Transformers Regenerated: Unicron Saga XV, Chapter Two

EDITED 6/23/2017 Changed some names of the Delphi patients around, just in case I need to use certain characters.

CHAPTER TWO

--The Lost Light--

    "You've opened up a bar."

    "I know, isn't it great?" Swerve said with a huge grin as he cleaned out a mug. "I was exploring around when I found this room with an engex distillery. Add a few tables, some booths here and there, and voila!"

    Skids looked around the bar. Besides him and Swerve, only Nightbeat was at the bar, sitting huddled in a corner while reading a datapad.

    "I don't think we have a big enough crew to run the ship and fill up a bar," he commented.

    "Not to worry! I heard Elita say that we might be picking up wayward 'bots seeking refuge from the 'Cons. This place will be bustling with activity in no time."

    Skids raised an optic ridge. "Does Elita even know about this bar?"

    "No. I mean, not yet. But don't worry, it'll be fine. It's fine."

    "Right. Well, good luck with that. If you need me, I'll be chatting with the Duobots. They're pretty much the only mechs I know on this ship." Skids started to leave the bar but stopped when a small yellow service droid on treads rolled past him. Had he not done a double take, he could have sworn it had been someone else....

*  *  *

    "About time you got here."

    "Sorry, Brainstorm," Nautica said as she entered Brainstorm's workshop. "I got held up by Riptide. He's almost as bad a chatterbox as Swerve."

    "Uh-huh," Brainstorm responded, completely disinterested. "Did you get the tachyon transmitter?"

    "Yup. Here you go." She handed him a box-shaped device with two prong-like antennae. "What's it for again?"

    "My newest invention, of course: the Prime Tracker!"

    "Um, right." Nautica tapped her chin. "And what does it do?"

    "Well, provided that everything goes smoothly and nothing blows up, it'll allow us to track the Matrix of Leadership's energy signature and thus find Optimus Prime."

    "Ah, brilliant! When will it be ready?"

    Brainstorm thought for a moment. "Oh, about a year, give or take a few months."

    Nautica's optics widened. "A year?! Brainstorm, we don't have a year. The Decepticons and their new overlords are working towards some kind of catastrophic endgame. We need to find Optimus as soon as possible!"

    "Hey, you can't rush art, hon," Brainstorm said curtly. "I want to find Prime as much as the next person, but I can't just wave a magic wand and make all of the parts I need appear. Unless...."

    "Unless what?"

    "Unless I can get my hands on a Class Seven wavelength transmitter. It's pretty much all I need for the Prime Tracker in one package; all it needs is the tachyon transmitter hooked up to it."

    "Is a wavelength thingamajig easy to come by?"

    Brainstorm snorted. "If it was, you wouldn't need to ask me."

    Nautica huffed. "Any idea where we can find one then?"

    Brainstorm thought for a moment. "Well, now that I think about it, they might have one at Delphi."

    "Delphi?"

    "A medical facility on Messatine. I made a quick stop there once and saw them hooking up a transmitter. It might have been a wavelength...."

    "You think they'll let us take it?"

    "It's for the sake of Optimus slaggin' Prime. Of course they will."

--Delphi, Messatine--

    The Autobot who called himself Medix was nervous. News had recently reached via an emergency signal that Cybertron had been taken by the Decepticons and that the Autobots were on the run. Since then, Delphi had become more of a refuge than a medical facility. None of their patients had been released and they were taking even more in. 

    But those were the least of his worries.

    Messatine was incredible close to Decepticon territory, to the point of it being contested grounds. At some point during the war, the two factions had reached a compromise which allowed the Autobots to have a medical facility while the Decepticon Justice Division ran operations everywhere else on the planet.

    But now that the Decepticons had taken over, there was little telling when the D.J.D. would be bringing down Delphi's doors and killing everyone inside.

    The Decepticon spy known as Makeshift was nervous.

*  *  *

    Alarms blared throughout the base. Everyone was too busy to shut them off manually, leaving it to Ambulon to disable them with a gunshot. He then looked down at his patient and saw that their condition had only worsen during the few seconds he had looked away from them.

    "We're loosing Backstreet!" he cried. "The rust has corroded his joints; limbs are falling off."

    "Dodger is no better," First Aid said glumly. "In fact, we've just lost him."

    Ambulon gritted his teeth as he struggled to keep Backstreet alive, to no avail. Left with no options, he watched as the Triggerbot's spark shrunk down to a pinpoint before going out entirely.

    He kicked the repair slab furiously. "This ward is starting to look more like a morgue each second."

    "Tell me about it," First Aid said as he looked upon the room with sorrow. "I don't think we can save anyone in here."

    "I thought you were supposed to be the optimist." Even as he said that, Ambulon knew that his fellow medic was right. Whatever this new, unknown aliment was, there was no way they could cure its victims.

    "It all started with the Big Bang."

    Both doctors turned to see their colleague Medix standing in the entrance to the ward. The white and orange mech had his arms crossed, a downcast look on his faceplate.

    "Like a sonic-boom of death," the medic went on. "It came out of nowhere and, before you know it, everyone's crying themselves to death. It's some sort of sign, I tell you."

    "Yeah, yeah, cut the slag and get back to work," Ambulon said. "Dogfight and Roulette are still online; maybe we can impede the virus before it's too late."

    Medix simply shook his head, rueful. "It's no use. If 'bots like Schema or Dodger couldn't make it, what hope does anyone else have?"

    "Don't say that, Medix," First Aid said sternly. "We can't just abandon our patients!"

    "I'm not suggesting that we should," Medix hastily clarified. "I'm just saying... there's little we can do for them. We don't even know what this disease is. It's worse than Cosmic Rust."

    Ambulon sighed, running a metal hand over his face. "Go get Pharma. He'll know what to do."

    Medix shifted his feet. "Actually, that's why I came over here."

    "What are you talking about?"

    "Pharma's missing."

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    "Do you believe in the Necrobot?"