[video] + 001

[asafepairofhands]

[The feed cuts on to show a Cybertronian with a red and white helm, blue optics, and what appears to be a habitually irritated expression on his face. His voice is brisk and no-nonsense.]

This is Ratchet, former Chief Autobot Medical Officer. I've been assigned here as a field medic, apparently, though I'm volunteering to lend my hand in the medical bay on the ship in my off-time. I have no idea where we are or what happened to get us here, which I can deal with considering everything else that's happened the last year or so, but I really don't like not knowing the effects this "Ingress" [brings bright red hands, chipped in places to reveal specks of blue paint, up to add scarequotes] thing may have had on us, so I want people in for checkups.

Autobots, since there seem to be some of you on the ship, I'm assuming I'm still ranking medical officer here so I'm making that an order--report to Moro deck room 022 earliest. Non-Autobots... I obviously can't order you to do anything, but barring any wild extenuating circumstances you're welcome to drop by for a systems check also. You won't be turned away out of hand.

I specialize in non-organic medicine so if there are any non-Cybertronians on board who fit that bill, I can't promise anything, but I'll take a look. If you're strictly organic, you should probably just hit the regular medibay, but I've got some experience and I won't turn you away if you want to come here instead for whatever reason.

Any current medical officers seeing this, I'd like to talk supplies and if I can get put on rotation--I have a holomatter avatar, same as the others, so I'll fit just fine. Unless any of you expect my field medic duties to take up the majority of my time, in which case I would like a much more thorough briefing on what the fresh hell is going on here.

Ratchet out.

Comments

[asafepairofhands]

[Ratchet pauses for a beat, patiently, before his helm tips back and he laughs, for a slightly longer period than is strictly polite.]

Yeah? Bumblebee, huh? Go on, kid, tell me another.

[heelys]

[the longer that Ratchet laughs the more awkward and fidgety Bee gets.]

That wasn't a joke, y'know. And that just proves you're not Ratchet even more--he totally doesn't have a sense of humour.

[asafepairofhands]

[Ratchet's face shifts, all the humor draining out of it to leave his expression flat and hard.]

You want to talk about 'imposters'? The Bumblebee I know was shot to death by Shockwave a few months ago. I examined the body myself. So why don't you try again and tell me who you really are before you accuse anyone else of being an imposter?

[heelys]

Uhh, well, I don't remember getting shot so you got me there!

[asafepairofhands]

[Ratchet blows warm air from his vents in a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose hard for a moment, getting hold of his temper.]

Look, it probably has something to do with the fact that there are two Starscreams here, and someone calling herself Arcee that I didn't recognize. I'm not sure we're all taken from the same place.

[heelys]

[Bumblebee squints.]

I mean, technically back home there's six Starscreams right now...

[asafepairofhands]

I--what?

[Ratchet drops all other pretense of emotion to just look utterly repelled.]

That sounds horrible. Are they all as frigging shrill as the one I've been dealing with?

[heelys]

Pretty much?

As far as we can tell they're like, protoforms he's cloned of himself and they all have aspects of his personality? Like, ones a compulsive liar, ones scared of everything, one is mad or has righteous fury or something I dunno we didn't exactly take their names down when we were fighting them.

[he frowns a moment, wondering briefly what happened to Blurr and the two Starscreams that fell through that portal.]

But yeah, they are all awful.

[asafepairofhands]

Eugh. What a disaster. Well, we usually only have the one, and he's bad enough, so I don't envy you.

But you don't look much like the Bee I know either, so I think that's the most likely explanation.

[heelys]

Yeah. You look really different to my Ratchet, too. [SAD BEE IS SAD.]

Soooo, I totally get out of this check-up, though right?

[asafepairofhands]

No.

[heelys]

You're not the boss of me.

[asafepairofhands]

Oh, aren't I? Feel free to not get inoculated against the Iaconian Rust Plague and fall to pieces, then, go on.

[heelys]

--Woah woah woah, wait. Iaconian what?

[asafepairofhands]

No, no, you're right--I can't make you do anything, I suppose. Anyway, you're probably fine, y'know. As long as you've been inoculated. Nothing to worry about, statistically speaking.

Anyway, see you later, I guess. Probably.

[heelys]

Wait! What happens if i'm not inoculated? I gotta know! I'm not gonna die am I?

[asafepairofhands]

Oh, well. [Ratchet purses his lips judiciously.] It's a very long technical explanation, and I have people who actually want medical treatment to take care of, Bee.

If you're really that interested, why don't you drop by?

[heelys]

Hold up, Doc-bot!! You can't just leave me hanging like this! What if I infect half the ship?! What if I die getting to your room this is an emergency!?

[asafepairofhands]

It's no problem for organics. And you wouldn't die on your way here, it takes sixteen hours, at least.

See you later, Bee.

Action

[heelys]

[Not less than five minutes later, Bumblebee bursts into Ratchet's room, cooling fans on their highest setting and engines revving because he totally just drove here as fast as he could. He stumbles in, taking a moment to recover from the drive and panic, staring up at Ratchet with wide, anxious eyes.]

Doc-bot! How bad is it? Am I gonna die?!

action!!

[asafepairofhands]

[Ratchet snorts, eyeing him.]

Oh, did you want a check-up after all, then?

[heelys]

[Wow. This Ratchet is a lot bigger than Ratchet's he's used to. He's not going to get over this anytime soon. Why is he so small all of a sudden? He's not even that small back home!]

Well, yeah! If I have the plauge!!

[asafepairofhands]

Only way I'll know is to check. C'mon and sit down.

[heelys]

[Bumblebee awkwardly shifts in place for a moment, before moving to sit down, fingers shifting uncomfortably as he tries not to convince himself that he's dying.]

--But I won't die, right?

[asafepairofhands]

No, kid, you're not gonna die.

[Now Ratchet almost feels bad. ...almost.]

Just sit still for a minute, if that's even possible.