Protector (TFP)

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇɪɢʜᴛ -ᴅɪꜱᴇᴀꜱᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍɪɴᴅ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ-

"Optimus!" Ratchet's voice drew the Prime's attention away from the scene, and his gaze landed on that of the Medic. Ratchet was kneeling over one of the bodies, the green light from his scanner washing over it.

"These Autobots didn't perish in the crash." Ratchet stood, taking quick steps toward Optimus. "They're displaying the effects of a virus." Optimus turned away as realization filled him.

"This is a plague ship." He revealed gravely. He stepped toward a body, but Ratchet swiftly stopped him, placing a hand on his chest.

"Don't touch anything," Ratchet warned, his optics landing on the Energon pool before him. "The virus could still be active." He finished wearily. The ship rumbled, the tremor more powerful than before. They waved their arms to keep their balance, but it didn't little to help. They both fell to the wall with a painful grunt, their backs clanging against the metal.

Once the grumbles of the ship stopped, Optimus lifted himself, and he was about to ask Ratchet if he was okay when the sounds of metal sliding stopped him. His attention moved upward, and he shined his flashlight on the pipes. Stuck in the ceiling was another dead body, his mouth hanging open in a silent scream.

Before the Prime could react, a few droplets of Energon landed on his head and neck. Optimus groaned, moving his arms to prevent any more from falling onto him, but it was too late. The infected Energon had already found its mark. Ratchets optics widened, his faceplates shifting into an expression of horror.

"No." The Medic whispered.

* * * * * *

"Thanks for your purchase! I hope you have a good rest of your day." I grinned, sliding the tiny wooden box toward the customer. With a curt nod, they grabbed the antique and left, leaving the shop empty again. My forced smile fell as the door closed, my stiff posture fading with a small breath.

With one glance, you could tell I was tired. If the bags under my eyes didn't say enough, how my eyelids fought to stay open was a good indicator. My body and mind ached from last week's events, and I couldn't stop the slight shudder that ran up my spine whenever I thought of Arachnid. Her purple optics still invaded my thoughts, and every time I closed my eyes, I could still hear the words she said to me.

Yet another thing to lose sleep over. I thought bitterly, my fingers tapping against the counter below me. Not to mention all the cuts and bruises I had gotten on my body had healed alarmingly. And instead of confronting the strange things happening around me, I happily ignored them in hopes everything would return to normal.

Was this healthy? No, it wasn't. But as they say, ignorance is bliss, and for now, my mental health was better off thinking I was normal. Though I knew that was nothing more than a pipe dream considering my life was anything less than average.

No regular teenager has to deal with potentially getting killed by Decepticons on a daily basis. I thought, brushing the nonexistent dust off the counter before me. Before I could dwell on my pessimistic thoughts any longer, a sudden vibration tickled my leg. After one look to ensure there weren't any customers, I pulled my phone from the confines of my pocket.

One message from Golden Eyes.

Are you still at work?

I snorted at the name, opening the notification with a barely noticeable smile.

Yeah. I don't get off for another 30 minutes.

What are you doing?