"You heard the medic Optimus." That voice was familiar, a low growl, the deep sub-harmonics underlying the main tone... I should know who it is.
"He saved my life." Gratitude coloured the transmission, the glyphs a vibrant gold, a perfect match to the vocalised portion of the communication.
I don't remember that.
"And he should be honoured for that, not kept here." Here? Where? Beeps and wails of machinery... Medbay? Why such disgust? Glyphs rife with so many negative modifiers. Whoever the mech is, he doesn't think being in the medbay is a good plan.
That doesn't make much sense. If I got hurt it's the first place I'd want to be, Ratchet can fix just about anything.
"They say his processor might self repair, who am I to take that chance away?" What? Self repair? Why not just fix it?
Something isn't right... something?
I know I have a glitch, but my processor isn't damaged.
At least, I don't think it is.
I need to see who's talking, need to see where I am.
Warnings scrawl across my processor now that I have turned my attention to actively attempting to activate my optics.
Opening my optics may be dangerous?
That's a new one I've never had before.
I delete it without another thought, clearly my warning system has been compromised and is sending irregular reports.
Yes, at least I hope it is, my optics are still refusing to focus correctly and even this close as he leans over me he is a blur.
I shudder as a high level scan washes over my frame, teasing it's way through my electromagnetic field, leaving a tingling charge in its aftermath.
"Can we speak with him?" Prime. I must be damaged if he has come to visit. I wonder what I did? Must have been quite spectacular for me to come off this badly and for Prime himself to be visiting.
Ratchet steps back, a pad in hand, to consult with... First Aid?
No, the helm is all wrong.
That can't be right. Slag, but my optics must actually be broken.
"I suppose you can try." Ratchet finally says as the Knockout look-alike disappears with the pad.
"Red? Red Alert?" Prime, his glyphs a soft glow of purple, all concern, hope and a vague regret as he steps forward.
One hand reaching out to rest on my arm, sensors registering the contact as his field swirls around me, remorse showing much more clearly as he stares down at me.
And behind him, the other mech.... Slag!
Have to warn him. Have to let Prime know. He's in danger.
No. He must know. He's right there. Here.
"What the slag did you say to him?" Sharp, spiky, irritated, the glyph sequence is typical Ratchet in medic mode as the expected scan follows his tightly controlled transmission.
But... doesn't he care about the enemy that is right there?
"We didn't say anything! He just glitched as soon as we stepped forward." Prime protests as Ratchet pushes him back.
Not glitched. More errors as I try to send the indignant reply, red tinged glyphs dancing in front of my optics. But no further as I can't transmit them.
Why not? Out loud then? No, just more warnings. I can't even move, my limbs as secure as if they were welded to the berth.
Not glitched. I'm not. Just... doing my job. Panicking is a perfectly reasonable reaction when the enemy Warlord is stood right behind the Prime. But I can't tell them that. Need to tell them.
"Scrap. We're losing him again."
But I'm right here.
I'm not going anywhere.
"Red. Red. Easy, calm down, you took a nasty hit in the last skirmish." I still as I register that my limbs are mine to control again and the crunch was my arm impacting the medic's plating.
"Ratchet." No warnings, transmitter and vocaliser working as normal.
And only Ratchet is in view, no Decepticon imitation medic around to try and fool me.
"Megatron?" I have to ask.
"Recovered by Soundwave, your suicidal leap pushed his fusion cannon away from Optimus and gave us time to rally to you." He didn't pause in scanning me as he spoke. "What's got your systems all worked up?"
"Just a bad stasis flux.” I settled back into the mesh padding on the berth. "Just a bad flux."