarantulas takes a long moment to stare at his re-masked Ostaros before turning to Prowl. “Do you – could you approximate where you think my medical scanner might be? From on the chamber, there.”

Prowl

Prowl remembers where the scanner had sat. Based on where it would have flipped off and slid down to the ground, the angle it would have hit and clattered on the floor, then the direction the blast would have blown it... He glances around, then points at the scanner, resting against an upturned crate.

Tarantulas

…Damnit. One of the welded-on modules is missing. Snatching it up, Tarantulas fiddles for a moment to make sure it MOSTLY still works, and when satisfied, scrambles back over to Springer’s side. A few scans, a medical line into Springer’s arm, and Tarantulas looks up, glancing around the room at his co-conspirators. “He’ll be conscious for exactly one and a half seconds. I’ll – I can keep his optics offline, so – just stay quiet.”

Once he gets the go-ahead, Tarantulas is removing the stasis blocks from Springer’s systems and initiating reboot. Here’s the final test, the last tiny hurdle they have to jump before this Primus-forsaken mission actually completes its main goal.

But for the second time this mission – nothing. No signs of processor activity. No reflexive ventilation. Not a single twitch. Nothing. Tarantulas doesn’t have it in him to panic this time around though - he’s just going to curse vehemently under his breath while he tries in vain to troubleshoot.

Prowl

Prowl stares at Springer, waiting for his systems to hum to life.

Nothing.

... Nothing.

His strained spark sinks.

He doesn't even ask what’s wrong this time. He's lost the energy to panic, too. He just turns his gaze toward Tarantulas, and waits for the bad news.

Tarantulas

It comes soon enough. There's only so many directions Tarantulas can come at the problem from before he has to tell them all something.

"He's - he's. He's still under. Alive, functioning excellently, but - s-still comatose." He can't look any of them in the optic.

Whirl

Whirl has gone quiet and still since Tarantulas began to run his tests. The minutes drag on, and with them the growing sensation that things are somehow not going to be as easy as everyone had hoped.

When the bad news is delivered, Whirl looks sharply to Soundwave. Reading Whirl’s facial expressions—such as they are—is an acquired skill, so it would be understandable if nobody in the room catches it. He doesn’t say a thing as he stares, but it’s obvious what he’s thinking: the look Whirl throws Soundwave’s way is very simply hopeful.

Prowl

Prowl just keeps staring. "... Did the zero point break again?" he asked. "Was he damaged in the explosion? Can you..."

He falls silent. He can't think of anything.

Tarantulas

Tarantulas shakes his head sharply. No, neither.

Soundwave

Soundwave gets the feeling he's being looked at, glances to Whirl, and rubs his crest. He's so tired already, and they'd said he probably wouldn't need to do this. He'd been looking forward to just... nodding at everyone, sending Springer on, making sure the others got home, and - Primus, he still has to figure out what to do with his prisoner.

He swings his arm in a sharp, mildly irritable manner and trudges forward.

[[Move out of the way.]] To Tarantulas, of course. Not Frenzy. Frenzy already knows what's going on and has his drills out, ready to stand guard over his Boss once Soundwave finishes making his way around the table. [[Go sit with Prowl. Whirl, do not harm or kill his captive. Laserbeak, to him.]]

Prowl

"... What?" Soundwave's taking over? Why? How? He's no medic, is he? What can he...?

... Oh. Obviously. Obviously.

Prowl sits up straighter.

Whirl

Whirl nods, remaining silent. For the moment, the gravity of the situation has subdued him, and so, he simply stays out of the way, and behaves.

Tarantulas

Tarantulas is about to retaliate, but what can he really say? Snippy comments won't get them anywhere. All he can really do is remove the medical line and retreat to Prowl's side, clutching at whatever he can get of Prowl just to keep himself grounded.

"He - you can't -" Tarantulas begins, then regresses to a weak whine. "Be - be careful. P-please."

Prowl

Prowl has nothing to add that Tarantulas didn't already say. So he just lets Tarantulas cling to him, looks down, and tightly laces his hands together in his lap so they can't clutch at the back of his neck.

Soundwave

Soundwave watches him go, hoping Tarantulas' presence will be enough to keep Prowl steady while he watches what's about to go down. Or distract him. Or whatever else is necessary to keep Prowl from panicking about what Soundwave might be about to do (and memories of what others have already done - one of the other reasons he had hoped not to be needed for this).

Once Laserbeak is docked over his spark to protect it, he lets his feelers tap across Springer's chest and helm, listening for good, strong signals. A few more silent commands to the deployers protecting his prisoner and it's time to go. The claws clip on, clutching tight. Tendrils spread out like wriggling fingers, but do not worm into the cracks.

It would be easier on him if they did, but that, he thinks, might be too much for certain audience members.

One small shock, because finding his way into coma patients' minds seems to be easier with the help of a little jolt to get things moving in there, and he's absolutely gone from the real world, seeing nothing but the brief parade of multicolored lights and waves that precede him tripping into someone else's mind.

The question is what, exactly, Soundwave - or, more accurately, an unidentified Vehicon with a yellow band and no insignia - will find waiting for him when he arrives.

Springer

The bar doesn't look like anything that could possibly exist in any remote place. There's no real detail outside- he never gave the outside much thought. After all, he's never seen the outside. He's not even sure what he could possibly see out of the windows. A murky city? A town? Nothing? He never gives it further thought than 'that's where I don't go.' The inside the of the bar, however, is alive. Bursting with activity, chatter and the closeness of mechs only he could surround himself with.

Springer sits in the middle, a smug look on his face as Hot Rod throws down his shanix, loudly complaining. “You've gotta be kiddin' me! You're cheating!”

“Me,” Springer asks, his tone serious, “You're accusing me of cheating?”

“Careful, Hot Rod, you're gonna hurt his feelings,” Blurr comments from the side, face screwed up in irritation as he tries to somehow move his black dot over the white one. Hot Rod actively whines and settles in his chair, huffing as Springer settles a servo on his shoulder, giving him a shake.

“Maybe next time, bud,” he jokes, swiping the shanix into his servos. Whirl snorts, an ugly sound that makes its way forward. A cube is set in front of him.

“Lucky I ain't playin', ain't you?”

And so there he spends his time, with the friends he remembers. The comfort of the bar no one has ever seen, wrapped up in the confidence he's always had, playing over and over every day. An underlying layer of something else lingers in the tense smile the green mech wears. He's done this before.

He does it every day.

And every day has an end, which is fast approaching.

Soundwave

This isn't the first "bar" Soundwave's seen, but it's certainly one of the most interesting. And look, Springer's got some figments projected for company. They even seem to have personality. That may not sound like a big deal on the surface, but compared to piles of dead Autobots, an empty watch shop, and one-dimensional targets barely capable of spitting out old quotes, well. It's fascinating. How long has it taken Springer to get to this point?

He finds a seat and patiently watches Springer for a moment, wondering how finely tuned the mech's sense of internal self is. Will his presence be noted? Will Springer actually know he doesn't belong? Will he care, or has this become his preferred reality?

So many questions. Only time will tell. For now, he's waiting.

Springer

Every day has its same routine. Sometimes they play different games, sometimes they tell stories, and sometimes they just drink. Springer is in the middle of drinking when he sees someone walk by. Someone he hasn't seen before- that he's not used to. He chokes slightly when he feels a hard slap on his back.

“Whoa... check out the armor on that one.”

“Have you seen him before?”

“Seems lost, doesn't he?”

He takes a look at all of his friends, optics settling on each. All optics are on the new mech, yet the confusion is received differently. Blurr's pede begins to bounce with anticipation as Drift's servo idly taps the hilt of his sword, other servos busy moving black and white pieces. Whirl's optic has done that signature squint and the gangly mech seems to tense up. Hot Rod stares, openly, with little tact. Springer smacks the back of his helm rather quickly.

“Ow- what was that for?!”

“Will you stop staring,” Springer hisses, looking back at the stranger, “This isn't time for you to check someone out.” He moves to stand.

“Eh? Springer, where are you going,” Hot Rod whispers, moving to stand, but gets pushed back down instantly.

“Stay here. I'm gonna go see what he wants.”

Soundwave

So he does know. It's almost a shame they have to wake Springer up. This would've been an interesting series of visits, had there been an entirely different set of circumstances surrounding his presence here. Unfortunately, this is a Wrecker, and he is who he is, and if this proves successful than the chances of a repeat session are smaller than those of Prowl letting him in to lazily poke at unimportant files.

The Vehicon waves a friendly hello and motions to the seat in front of themselves. If anyone familiar with Laserbeak were in here with them, they'd recognize this as her voice, but they aren't, so...

"Hi. I'm not in trouble, am I? Looked like a good time."

Springer

Springer crosses his arms over his incredibly vast chassis. His optics flare a little brighter at the interaction. It catches him off guard- completely off guard. This mech doesn't look familiar at all, so how could he possibly- only mechs he knew came in here. He turns to look over his shoulder, looking back at the group of friends that wait patiently until their time is up. He turns back to the stranger and huffs, a bit louder than he means to.

“I wouldn't say trouble. What are you doing here?”

It's quick and to the point, which is what Springer is best at. He glances at the chair and then up at the other mech. He doesn't trust them just yet, so he won't be sitting.

“You're not someone I know.”

Soundwave

Small shrug. "I'm just visiting. See a new place, meet a new friend, talk about the mysteries of the universe over a coupla drinks. You know, the usual. There's still time, right?"

They lean to the side and wave to the others too. No smile, of course; this frame isn't built for that. But it doesn't hurt to try to identify what their purpose is and how they feel about intruders. Suddenly being dogpiled by protective avatars won't help him drag Springer back out.

"Name's 54N-D."

Springer

The reaction of the others is varying. Drift just nods, Blurr glances, Whirl says something most likely insulting and Hot Rod waves back. Springer rolls his optics and moves the chair in front of him out, turning it around and settling on it. He crosses arms against the backrest, optics narrowing slightly.

“That's nice and all,” he says, sounding stern, “But we don't see visitors here. The only people who come in and out are standing behind me.” A thumb over his shoulder before a skeptical look.

Names are nice to know, since he's pretty sure that name isn't exactly familiar. But, he's curious. Tense and curious.

“Depends on what mysteries you wanna talk about. Whirl's a mystery all on his own.” But it didn't matter. He's about to speak again when Hot Rod slams a servo on his shoulder, leaning over.

“Hey. I'm Hot Rod,” he starts, but Springer lifts his arm and effecitvely shoves him back with his forearm, shutting him up with an amused spark in his optics.

“And I'm Springer. I live here.”

Soundwave

Of course Whirl is the insulting one. Of course. Kind of odd looking at who Rodimus used to be before the Matrix, though. He makes a note of it for his records before moving on.

"Hey, Hot Rod." Hm. He might have to watch the one, but the others don't appear ready to pose much threat. As long as he doesn't get himself kicked out, things should be okay. "I'm sorry, you live here? In the bar? But this isn't a house. Wouldn't you rather be out there?"

He curls his two fingers into a fist and jerks his thumb over his shoulder at the door.

Springer

Springer's optics follow the movement and he sighs. He wants to- he's always wanted to go out of the front doors and see where everyone else goes. “I don't leave,” he says, shifting back slightly, looking disappointed. “It's not that hard to live here. Closing time keeps it quiet and I get sleep.” Or, he tries. Most nights, he wonders what his friends are doing. What adventures lay out in the vast universe?

He feels the rush of air before he hears it and he has to refrain from telling Blurr running isn't wise in the bar. Hot Rod is leaning against the bar, looking at 54N-D with curiosity. Drift is standing behind Springer, arms crossed and an angle to his frame that shows he's relaxed, but in tune with his senses. And Whirl? Whirl is clambering over to the bar and standing at the one spot left- adjacent to Springer and the Vehicon.

“So, what's the call? We kickin' this gangly noodle one out?”

“He doesn't look like a Wrecker to me.”

“Wreckers only.”

“And Hot Rod.”

“I could be one, you know.”

Springer lifts a hand and waves off everyone's comments.

“Did you come from out there,” he asks, sounding somewhat curious, mostly stern.

“Where are you from,” Blurr asks.

“What city,” Drift follows.

“Where did you come from,” Whirl snaps.

All the questions Springer has in his mind flow out in different voices in different tones.

Soundwave

To Soundwave (or 54N-D's) credit, he doesn't flinch when everyone comes near. If anything, he puts on a show of sitting straighter and looking as happy to be surrounded as someone with a face with no movable parts can get.

"I'm from Bitrex," Laserbeak's voice says. It's an easy lie to tell. That is her home town, after all. "So, yeah, out there. Way, way out there, heh. You should see it! I mean, even bar owners have to take vacations. Nobody wants to be cooped up forever, right?"

He looks around. "What time's this place close? Maybe I could show you all around. I'm supposed to go back after I'm done here. We could get the same transport."

Springer

Bitrex? Way out there? He wrinkles his nasal ridge in thought, but his mind isn't supplying him with any visuals at the moment. He looks to the others, shrugging a little. The idea of going out- of leaving the bar is tempting, even if it's with this odd mech.

“It closes soon,” Springer says, sounding slightly disappointed.

Hot Rod grins. “Hey, that sounds like something we could do. I  bet there's loads to do where you're from. What kind of job do you have?”

“Whoa, slow down,” Blurr says, ironically, of course, “You guys are forgetting that Springer isn't allowed out there. Strict orders.”

“From who,” Hot Rod asks, hanging onto Springer's shoulder and looking at Blurr dully, “Your publicist? Oh, that's right-”

“Listen, at least I have a job with them.”

“You're the messenger, you burn out,” Whirl says, laughter flooding his voice. A claw slams against Springer's shoulder and he wiggles the green mech side to side.

“Come on, Springer. Before the guys kill each other.”

Springer glances up and around, then back to 54N-D.

“It's closing time,” Drift comments, looking up at the ceiling of the bar, nebula and stars swirling into sight, “We gotta go.”

Soundwave

"I'm a geologist!" That's what the real 54N-D wanted to be - and started studying, post-truce. Provided his records are correct. The red Starscream's ship's files were always a big mess. "I was in town to check out a private collection. The handlers picked up some rare metal. Neat stuff."

He waits until the collection of projections finish bantering to continue, quietly amused by Blurr's request for everyone else to slow down.

What is--? Where's the ceiling going? That can't be good. He's already partway into this plan. Throwing it out and starting over based on whatever that stretch of space turns the bar into will just take time and energy he doesn't have to spare.

"Springer, right? You came over first, so you should be first out. Besides, this is a Wrecker bar, right? Who's gonna be dumb enough to mess with it?" Rude, Laserbeak. Don't think he's not going to talk to you about that later. He nods his head in Blurr's direction, like he doesn't already know who that is. "Gimme your hand. We'll race them!"

Springer

His optics linger on the ceiling and the switching of the scene steals his attention for a moment. Closing time means saying goodbye to his friends and remaining alone in the bar- like every night. Except, this time, they're all looking at him with hopeful expressions.

“Springer, we have to go,” Hot Rod says, lifting his servo to settle it on his shoulder, “Maybe you can come with us this time?”

“Sorry, man,” Whirl says, lifting a claw to his helm in a mock salute, “You won't leave unless you get up.”

“Maybe this time, the door will stay open,” Drift offers.

Only Blurr remains quiet, leaning against the chair 54N-D is in. He crosses his arms and looks expectantly at Springer. Springer looks, instead, to the vehicon. The offered servo. The idea of a race. The idea of going outside- of leaving. He looks back over his shoulder, only to see his friends still waiting, grouped together by the door.

“What's it gonna be, Springer,” Whirl asks, his optic curving upwards, “Don't you wanna see what's out there?”

Springer's optics slide in 54N-D's direction. “Race,” he asks, motioning to Blurr, “That's something he likes to do, not me. Me? I'm more of a...”

“Fighter,” Blurr says, stepping down and quickly walking to the door. He looks back at the vehicon, lifts a servo, and points at him.

“If you trick me, I'll ruin your day,” he says sternly, not an ounce of a joke in his voice, “Let's go.” A strong grip on a smaller servo.

Soundwave

More of a fighter. Maybe they should have said they knew where to find a good boxing match? Doesn't matter. He's got Springer's hand. Now all he has to do is lead him - them - whoever, out as quickly as possible.

Laserbeak hoots, thrilled that her part in this seems to have gone well, if only because it's a testament to her restraint that she didn't spit and call Springer a filthy, filthy Autobot. And Soundwave is off with his new "friend", up and out of his seat in a flash and running out the door. Just because he doesn't run in real life doesn't mean he can't do it here.

Now, as long as they can keep it up all the way from the outside world to the real world...

Springer

Honestly, he finds himself wishing he'd gone with Blurr instead. They're moving at speeds he's not quite used to, except for watching, and he isn't sure how. He can't express any concerns or ask questions and, before he knows it, his pedes are on a different ground.

A familiar ground, but he isn't sure how. Or why. His optics flick side to side and he notices a corroding building. It looks like pieces have fallen apart, scorch marks plastered along ruined walls. The sky isn't like it was in the bar- it's dark and unkind. He knows this place, the feeling of dread hanging in the air. He can feel it crawling on his plating and he shakes his arms to get it off. The name hangs at the tip of his glossa and he desperately tries to understand the crumbling surrounding-why the ground quivers at the same shake of his cycling vents.

He knows this place. What was its name?

He turns on his heel, scanning the ruins for his friends. There's no sign of Blurr's blue streak of a frame, nor Drift's oddly decorated one. He can't see Whirl anywhere, not even in the skies. And Hot Rod- where is Hot Rod?

He knows this place. His friends' whereabouts are becoming less and less of a concern and he isn't sure why. He can feel the throbbing in his helm and he's never felt a pain so sharp before. It makes his rotors twitch and he turns to 54N-D. “I know this place,” he says, but it isn't what he wanted to say.

“My friends...”

Where are they, he wants to ask.

“Are they alive,” is what he asks aloud.

Soundwave

This... is not where Soundwave expected them to end up. This is a deeply unpleasant place, and he doesn't need the visual to tell him that. He can feel the knot of burning, upset threads under his pedes where a clean path had been just moments before. This is an obstacle of sorts, but he doesn't yet know why it exists or what it's supposed to represent. To be holding onto Springer right now is dangerous. If Springer doesn't like what's happened, or tries to tear this place apart, or breaks down and tries to drag them back to the bar--

Don't think about that. Focus on the fact that Springer has the data they both need bubbling just below the surface. Make some space and fade. Lure it out.

"No," Laserbeak says. Soundwave slips his hand loose as easily as if Springer's had been made of foil and thins out, his existence now stripped of the convenience of form. "They are not. Not here. You know where here is, don't you?"

Springer

“I think so,” he mumbles, but he suddenly realizes there's no hand holding his. He turns, looks and finds that he's somehow been left alone. He swings his frame around, optics seeking the vehicon. Alone. Alone. He doesn't want to be left alone. His optics flare and he makes his way across the beaten path, wheels in his helm turning. “Hey, where did you go,” he asks, climbing over fallen debris with ease, “Hey!”

No one. There's no one here. Was there ever anyone here? He slips down a slippery slope, crashing into a pile of burnt debris and what appears to be remnants of plating. With every step forward, he finds himself going further back. He stares ahead at a fading horizon, not knowing where it leads. He can hear the echoes of something, so slightly pulling at his mind, begging him to pay attention. 54N-D becomes less prominent- he's already forgotten he's looking for him. He hears a crunch and his frame tenses, servo reaching for the hilt of his sword. He watches as something rolls down a few fallen chunks of a building. He walks forward and crouches, servo reaching out, digits hovering over the length of the weapon.

'Listen to me, I'll forgive the both of us- we can both walk away from this with a better mindset, but you have to admit you were at least wrong!'

He feels the ground shake as he listens to an echo- his echo. He grabs onto the endoscopic claw with interest and studies it. A sudden flash of events and his optics strain.

'Kup! Sight for sore optics- just in time.'

'And I know just where to find the off switch!'

He drops the weapons and backs away, optics wider than ever before.

You know where here is, don't you?

“G-Garrus-9...”

Soundwave

He may not be wearing a shape while Springer travels through this scorched, broken, ruined mess of a building and crunches pieces of dead things beneath his feet, but Soundwave is there nonetheless, following and watching in silence. He's nothing but a ghost hiding behind Springer now, observing, debating, conferring with Laserbeak in secret beyond the boundaries of Springer's consciousness.

At least until he sees (hears tastes feels) the fear and catches the name of the location. Those, he knows. Prowl told him about them, once.

There's something Soundwave can do about this, but he's not entirely sure that he should. Tricky business, playing with other mechs' traumas. Most don't respond well. Leaning on this particular button might drive Springer so far deep into himself he'll never come out again. And no stranger will ever be trusted again. He'll have ensured that much.

On the other hand, Springer's a Wrecker. And Soundwave has known enough Wreckers in his time to know that most of them, when defeated, crave a chance for revenge. For payback. Humiliation at the hands of others isn't to be tolerated.

Blurr did say Springer was a fighter.

One message from Soundwave to Laserbeak. One message from Laserbeak to Frenzy. One message from Frenzy to... whoever has what he needs.

\\...LISTEN UP. I CAN'T TELL YA WHY, BUT THE BOSS NEEDS OVERLORD. ALL YOU GUYS GOT. HE GOT VISUAL SPECS ALREADY. NEEDS MORE VOICE.\\

Whirl

Whirl has been watching in rapt silence. He’s never been on this end of the equation before, and he finds himself wondering how fast things are happening on the other side. Is Soundwave experiencing hours in there while only moments pass outside? Whirl doesn’t know. He only vaguely recalls his own experience, and hasn’t talked about it to anyone, not even Soundwave.

Frenzy’s voice breaks him from his thoughts. “Wh—Overlord?” Immediately, his optic narrows in suspicion. It isn’t difficult to put the pieces together, knowing what he does about the last place Springer had been conscious. He isn’t sure he likes it, but if it works, it works. “I ran into him a year or so ago. I can send you stuff from that.”

Whirl’s contribution has part of his recollection of Overlord’s rampage through the Lost Light, and, sure enough, there are sound clips of his joyously murderous boasting peppered in there.

Prowl

The wait is interminable. And Prowl wasn't expecting it to be broken by the gentle whisperings of Frenzy.

He starts, then lifts his head to look over at—at Soundwave. (The view isn't as awful as he expected. But the knowledge of what it was...) Overlord? Why in the world? How could that possibly help...

... Prowl is in no position to question right now. "I've got a recording." One on the run who had commed Prowl to taunt him. He transferred the recorded exchange to Frenzy.

Soundwave

Frenzy snatches up both sets of data and stuffs them into a comm to Laserbeak. She sorts through them, feeding them into Soundwave through the half-active telepathic link, and waits.

A shadow quickly grows and spreads over the ground in front of Springer, boiling up from nothing to become a positively massive form it should be utterly impossible to mistake. Heavy footsteps willed into echoing louder than usual come to a stop just behind him.

Overlord's figure rolls a dark, horrible laugh inside its chest before giving full voice to both that and the words that follow.

"No shooting until I'm done playing."

Springer

Springer feels something looming behind him and it raises his senses. The surrounding area quivers as he lets out a few shaky vents, his servos curling into tight fists at his side. Garrus-9 holds so many of his strongest memories and he's beginning to regain most of them. Killing Stalker, laying waste to him with his own weapon. He swallows thickly as the growing shadow reminds him that Stalker wasn't the last mech he fought.

No, it was someone much bigger. Someone much stronger. A sharp intake and he freezes. There are a range of emotions that flow through him. Fear is not foreign to him, but it is something that he's learned to control. But this, this sudden, cold grip on his brave spark- it is something that shakes him to his core. Quick to chase is anger, a boiling race that causes his spinal strut to tingle with anticipation. The ground rumbles as his frame shakes just slightly. Debris falls to the ground, crumbling to nothing.

That voice is what gets him to turn. Blue optics stare, wide and unbelieving, at the towering form.

Are your Wreckers ready?

“You.” The shaking in his voice is not to be mistaken as fear. It is anger. A pure, burning hatred that can only be expressed with one word. An accusing spit of sounds at the looming figure and a quick movement. His servo on the hilt of his sword, drawing the blade he is most skilled with.

Springer remembers how this ended, but this isn't the last time.

This is the first time in a long time.

Soundwave

"Me." His smile is smug, even in the face of Springer's fury. It has to be. Soundwave needs that rage to burn hotter, burn brighter. To fuel Springer all the way to the end of where they have to go, past every horror here and back where he belongs. "You're welcome to follow me and raise the alarm, lightweight."

People to supposedly kill, places to potentially destroy. Springer knows how it theoretically goes. He was nearly one of them.

Overlord runs.

Springer

His fury is like a fire, flaring out and corrupting the world around him. Pieces of the memory begin to crumble and structures continue their descent to the ground. He runs after him, pedes slamming heavy on a fading ground. The surrounding is shifting, changing in swirling motions. He keeps his optics locked onto that large back, knowing that if he gets the chance, he will dig his blade into it to turn the mech around. An opening shifts and the ground moves beneath them.

Elevation is key and the ground rises as Springer runs. Like running up a ramp, he makes his way behind Overlord, stumbling only when the ground crumbles. His rotors burst to life, using a powerful spins to push him back into place. Battle suits him. It settles well in his mind and his frame.

“Turn around and face me,” he shouts, anger flooding his voice, giving him the growl of the famous leader. He is what they say he is- he is a warrior. The ground settles, and the roof forms quickly around them, creating a barrier of sorts; a ring to fight within; a pit. With the ruined environment far beneath them.

“Now you can't run anywhere.”

Soundwave

Good. This is good. They're in the core of the knot now, buried deep within the old tangle of mental threads. Soundwave can feel the bindings holding Springer loosening up, ready to finish pulling themselves apart and straighten out with just one more tug. They're so close to breaking free.

Springer can do this. He has to do this. The only way out is to confront and then act to change his perception of things. And reshaping an accepted truth may technically be tampering with Springer, but it's within the boundary lines Whirl drew when they first met.

Overlord scoffs and throws his arms wide. Take your best shot, puny Autobot.

This, Laserbeak reminds him, is going to hurt.

Springer

He can feel himself loosening. The time he spent within the bar had tightened his joints. Endless hours of enjoying time with his friends were now gone and the heat of his anger seems to have melted the stiffness away. His servo tightens on the hilt of his sword and he glares dead ahead, staring at the titan responsible for putting him here. He doesn't know where here is, per say, but he knows he does not want to be here. Not anymore.

He's out of the bar. He's away from the confines of its walls, away from the loneliness that lingered there. He's away from the desperate attempts to make his friends stay, the whispers of words unknown and the long, far too long, hours spent staring at the ceiling of the bar; to the vast universe he could never see. He grits his denta and stares at the taunting mech before him.

He swings his sword down and he's able to make the environment move. The swing of his sword seems to move his arm- his real arm. An arm that hasn't moved in years. A backstrut that hasn't arched finally bends. Springer bursts to life with the swing of an arm and his fist connecting with Overlord; no. It's someone he's never met before, but the poor sod is in the way.

Soundwave

Overlord rocks off his feet and over the edge of the roof in a way that is far too dramatic for the strength of the punch leveled at a mech his size, but they left reality behind back when the universe started spreading into the ceiling of a bar. He crumbles into nothingness as he falls, a faint gurgle escaping his vocalizer before all is gone.

The world begins to follow shortly afterward. That is, Soundwave's impression of it does, because his connection to it is no longer needed. Springer's already found the way out.

He knows that because he happens to be the poor sod in question.

Soundwave's far too exhausted for his normally spot-on reflexes to successfully kick in and let him dodge the blow. It's not strong - it's wild, and strikes him from an odd angle, making only incomplete contact - but the crunch and tinkling of breaking, falling glass is unmistakeable. His helm (and indeed, most of his upper body) are thrown back. He stumbles, then, and let him tell you, he hasn't returned his mind to his own frame so quickly in ages.

Both feelers snap free a spark's pulse later, one of his hands going up to shield his face from view. It takes him a half-second to remember which set of hands are currently his, though, and in that time one bizarre, vaguely insectoid red optic and part of a startled, snarling mouth filled with sharp, glowing, purple fangs (one of which is broken) can be seen between his skinny fingers.

He adjusts to hide them with his arm instead, skittering back and away from Springer, using the other arm to hold Frenzy still. Grotesque but creative threats spill out of the spiny red minicon's mouth, promising all sorts of disturbing new encounters with various medical implements and four oxide sharks.

Looks like Soundwave managed to wake Springer.

Hoo-Primus-damned-ray for him.

Whirl

Whirl has not stopped watching closely, and he doesn’t miss an instant of Springer’s re-awakening: the sudden blaze in his optics, the way his frame goes from being utterly still to electrified with life and (familiar!) fighting spirit, the arc of his fist as it moves through the air, and then—

CRUNCH.

The chopper’s first thought is a flicker of uncharacteristic concern, because, all things considered, he’d honestly rather not have Soundwave get his entire face broken to pieces while trying to help them all, but before he can even muster the mental wherewithal to be properly worried, he’s greeted with a sight he doesn’t expect. It’s Soundwave’s face, fanged, four-eyed, and positively wicked, which until this moment has been hidden beneath the impassive curve of his visor. It’s only there for a fraction of a second, and then it’s gone.

Whirl blinks. Huh. Neat, he thinks to himself.

Whirl

Whirl has been in enough situations that suddenly escalated to full-scale violence to be ready to fight at a moment’s notice. His helm snaps towards the door the moment Soundwave’s alarms go up. “Looks like we’ve got company,” he says, stepping away from the three of them. “Just complete the circuit—I’ve got to go.”

He rushes out of the room with the deployers, skidding to a stop outside the door and sizing up his opponents. There has to be close to thirty or so of them, all thundering down the hallway, a wave of angry bodies ready to break against the line. He isn’t about to wait for them to arrive. Whirl takes two steps forward and carries the motion over into a fluid transformation, rotors whirring as he stabilizes himself in the air. There’s not a lot of room to fly, but Whirl can more than handle himself in such tight quarters.

He immediately begins a barrage of fire with his cannons, tearing into the front of the ranks with each blast. It slows the enemy for now, but it won’t last. “Got a plan?” He calls over the comms to Soundwave. “Because if not, I’m about to dive in.”

Prowl

Prowl turns toward the door. "Dammit." The explosion must have got the Decepticons' attention. How many? He knows Soundwave and Whirl can handle themselves, but against too many enemies...

He looks back at Tarantulas. "Hurry. I don't want this to be the way we test Springer's new armor."

Tarantulas

Everything’s going to pits in a toolbox. Everything that could go wrong is going wrong. Except Springer’s ununtrium frame, but that won’t help any of them now.

But – the spark jump. It’s their last chance to salvage what little is left of Springer’s spark. Prowl doesn’t have to tell Tarantulas twice, so he braces himself and snaps the dual clamps on Springer’s spark chamber.

And nothing happens.

Tarantulas waits a moment, but it’s clear that whatever was supposed to happen hasn’t happened. Frag. Frag frag frag.

Prowl

"... I don't feel anything." A useful patient tells his doctor what he's experiencing. "Isn't it supposed to hurt?"

Tarantulas

“It should!” Tarantulas is starting to shake now. “I-it should -”

Frantic pings across the communal commlink, but Tarantulas ends up crying out across the lab as well as over comms. «WHIRL - IT DIDN’T WORK -»

Soundwave

Soundwave dips his helm in acknowledgment of Whirl and the deployers' arrival, but doesn't look at him. He's already tearing apart poorly secured comm lines in the search for the enemy group's leader.

[[No bridges.]] They can't be allowed to see something as identifiable as that. Especially not if they're still brandishing Decepticon insignia. There's no telling who they report to - or who they might give ideas. [[Take the back, prevent escape. Allow surrenders... if there are any.]]

He doubts there will be, though.

Soundwave's deployers abruptly explode out of their line and into the fray, once again ready to be the well-oiled fighting machine they were in the pits, the war, and lately, the Underworld.

Whirl

“No bridges is fine,” Whirl replies, “but I’m not taking anyone alive.”

With that he launches himself forward, his booster igniting and sending him hurtling towards the enemy. It’s a brutal, inelegant charge, roughly the equivalent of a full-body punch. The moment he collides with the line, Tarantulas’s frantic message comes through.

Whirl shakes off the nearest Decepticons with a few quick blasts from his canons and then swivels up to dart along the ceiling, flying upside-down over the heads of the enemy below. “Dammit,” he mutters aloud. Obviously, completing the circuit wasn’t enough. “Laserbeak! Go back in there, I need you to shock the hell out of Prowl!”

Clearing the crowd at last, he corkscrews neatly away from the ceiling and re-orients himself, swiveling to face the crowd of mecha between him and Soundwave. “I’m sending you some help, Tarantulas. I’m guessing you need a surge—she’ll handle it!”

Soundwave

[[ He can't wring information out of dead processors. ]] Soundwave's fingers curl tight in irritation. He's going to have to find their commander, and fast. At least it'll go faster now. Touch telepathy, physical confrontation...

Laserbeak whirls free of the writhing mass with a gleeful whir and zips sideways through the door, exposing no more than a crack. (Someone takes an opportunistic shot but misses the gap. Soundwave vents in relief - then spears them in the gut with the end of his arm and, twisting, slams them to the ground.)

Tarantulas

A surge. A surge. Of course. Activation energy. Not that electricity would serve as a substitute for the actual spark energy needed, but it’d cause Prowl’s spark to seize and power the jump. Yes, that – that had to work.

«Are we SURE Laserbeak can deliver a sufficiently extreme voltage? She – it’ll likely have to be in excess of sixteen times Prowl’s baseline for it to – we’ll try, but –»

Tarantulas will be ready when she gets there though, assuring the leads still connect Springer and Prowl but careful not to touch either of them. The panic is burning deep gold in his visor – because on top of all this, he has a sudden fear for Prowl’s spark now. For the pain Prowl is about to suffer, if Laserbeak really DOES have the voltage. But should he say anything? No – better not. Just – do what needs to be done. He's so, so sorry, Prowl.

Prowl

Prowl glances back at the door as Laserbeak zips inside—here to help? to tell them that things have gotten worse outside?—but only manages to get out a “Wha—?”

Soundwave

Laserbeak's feelers clip onto either side of Prowl's back without so much as a by-your-leave, and suddenly there's enough electricity running through him to knock out a handful of minicons and then some.

{{Now tinfoil turkey roast you! }} she cackles.

It's the best day of the last few months of her life.

Prowl

When Laserbeak latches on and—threatens him??—his first wild thought iss s sgh ghh h dghd dg gg## #g#g g## # #g#

His scream is nothing but static. As he's electrocuted, excess energy burns through every wire in his body—and through the cables into Springer.

Whirl

“Then you’d better get to them before I do,” Whirl replies simply.

A few more blasts from his cannons clear him a space to land, and he does, whipping his plasma-launcher out of subspace and readying it. There’s an eagerness to fight in him, a sense of tension broken—they’ve all been waiting for the other shoe to drop, ever since they’d arrived, and it finally had. More than anything else, though, Whirl feels rage.

Hatred pulses through every atom of his body with every beat of his spark. It’s an all-consuming, exhilarating feeling, rendered even more vivid by the numbness that has been gripping his spark all these long weeks. Hot streaks of glowing plasma lash through the air like whips, hungrily eating through the armor of Whirl’s enemies. “Did it work?”

Prowl

Prowl nearly collapses, barely holding himself up on his hands, and grits his dentae shut over a strangled cry. His spark is roaring in pain—it feels like a black hole is sucking it out of its casing. His feet and hands are covered in a stabbing pain (like a thousand knives being driven into one’s body), and then the stabbing becomes a prickling, and then goes numb, as spark energy is drained out of his extremities and the stabbing pain travels ever closer to his spark. His fingertips are turning gray. His HUD is changing colors and distorting across his vision. The killswitch hadn’t hurt like this. Prowl’s come close to dying before and this feels no different.

What if Prowl isn’t strong enough to save Springer? What if his spark is just too small? Springer’s always carried a far larger body than Prowl has, Springer’s spark is obviously stronger than his, plus Tarantulas just augmented it; what if Springer needs more energy than Prowl can safely give?

His fingers are stiff and uncooperative, but he forces them to curl into fists, knuckles driving into the ground. If Springer needs more energy than Prowl can safely give, then Prowl will die to save a better mech than him. He’s ready.

Tarantulas

There’s nothing Tarantulas can do but watch as Prowl falls forward onto his hands. He can’t touch him, can’t comfort him in any meaningful way – he can only, must only, monitor the transfer of spark energy from one frame to another. (Those fingers. Those grey, grey fingers. Tarantulas trembles.)

Now comes a new judgment call – deciding when to separate them. Tarantulas may not have his medical scanner at the moment, but he still does have ten optics and a visor, and a few of their functions help narrow down the window to half-seconds, tenths of a second –

Suddenly he unclips and yanks the cables from Springer’s chest. That’s it, that’s – that’s –

Tarantulas laughs out loud. Did it work. Did it work. Primus, Whirl, if only you could see the vibrant blue light dancing in Springer’s chest now, the leftover sparks from the electricity flitting jubilantly from their frames. Tarantulas can't seem to decide between vocals or comms, so it's still both aloud and transmitted. « Yes, yes, it – hold on, hold on –»

Tarantulas quickly looks Prowl over to make sure he’s not in any critical condition (please don’t be crashing please don’t spiral out please) – yes, Prowl passes muster. Then he’s promptly zeroing in on Springer for a closer inspection. A few pregnant seconds later, he confirms the good news. «– Yes yes thank Primus yes he’s alright, he’s stable, he’s, he’s –»

Soundwave

Laserbeak’s not sticking around to get swatted out of the air by a cranky post-shock Prowl. Or one of Tarantulas’ many misunderstanding legs. Time to zip back over to her Boss and the battle outside, where she’s a little less likely to be murdered.

Rumble punches someone’s knees to scrap. Ravage leaps at them from behind, toppling them over, and Frenzy jams his drills into the sides of their helm. Buzzsaw dives repeatedly, blades whirring, cutting another mech free from the fighters and herding them backward into Soundwave’s waiting grip.

Soundwave promptly pins them with a foot and tears them limb from limb. The feeler still holding the screaming leftovers by one leg swings them and clubs yet another Decepticon into the wall before flinging them into the crowd.

So it goes.

Prowl

Stable. Thank god. His job is done. When Laserbeak takes off, Prowl lets himself slump to the side, landing with his head next to Springer's. Weakly, wearily, voice crackling, he said, "I c##an die i#n peace now#.» (He's not dying.)

Soundwave

(txt): Negative, forbidden.

Hey, Whirl. Laserbeak's gonna shoot some cons your way as a personal thank you for giving her that beautiful chance.

Prowl

What's that pinging in his head? Hmmm. Irrelevant.

Whirl

Whirl pauses momentarily as Tarantulas’s comm comes in, confirming Springer’s stability before he goes back to the task at hand, which is presently shoving the muzzle of his plasma-launcher into the open mouth of the Decepticon screeching under his heel. He laughs, half at the horrible gurgling noises that erupt from his opponent when he pulls the trigger, and half from Prowl’s very dramatic declaration.

“All the dyin’s happening out here, mech,” he crows into the commline, his voice ringing with a sort of joyful viciousness. Whirl has been absorbing a steady stream of weapons-fire while he dispatches with the mech underfoot, and finally raises his attention to the others, leaving the Decepticon to perish while he claws at his face.

Simply using his cannons would be more efficient, or even his sword, in such close quarters. Whirl is taking more damage than was necessary, but he can more than handle it. He doesn’t want to kill these mecha quickly, or efficiently; he’s savoring every moment of the fight the way a gourmand might savor every bite of a meal.

And here comes Laserbeak, delivering dessert. Whirl lifts his plasma-launcher out of the way to dispatch one of them with a quick one-two blast of his chest cannons before closing with the other, optic wide and bright.

Prowl

What's THAT ping supposed to—? Oh. Comm. He opens both messages, studies them, and—with what grim dignity he can muster—replies, «Then I suppose I'll live.»

Tarantulas

Tarantulas could cry, he’s so overwhelmed with relief. In fact, he IS crying, but the tears behind his visor are being efficiently recycled, since the pores were upgraded since last time. Thank Primus, because it means he can see well enough without having to deactivate his visor – he can accurately reach out over Springer’s prone body and pull Prowl in, then shakily embrace the two of them where they lie on the floor.

It doesn’t matter that both their spark chambers are still exposed and vulnerable. It doesn’t matter that there’s still static in the cables still attached in Prowl’s chest, and that Springer isn't even conscious. It doesn’t matter that this isn’t even his Prowl, that this isn’t his Springer, his Ostaros. This is it. This is all Tarantulas has ever wanted. Himself, Prowl, and Ostaros, all in the same place at the same time and not trying to kill each other.

He can’t get any words out, comms or no. It’s just too much for him to handle.

Prowl

He's limp as Tarantulas pulls him up into an embrace. But after a moment, he shakily embraces him back. Static arcs from his spark chamber into the fur of Tarantulas's chest.

"Thank you."

Tarantulas

Oh, Tarantulas is definitely crying now. “T-thank – thank you. Thank you Prowl, you’re – you’re here, and Ostaros, a-and–” He’s burying his face in whatever pieces of the two mechs he can reach.

It’s a pretty dysfunctional family reunion, but he’ll take it.

Soundwave

He'd better live. Soundwave isn't going through all this to come out of it with a dead ally.

Somewhere in the middle of what's left of their attackers, a mech fit to put one of the murdertank Insecticons from Soundwave's homeworld to shame starts shrieking and spinning in place, hands scrabbling uselessly at one of the shot tunnels Whirl's plasma cannon left in his dorsal armor. He does a fair amount of work for them, accidentally elbowing someone into shooting the mech in front of him instead of at Rumble and distracting two more long enough for the bird twins to mow them down. Energon pours out from behind his facemask, running thick pink rivers down his chin and throat.

There's a loud whine and a glow that doesn't match the blue of a spark, and then the center of his chest explodes outward, courtesy of a pair of powerful hip blasters. He's dead before he hits the ground.

Ravage claws his way out of the sparking hole and leaps at the next person without even shaking himself off.

[[That one - the three-wheeler. They're his. ]]

Soundwave's feeler darts past a couple still struggling to keep Frenzy and Rumble from getting hits in and wraps around said three-wheeler's shoulders, yanking him up and over the fray. This is his prisoner now, and maybe a bribe for Starscream in case they get in trouble.

Whirl

As the number of mecha between them grows less and less, Whirl and Soundwave’s group draw nearer and nearer, and this necessitates a little teamwork. The beloved plasma thrower is put away, and Whirl lays into his foes with his blasters and his claws. He’s quite happy to cooperate with the twins, knocking a mech’s legs out from underneath him to put him into chest-drilling level or pinning someone so their head can be pile-driven into oblivion.

Ravage’s performance is a work of art; it sets Whirl laughing, and he doesn’t stop laughing until he takes out his final opponent—rather suddenly, catching even himself off-guard, with a vicious kick to the helm that had been meant to simply knock the Decepticon down. Instead, the mech’s neck snapped, twisting at an odd angle, and he crumped to the ground, having been damaged enough to interrupt the connection between the brain module and the spark.

“Oh. Huh.” Whirl stared for a moment before he knelt and finished him off with a quick shot to the chest. Whirl pauses to survey the hall. “Damn is that—is that all?” He’s not as spattered with gore as his companions: he’s scorched, bleeding a little, and his optic and cockpit glass are both badly cracked. He swivels his helm to regard Soundwave as he trots back over. “Anyone else coming? Or are we good for now?”

Soundwave

Soundwave and most of his deployers are accustomed to fighting in close quarters without the aid of guns or blasters, Laserbeak being the obvious exception. Them being spattered is just another day, especially for Frenzy and his brother.

And Whirl's not the only one to take some damage. Missing spines (some of which are buried in other mechs' weak points), missing fangs, missing plates, dents, gouges, one wing blade chain snapped, Soundwave's arms covered in claw marks from being used as shields - ah. It was a good fight.

To some, anyway. Soundwave's looking at the dead mechs before them and shaking his helm. He wanted so much to be wrong about the refusal to surrender. Over two dozen dead mechs in exchange for Springer...

He gives the ex-leader a violent shake and telepathically demands an answer.

"N-no. Nobody else, I swear. We - I never - the roster, look at the roster. You'll see."

Satisfied that he can't feel any lies under the words, Soundwave turns to face the door, ready to re-enter with his new prize in tow.

Prowl

Prowl nods along to Tarantulas’s babbling; the head movement makes him dizzy, and he leans more heavily on Tarantulas for balance. Yes, they're here. They're here and Springer is here, Springer is going to live, Springer is going to be invincible—and Tarantulas—Prowl has Tarantulas, he's here in his arms, and—

"Tarantulas… I love y—"

Whirl

Whirl pauses by the door, staring at Soundwave’s captive as he’s given a good shake. When the Decepticon is done babbling, Whirl thrusts his helm forward and fixes the mech with a pinprick-small optic. “You,” he said, "have no idea how lucky you are.”

He draws back. “Well. For now, at least.” And then Whirl barges in through the door, attention snapping down to regard the three mecha sprawled on the floor. Everyone seems to be in one piece. ...well, except Springer, but that’s nothing new.

“Everyone good? Why is he still on the floor? C’mon, get up, we’ve got work to do.” Whirl trots over to Springer and hooks his claws into his frame, staring pointedly at Tarantulas as he waits for him to help move Springer to the bed. “You can cuddle later.”

Prowl

Prowl flinches as the doors slams open, and falls silent.

Soundwave

Soundwave opted not to approach the Springer pile with his captive. For one thing, there were probably sparks out still, and for another - well, there were probably sparks out still.

Instead, he walked them to the other side of the room and parked the poor fragger on the floor. They said to check the rosters. He was going to take a moment and do just that while the others shook Springer awake, or put him up on the berth, or whatever they still needed to accomplish.

Tarantulas

It’s probably a good thing Whirl barged in at that moment, because Tarantulas swears he heard – did Prowl say – his spark’s going to implode if he really did – but no, no. Prowl never finishes what he was saying, and whatever moment was there is gone now.

Whirl’s pulling at Ostaros – no, Springer – and Tarantulas has to pay attention. They’re not done. In his blissful little moment of family reunion he’d forgotten their circumstances and what was still left to be done. Time to get up and pull your weight, Tarantulas.

Or rather, Springer’s weight. Tarantulas is on his feet again, ignoring his hidden tears in favor of mass-shifting up further than before and scooping Springer’s torso into his arms, like he should have done the first time around. No worries, Whirl, he’s got this.

A moment of wavering as he looks back down at Prowl from so far up. “A-are you – can you – stand? Ambulate?”

Prowl

Prowl slides back off Tarantulas and barely manages to sit upright. "I'm... not entirely sure." His processor is rounding probabilities to the nearest 25% so he's not trusting their results; there's a 75% chance they're still compromised. He tries to get to his feet.

And immediately flops back to his knees. "Nope." His strained spark is fluttering in its casing. "I'm not moving. I'm staying right here."

Whirl

Whirl hasn’t exactly forgotten about Tarantulas’s odd size-changing abilities, but it still does take him somewhat off-guard. He releases Springer to the other mech’s custody for now and turns his attention to Prowl. “Yeah, it’s a hell of a thing, isn’t it?” Whirl nods sagely. “Feels like someone sucked all the energon out of your body and replaced it with water.”

He kneels and nudges Prowl. “Close up, mech.” And Whirl silently offers one arm for Prowl to grab onto. The chivalry of the gesture might be somewhat compromised by the state the arm is in: scuffed, scorched, and spattered with blood.

Prowl can sit, and probably should sit, but there’s no reason he has to do it on the floor. There are still crates and suitable surfaces elsewhere in the room.

Prowl

"Yes. That's—good description for it."

Prowl gives Whirl a dull, confused look. Close up? Close up wha—? "Oh." He closes up his chest, latches it, and swings his push bar back into place.

And then he looks at Whirl's arm, for just a second, before grabbing it as firmly as he can manage. "... Thanks."

Tarantulas

Tarantulas’s worry for Prowl is exacerbated by his inability to stand, but if Whirl’s got him, well… He’ll see to Prowl later. He has an unconscious, open-chested, limbless patient to see to first.

Back over to the berth they go – thankfully it was far enough over that the explosion didn’t upend it, but unfortunately the boxes and tools around it are in complete disarray. Tarantulas sets Springer down as tenderly as he can manage before mass-shifting down again and picking around in the mess for what he needs.

Alright, there we go. It isn’t long before Tarantulas has Springer’s chest pieced back together again. But now…

“Frenzy?” Wait, where is Frenzy. “I – h-hyeh. Mind helping me reassemble? The explosion made quite the mess of your arrangement. And, if Prowl -” Tarantulas glances over at him. “- is in a state in which he can assist, that’d – that’d be invaluable as well.”

Soundwave

Frenzy looks to Soundwave and the others for confirmation before leaving the three-wheeler behind to hop-walk his way over to Tarantulas. The others can keep the mech under control. He seems to have lost all his fight without anyone else to back him up anyway. (The roster has confirmed it. He gets to live a little longer for telling the truth.)

\\I GOT RECORDS,\\ Frenzy shouts, tapping his helm. And yeah, he can talk freely again. Who's left to come running for the source of the noise? \\JUS' HOPE WE AIN'T MISSIN' NOTHIN' IMPORTANT NOW. DUNNO HOW TO MAKE FRESH PIECES YET.\\

Rumble balls up and tosses him one of the rags he saved from the crates before the blast. It does an awful job cleaning up even a fraction of the mess sprayed across Frenzy's front, but at least his hands are more or less dry. No fingerprints all over the bits of armor he's sorting through and bringing back one at a time.

After a couple of unheard instructions to the last few deployers, Soundwave makes his way over to the berth as well.

[[...He's not awake.]] There's a hint of tiredness in that assessment. [[He'll wake when you finish?]]

Whirl

Whirl hauls him up fairly easily, and bobs his head at Prowl in silent acknowledgment of his thanks.  Prowl is let down on the closest surface that passes for a chair, and once he’s settled, Whirl turns to watch Tarantulas and Frenzy re-assemble Springer. He contemplated assisting for a moment, but instead hangs back, figuring it will be best if he’s not underfoot.

There’s something in Soundwave’s tone that catches his attention. Whirl feels a faint prickle of alarm at the back of his mind, and he looks to Tarantulas questioningly.

Prowl

As Prowl is lowered into his seat, he glances over at Soundwave—and his gaze catches on his prisoner, instead. Who’s this? One of the combatants outside? Where were the others? How many had there been? How many had died so that they could save Springer?

No one was supposed to die. Was it worth it, those lives lost to save one? Would Springer contribute enough to this galaxy to make up for what they’d sacrificed to save him? The sacrifice should never have been made in the first place. Prowl should have made sure the generators were stable. Prowl should have opened a bridge beneath the malfunctioning generator. People have died.

At least they’re only...

... No. “They’re only Decepticons” isn’t going to cut it anymore.