Something something hybrids show up with Kirsch, something something aliens are captured. Don't ask me how. I don't know

Side note before I continue though: Wendy isn't the only one able to hear morph chatter. I would like to make it explicitly clear that what they're hearing is not a cybertronian dialect, nor is it the more refined morphspeak. It's... a derivative of the morph language, I suppose, severely simplified into clicks, chirps, trills, etc. that convey deep and complex meanings but not in the sense of strictly defined words. I can't think of a better way to explain or illustrate my point, but just let it be known that when the drones "communicates" it's not actually using words. That's the best translation the hybrids can figure out within their own scope of human languages. It's not a matter of them "choosing" her, it's a matter of them making aounds at frequencies humans cannot hear but the hybrid synthetics can. Cool? Cool.

Moving right along! Prodigy Island now has multiple cybermorphs in containment: the minimorph drone and a handful of eggs. The one large warmorph, mid-sized civimorph, then the two remaining minimorphs.

The drone is kept in the highest security cell, made of a basic compound that can't be melted and unshatterable glass. The large eggs are monitored, mostly, but one of the mini ones is dissected.

They've been frozen in stasis for quite awhile, but were placed there close to reaching full development. Prodigy takes a gamble on one of the remaining minimorphs, and slits it open. The whole hivemind rings with violent, inescapable agony as they're wrested from the safety of their shell. In the lab, the fetal cybermorph larva squirms and thrashes uncontrollably on the lab table, still slimy and steaming in the cold, sterile air. They're squalling, gurgling, liquid still filling them up inside and making it hard to scream. They're held down, a needle penetrating their soft, underdevloped polymer flesh. The baby wails and flails and wriggles, still making it's mechanical chittering, and the blood they draw from it glows. Glows as if bioluminescent, and looks to be more viscous than the samples collected from the crash site.

The poor thing isn't much to look at, a white, squishy body that's got a metallic sheen to it, a head maybe the size of a golfball and a fat, short, worm-like body body attached to it. Half-formed dark pits beneath it's semi-transluscent skin show the promise of eyes, and the little mouth is toothless as it wails and spits static. It only measures about 6 inches long, the picture of miserable helplessness as it's pricked and tagged. Poor, poor baby.

A million light years away, it's mother is roaring, clawing at his helm and bellowing for a far-off foe to STOP!

With each of the hybrids hearing the baby screaming, it sets off a bit of a chain reaction. Kavalier is delighted to know that all of his special little prototypes are able to hear "an alien language", and sets them up on a rat race to be the first to crack the code and really understand it. Isaac and Curly are incredibly gung-ho about it, the former clamoring for Kirsch's attention the second he can reproduce one of the sounds from his memory files perfectly, and the latter sitting in front of the drone's cage and trying everything she can to get it to talk to her.

The drone remains stubbornly silent, keeping still and silent almost like a statue as it watches them through the glass. It'll be awhile before they make contact 🤭 They slip the baby morphling into the incubation tank with Hermit's harvested lung. The morphling burrows into the available tissue, trying to hide. There's not enough nutrients to complete their molt, not by a long shot, and they're not fully knitted together on the inside. It hurts. It could take days, weeks, months for the infant specimen to be ready. Of course, Prodigy has just had their legal hearing and have to surrender the specimens within 6 weeks, sooo

Through rigorous testing with the morphling's blood, they manage to figure out a good amount of what raw materials it needs, and are hard at working determining the exact chemical compound of their blood. The incubator is pumped full of silicone and iron and raw condensed nutrients, and over the course of several days the baby develops swiftly. There's a drone nearby, they can hear them, and the scary sounds and lights and aliens that keep poking them just won't stop. They want to get away from all the bad things! So they have to grow, so they can move and get away.

The unborn morphling hears others outside, just beyond the walls of this still, stagnant egg. They sound like her... friends? Family?

...Mother says not family? But then why do they talk to me? She doesn't understand

When she at last outgrows her incubator, only one of the family-not-family ones is there. She should stay inside longer, wait til they're all gone, but... it's long since gone cold in here. There's no food. Drone is nearby. It's time to leave.

The infant specimen chews it's way out of the fleshy incubator, but it doesn't taste good. The walls of her incubator break easily when she tries to jump through, but she wasn't prepared for how bright the world is. Flourscent lights blind her from all directions, and before she's even hit the ground she's pawing at her optics. She hits the ground amidst a shower of broken glass, rolling twice before laying still. She huffs and heaves for breath, whining and rubbing her face into the floor. Too bright! Can't see! Her optics lubricate defensively, stinging under the glaring assault, and she immediately starts to cry.

Wendy watches the specimen, completely flabbergasted when it throws it's head back and begins to wail. Tears pour down it's face, dripping onto the floor where the tile immediately begins to bubble and sizzle.

She can hear it. She's been mimicking it a lot, trying to get the words and pronunciations right and figure out definitions... it's more than enough to understand the baby's extremely limited vocabulary. It hurts!, she seemed to be sobbing. Want mommy!

Nearby, the drone is becoming increasingly agitated in it's cage, pacing back and forth. It pounds both fists on the glass, shrieking and chittering, trying to get her attention.

"Leave her alone!" it says. "Get away from her! She's just a baby!"

It bashes it's thick, dome shaped skull directly into the glass. Trying to break out, but this time, Wendy swears she hears something shudder. She tries to reproduce the sound, holding her hands up to show she's friendly. At her feet, the morphling trills and begins clumsily hurrying across the floor: on all fours, chubby arms and legs loping almost like a very wobbly cat. She collides with the glass wall separating her from the drone, and paws at it desperately. Trilling the whole time, wailing that she's scared and wants to leave.

When the actual scientists eventually arrive, they sedate the drone by gassing his cell, and capture the morphling for more test. They take cell samples and more blood, then confine the newest specimen to a separate cell. Adjacent to the drone, but not allowed to mingle: they need isolated data, after all. Cross contamination at this point would be foolish.

In his chassis, something squirms. It burns. It feels wet, and slimy, with rust and corroded metal slowly eating away at him. Beneath his hastily-set welds, he feels the parasitic larva nestled in his internals. They make it hard to ventilate. His throat burns. He can't swallow.

He can hear them. They're almost ready to hatch, he can tell. Their siblings had been much the same, slithering into his body, taking up root to leech his energon and materials for themselves. They had anchored themselves in his fuel tank and remained for what felt like only a few megacycles before their claws and sharp denta began devouring him from within. It was the worst pain he'd ever endured, every time: feeling D-16's monstrous offspring ripping their way through his internals. They burst to life with a great shattering of metal and a splattering of energon, screeching and hissing as they made their triumphant escape. They were ugly, horrible monsters: long, serpentine bodies almost reminiscent of quintesson tentacles, no optics, and a mouth full of sharp fangs with their only limbs being gangly arms held close to their middles. They would grow and molt exponentially, coming to tower over their incubator mere days or even megacycles after birth.

How long has it been? How many parasites had he been forced to birth? He can't remember. There's no indication of time here. His internal chronometer is broken beyond repair and so deeply subterranean, it's still and silent. There's no auditory indication of Iacon. No scent, either. Sentinel has no idea where they are.

One of the drones approaches him. He looks exactly like D-16, as they all do: identical little clones of himself without sparks or wills of their own, mere extensions of his will. Wearing his face and acting with all of his mannerisms, the drone draws near.

Sentinel lurches, and feels something jerk high up in his chest. He gags, a globule of energon flying from his mouth to splatter on the drone's chassis. He convulses, helpless, howling in agony as it starts again. The cybermorph larva has matured and is ready to emerge. It's a spectacle Dee doubts he will never tire of, watching the evil, miserable traitor tormented so just to bring his children into the world. It's the least he deserves!

“Bring them here.”

The infant drone finally escapes, the blue mech's back bowing as if to thrust them forward. Their helm and one arm emerges first, and when they squirm free of his internals, plop directly into the waiting servos of their older sibling.

Dee takes the little one and cleans them with his glossa, intently staring at Sentinel as he cries and sobs pathetically, rambling incoherently from the pain. Begging for mercy, begging them to just kill him.

Not yet. Dee rubs a thoughtful hand over his belly, round and heavy. The eggs he produces don't come from his cybertronian gestation tank, yet it is swollen and filled with life. Thanks to the quintessons. He has no idea what sort of monster they've put in him, but D-16 has vowed that, once Sentinel has been appropriately punished and paid for his crimes, the quintessons are next. But this grudge is personal, and he'll carry out his revenge with extreme prejudice.

Sentinel made a great incubator for his drones. It made sick satisfaction curl in his belly, everytime he watched the blue mech subdued by one of his helmhuggers. He liked watching the blue mech thrash and scream when they ate their way out of him. He'd been so happy to watch D-16 assaulted by the quints, after all. He'd been so smug about stealing their t-cogs. He'd been so relieved when selling him off to them, clearing so much of his debt.

Dee is only repaying him in kind. It's only fair.

He gives his belly another rub, and makes a contemplative noise. Hmm…

“No,” the drone that had been bringing another egg toward their prisoner stops. “Patch him up, but no more eggs.”

It was almost time. He could tell. Time for what, he wasn't exactly sure, but it was almost time.

Being without a cog actually probably saved him, keeping him in root (what the morphs call hideaway) mode and letting him seamlessly blend in and be safe. If he still had his cog and was aware of what he is, the stress of hiding and feeling isolated could've caused emergency drone egg production. Its happened before (the insectimorph queen and his Kiss of Death), but thankfully, Dee had companionship and love in droves thanks to his fellow miners. His body never felt the need to force him to make drones for his own protection, so his reproductive array remained dormant

Until, of course, they were stimulated for the first time by Sentinel. The Prime was extremely thorough, filled them up so full of transfluid the underdeveloped cybermorph systems went, "oh?? Egg time? Already? Egg? Eggs???" and the unfertilized gametes in his egg chambers slip into the womb being exposed to reproductive nanites. He's still very young and really isn't ready to be laying, but his body didn't get the memo. It's an extremely small clutch, probably 3-7.

When they arrive at the Grave, Dee is still incredibly sick, but he's so fever addled he's barely coherent. Alpha Trion manages to treat the worst of his symptoms, but he's still in bad shape. The egglings are sucking up more than he can give, and theyre overdue to be laid at this point. They crossed more than half of the planet’s vertical length to find Alpha Trion: they've been on the road for months. Fertilized eggs are supposed to do up to 95% of their fetal development outside of the womb, during which period they grow exponentially. Dee's been having horrible, stabbing cramping in his middle for weeks now, failed contractions as his body tries to release the ovomorphs. His whole abdomen feels pressurized, painfully tight and full as his organs are all pushed around while the eggs swell. He can't lay in hideaway mode, nor can his reproductive organs actually shift into place the way they're meant to without his transformation cog.

Alpha Trion, once revived, notices that D-16 hosts several infant sparks inside of him. And, worse, seems to be in active labor! The youngling doesn't even seem to realize what's happening to him. Alpha wastes no time, recognizing that he or the sparklings could die if his valve and array can't transform.

Without hesitation he takes a cog from one of his fallen siblings and slips it into his chassis. Orders the other three to stay back and not interfere, going to hurriedly get Dee spread out on the ground. The silver mech's huffing and moaning now, shaking like a leaf. "It'hurss..." He slurs. "It HURTS!"

Alpha Trion's seen sparklings delivered before, and has even helped some of his siblings deliver their demigods. He's not at all phased when the younging's lower half jerks, panels at his hips and pelvis transforming back with such speed it's little more than a blur. His valve is already spiraling open and gushing copious amounts of glowing pink fluid. These sparklings are coming now.

D-16 wails and cries out for, "PAX! Paaaax!" while sobbing hysterically because, "Wha's happen'ing? What's going'on? It hurts, make'itstooop!"

Despite the old Prime's warnings, Orion Pax scrambles right up to them, sliding in on his knees beside him, grabbing D-16's hand. "Dee! Dee, I'm- I'm here, d-don't worry, we'll-"

The silver mech SCREAMS and his back bows off the ground, heels scrabbling in the dirt--distantly, Orion's fingers crack and he yelps--as something huge and round breaches the rim of his valve. Bawling hysterically, he frantically strains, and with an enormous heave of effort the egg is free, plopping with a soft, wet noise to the cave floor.

D-16 goes limp and boneless, gasping for air and covered in condensation. His optics squint against the already meager light, then flicker shut a moment later, neck going limp. He cant help it, doesn't even feel it coming: suddenly exhaustion sinks it's jaws into him and he loses consciousness in a single second.

"Oh, Primus..." Alpha Trion utters the name sounding haunted, staring down in horror at what is definitely not a newborn sparkling.

"Dee?" Orion hasn't even noticed, and is now gently shaking him. "Hey, D-Dee! C'mon, wake up! S-Say something! D-16! You have to-"

He's cut off, yelping as something wraps around his middle and yanks him off the ground and away from his friend. The cave floor zooms by, both his arms and legs are dangling, and he hears Elita go, "Hey! What-"

Alpha Trion's scooped up all three of them in 10 seconds flat, already sprinting away as quickly as he can. He forcefully carries the trio into the escape tunnels, turning around only to shoot at the ceiling and bring it down to block the entrance.

"Stop, stop!" Orion yells at him. "What're you doing?! We can't just leave him! Put me down, what are you-? What about D-16?!"

...

Orion, though... he's another story. D-16 can't leave the hive. They won't let him. Try as he might to escape, the hivemind has thousands or even millions of individuals that make it up. He has no experience blocking them out, they always know what he's thinking. What he wants. What he plans to do. Any and every escape attempt is foiled before it can even begin, and no matter how he begs or screams or threatens, Galvatron has forbidden him from leaving. No one is to let Megatron outside, not for any reason. He's a very young princess, he needs to be under strict guard 24/7, and well... he's the queen mother's baby. Galvatron missed all of his life up until this point, thanks to the quintessons and Sentinel, and he's not exactly keen on letting any more time slip away. He intends to keep Megatron under lock and key, for the forseeable future if not forever.

And Orion, he's caught right in the middle. He can't possibly just leave Dee here! Sure, they may be his birth family, but holding him hostage is cruel! And- And if Galvatron will only let them go on account of them not being able to return, then how can he go to Iacon with their proof? Just abandon his best and most beloved friend, and possibly never see him again? It's unthinkable! But he also can't just leave Iacon to squander and suffer under their false Prime's rule... Primus, what can he do?!

Galvatron tells him very seriously that the only way he can have both is to assimilate. Let the queen turn him, become one with the hive, and he can be allowed to wander provided he can keep himself safe and not be a liability by being captured, by quintesson or Sentinel's forces.

Elita tries to talk him out of it. Saying he can't be serious. He'd willingly become one of those- those things?! The monsters thay burst out of an unwilling mecha's chassis, quintesson abominations that aren't cybertronians and have no business even being on their planet?!

Orion very quietly asks her if she remembers what Alpha Trion said. No son or daughter of Primus is born without a cog. The morphs all very clearly have the ability to transform. She snaps that they dont know they were born with cogs! For all they know, all the cogs Sentinel has been ripping from the newborns has been given to these creatures! They don't know what actually happens to the t-cogs after the removal, so it's not an impossibility. "You can't honestly think they're- that they're like us."

"But they are! So much more like us than we'd have ever thought. Elita, they- they love each other and work hard to-"

"Pax, I do not wanna hear it! Listen to yourself! You saw what that thing did, you know how they're born-"

"The way someone is born doesn't matter! Whether they came from a hot spot or from their carrier's valve or someone's chassis doesn't make them any better or worse than anyone else!" Orion blows out a tense breath and runs his servos over his helm. "Elita, please," he all but begs. "I can't pick between him and this," he raises his forearm, where their gifted proof from Alpha Trion still resides. "I- I can't. I don't have to. If I do this, I can- everybody will-"

Elita-1 slaps a servo over her optics with a sharp clang, denta clenched so hard her jaw audibly creaks. "You're an idiot," she seethes, sounding angry and miserable at the same time. "A Primus-forsaken moron."

"...I'm sorry, Elita, I- I really am-"

"Shut up," her servo darts out and snatches the capsule from his arm. He doesn't try to stop her. "Just... shut up. If you wanna stay here and turn into one of those, be my guest. But I am going home, and I am going to fix this. With or without you, Pax."

Orion swallows. "I- I'll be there as soon as I-"

"No," she shoves a stern finger in his face. "I meant what I said before. I will not have any of those things in Iacon. That includes you."

"Wh-" he blinks, optics widening as a feeling of cold dread begins to bubble from deep in his chassis. "Wait, what are you-"

Elita's optics are cold and narrow, brows pinned low and corners of her mouth downturned. Her teeth are still clenched, and both fists are curled at her sides. She looks damn near hateful in her conviction, and it startles him. She'd always been very domineering and strict and even a bit mean sometimes with her biting words and short, prompt remarks, but he'd never seen her like this. She looks afraid under it all, so achingly afraid, and that's somehow even more offputting than the words coming out of her mouth.

"If you turn yourself into one of those things and you come back to Iacon, I'll ship your aft back up here on the next train, and if you come back again, I will put you in the ground."

The words are calmly spoken but there's such potent anger stinging at every syllable. It seeps out of every word. Orion takes a step back. "I, but- Elita!" He clasps his servos desperately. "Come on, this is the only way! We can't just leave Dee here."

"Yes," she shoots back coldly. "We can. You notice that thing on his head?"

Again, Orion blinks. Why was she-?

"Exactly the same as the big one making the eggs. Every other one we've seen has hadthe cylinder head, except those two. Now what do you suppose that means, Orion?"

"Um... genetics?"

"NO! Bolts-for-brains! It means someday D-16 is going to get that big, and he's going to be making those helmhuggers! If we bring him back to Iacon, who do you think is going to end up as their hosts?!"

"D-16 would never do that!" He argues immediately. "He loves Iacon, it's our home! He wouldn't do that to us-"

"You don't know that, Pax! You didn't even know what he was until recently--you don't actually know him at all! The D-16 you're so obsessed with isn't real! He played you, he played all of us! He's not a miner, he's not even cybertronian, you don't know what he'll do!"

"I know he wouldn't do that!" Orion's hurt has shifted to anger, indignant at the accusations slung against Dee. "Look, he- it doesn't matter what species he is, he's still the Dee we know and love, and I trust him. He would never hurt us, Elita, and I wouldn't either. I..." hurt bleeds into his voice. "I can't believe you think I would."

She heaves a tense, exhausted sigh. "I don't think you would," she admits somberly after a moment. "I think what you might become would. Pax, try to look at this neutrally: this is a huge gamble, one that Iacon can't afford. If we lead them straight to the city, and they are putting up a ruse, then everyone will die. Everyone! Every last person, and it would be our fault. We can't take this risk," her optics flicker with unspoken pain. "I can't let you take the risk."

Orion's shoulders drop, and he leans back against the wall. Primus, what an impossible gambit. He doesn't feel like he can untangle himself from this mess and look at it subjectively: D-16 has been part of his life basically forever. They had both become miners just a few cycles after being forged. Dee was, by no exaggeration, his oldest and dearest friend. There's no universe where he could actually just abandon him here. Galvatron had made it abundantly clear: if they were going to leave, it was going to be through a subterranean tunnel lined with lead as thick as a mech's helm. It would take them to a place on the surface that was nondescript, and they wouldn't be able to utilize plantary navigation signals for at least a couple miles. It wouldn't be strictly impossible to find your way back to the general area, but by the time they could actually find it again, the tunnels would long be collapsed and filled in. The hive would have time to move their queen, and likely would as soon as they were gone. They were excellently hidden and intended to remain as such. They wouldn't allow themselves to be found. If Orion left with Elita and B-127, he wouldn't see D-16 again. Ever. But if he stayed here, he'd have no choice but to be transmutated into one of them, and...

Perhaps he could see Elita's point. He'd become almost desensitized to the strange creatures: their bobbing movements and bouncing steps from digitgrade legs were strange enough, but the countless silent little clones of Galvatron--drones, they were called--had made everyone uncomfortable in the beginning. Orion was so focused on his worry for D-16, however, had soon banished them to the corner of his mind. Now, they didn't bother him. But... when he thought about the cybermorph birth they had witnessed, he feels sick. The poor mech's optics had bulged, he'd clawed at his chassis and screamed like it was the worst pain of his life. Then, his chassis erupted, bright light of his spark shining out as a shrieking, snake-like creature rose from the gaping wound. The poor host was left gargling his own energon and twitching pathetically. It was a sickening sight to witness for sure. That was normal for these people. Would he think it was normal if he became one of them? He doesn't know, and that... kind of scares him.

He still trusts D-16, one hundred percent, but... if their unifying hivemind was really so great, could it bend an individual's thoughts and opinions like that? Could it possibly make D-16 and his hive as a whole a threat to Iacon? No... no, definitely not! Dee would never, regardless of anything as powerful and all consuming as the hivemind. It's impossible.

But Elita doesn't know Dee like he does--to be fair, she is (was) their boss. She doesn't know either of them particularly well on a personal level--so perhaps it's unfair to expect she have such unbridled faith in him. They had gotten her fired, after all.

"...ok," he sighs and rubs his forehelm. "Look, I get it. You're worried about Iacon, and I'm worried about Iacon. You think I or we or whoever is gonna hurt Iacon. I don't want that, you don't want that. So let's just try, please, to work with each other. What do I have to do to get you to not shoot me when I come back?"

She frowns. "So you're still planning to do it?"

"Elita, please!" He begs. "Work with me here! I don't want things to be like this. We both want what's best for Iacon-"

"This is what's best for Iacon!" She snaps, gesturing angrily at the capsule of sand. "That!" She waves an aggressive arm at the wall he's leaning on, sculpted of resin. It's silver and sharp and menacing looking. "Is not! This is not! He is not! You becoming one of them is not what's best for Iacon! Do you hear yourself, Pax?! They were specifically made to destroy us! Iacon doesn't need another cybermorph, it needs to know the truth! If you wanted what was best for Iacon, we wouldn't be standing here arguing right now. If you wanted wbat was best for Iacon, we'd have already left and be making headway by now! But no, you'd rather stay here and turn yourself into a monster just because your boyfriend is one!"

"HEY! Dee is not my- h-he's not a-"

"Can it," her shoulders sag, though her optics are defiant. "If that's your choice, then I'm leaving. We're leaving," only then does Orion notice a mortified B-127 peering out from a doorway behind Elita. The last thing she says to him is, "Goodbye, Orion... please, don't make me have to shoot you someday."

...

WOW this got really fucking long and dramatic lmfao. I almost dont wanna tag this as morph content cuz it's just me rambling about these 2 idiots fighting. I feel for Elita man, this feels like such a huge betrayal for her. Orion's not only turning his back on their fellow cogless, but on all of cybertronian kind as well. She's hurt and terrified and angry, I just wanna give her a weighted blanket and a warm coco

Orion is the one who wakes up first, as you can expect. Suddenly he's blasted with consciousness and he flies into an upright position, servos slapping and scrabbling at his face, spark pulsing in panic. What was that, what was that, oh Primus-

Then, his optics fall on the prone form of D-16. He's bigger now, much bigger, and so different. He's lying there in what Orion can only assume is his alt mode, and it's unlike any mode he's ever seen before. His- His legs have changed so now his knees bend backwards. Digitigrade, that's the word, his disguntled processor distantly supplies. There's these things jutting out of his back, long, tubelike structures, and there's an extra, tiny pair of arms sprouting out from his chassis. His helm has changed drastically, and lying on his side Orion can see there's a long, strange crest now framing and protecting him. His face remains, peaking out from the guards, frightfully still. When he hesitantly grabs Dee's servo, it's got six fingers, and is cold. Too cold.

"Dee?" Orion carefully shakes him. He doesn't move. Doesn't so much as twitch. Orion stared at his chassis, and realizes he's not moving. At all. He can't hear the hum of his systems, can't hear his ventillation system. "Dee...? Dee?! Hey, c-come on, wake up! Answer me... Dee! Dee please, wake up, y-you have to wake up! Dee! DEE!"

Desperate, he shakes the other mech's shoulders, but there's still no response. Tears burn at Orion's optics and he drops his audial onto D-16's chassis. Optics closed tight, he gulps and listens as closely as he can, trying to calm the frightened wheezing of his own vents. Please, please, please let his spark still be there...! "Please," he begs, curling over him. "Please, Primus... don't take him away! Not like this! I- I wasn't even here for him!"

Behind him, B-127 suddenly jerks online with yowling and full body flailing, "GET IT OFF GET IT OFF GETITOFF-!" he rolls twice in the dirt and comes up on his knees, servos pressing into his chassis and patting at his face. "What was that oh my Primes what was that thing ohmyPrimus Orion you're ok what happened what attacked us wha-"

"SHHHHH!" Orion doesn't mean to snap, but he's trying not to panic. He presses his fingers to D-16's neck, to his wrist, anywhere he thinks he might be able to find evidence of a sparkpulse. "Shhh, Bee please! I- I gotta-"

Bee covers his mouth with both hands, optics wide and horrified as he sees D-16's state. "Is..." he whispers. "Is he...?!"

"I dunno, I- I don't know! Dee, please, don't do this to me! I need you, don't you know how much I need you?! Dee, come on-"

B-127 hesitantly crawls over, shuffling on his knees, tears already glossing over his optics. For once he's speechless, looking over their friend horrific, comatose form. He digs out another tiny block of energon and holds ot out to Orion, hoping that... that maybe...?

Orion snatches it, desperate, and when he goes to open D-16's mouth he finds... Primus, he doesn't even know what it is. His glossa is thicker, longer, more rectangular, and appears to have teeth on the end! There's no time to ponder though, he just squishes the energon between his fingers and carefully slips it into his mouth, lifting his helm so it'll get down his throat to his fuel siphon, and then-

D-16's body jerks and he suddenly gives a low, torturous groan of pain, tears emerging from beneath his optic lids before he's even fully online. "Ow-!" He yelps, hoarse snd throat. "Ow ow ow-"

"DEE!" Orion throws his arms around him and D-16 all but wails in pain. "Oh Dee, thank goodness, you're ok-"

"I am NOT ok!" He whimpers. "It hurts, it hurts, g-get off me, pleeeaaase!"

"Oh-! I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

Orion relinquishes his hold and D-16 goes limp on the cave floor. He's panting shallowly, and the tubes on his back expand and contract with every breath. He clenches his teeth, jaw visibly trembling as he sobs in sheer, torturous exhaustion. "Wh..." he coughs and winces. "What happened? I feel like... I'm d- d-dying!"

"You're not dying, y-you're gonna be just fine!" Orion promises, hesitating only a moment before grabbing his hand. "We- Alpha Trion, he- it doesn't matter, I'm here now, we're all here, we're gonna help you-"

Suddenly, Orion coughs. His expression turns pinched. His free hand drifts up to touch his chassis, and he coughs. A droplet of glowing blue energon spatters at the corner of his mouth, and his optics widen. "I... don't feel- HGK-!"