Transformers Prime: Stay Tuned

Chapter Seven: Walking Across Coals

 The trip back to the city was silent. Defeat was heavy in the air, it was suffocating. Optimus felt sick as the others watched him carefully, exchanging looks of sympathy. They had failed to rescue Ratchet, and now their only card to play was seeing to the demands. Optimus prayed it would simply be a ransom, something they could quickly pay to return Ratchet safely.

They made it back to the Nemesis safely, where Optimus hurried to the datapad, where a document containing all of the demands waited. Everyone sat back down at the table, quiet, staring at him expectantly. Only moments after they had seated themselves, Bulkhead hurried in, taking his own seat and throwing down a datapad in frustration. "Everything is a damn mess," he muttered. "You didn't find him?"

"They knew we were coming, somehow." Bumblebee crossed his arms. "They must have picked up the ship's signal, somehow."

"The Jackhammer should've gone undetected. It's signal can only be found by Autobot origin." Wheeljack shook his helm. He reached into his subspace, and retrieved a glowing pink energon cube. Optimus stared at him sharply.

"Really? You're going to get drunk right now?" Arcee snapped.

"I'm not going to get drunk, I'm going to have a drink." The wrecker snapped right back, taking a long, defiant swig.

"Obviously the Jackhammer wasn't cloaked, how else would they have known?" Kickback muttered, frustration clear on his features. "Did you forget to activate the cloaking system?"

Wheeljack took great offense to that, slamming the cube down and turning on the Insecticon quickly. "I wasn't born yesterday, obviously I turned the fucking thing on," he snarled.

"I don't even know what 'fucking' is, but I do know that you just cost us getting Ratchet back!" Meeting his furious optics, Kickback pushed right back. "You had to have messed up the cloaking somehow, they-"

"Let me stop you right there, I'm not taking criticism from a bug, so don't waste your breath." The white mech raised a condescending servo to silence him. "You're turbines are in a twist because Ratchet isn't around for you to gawk at anymore, don't pretend like you're one of us."

"Jackie!" Bulkhead gaped.

Optimus rose from his seat abruptly, halting the argument. "Enough, this behavior is unacceptable. Wheeljack, I do not want to hear you speak to Kickback, or anyone, like this again. We have reached an age of acceptance, bigotry has no home here. Furthermore, I will not grant you a seat at the table if high grade is going to be involved." He thundered, optics narrowing sharply.

"Go cool off." Bulkhead nudged the white mech, who refused to look away from Kickback. "Please."

As loud as possible, Wheeljack stood up, and stormed out, scoffing and muttering to himself. Kickback sighed, covering his face for a moment. "Should I also go?" He asked quietly.

"No. Your presence has been helpful thus far." Optimus shook his helm, tiredly crumbling back to his seat. He was exhausted, having not slept since the morning Ratchet was taken.

"Maybe you should rest." Bumblebee said kindly.

The Prime shook his helm again, taking the datapad into his shaky servos and activating it. The screen lit up, and he found himself gazing at the list, anxiety pricking up in his field. Dread filled him, and his chest and throat felt painfully tight. They were bulleted, simple and clean, each demand written with details and deadlines just below.

Supply dark energon.

Thousands of pounds worth, processed into cubes. Two weeks.