| abstract | - EDC HQ - Shuttle Control - Of all the EDC HQ satellite bases, Area 51 shows the least amount of change from its previous state. Area 51, smack in the middle of the blazing Nevada heat, contains numerous above ground facilities and three Cybertonium landing strips. From the ground, Earth Defense Command shuttlecraft and other aerospace vehicles can be seen taking off and landing at all hours of the day. From afar, a powerful cloaking field hides their presence and confuses long range sensors into thinking normal military craft are here. Unlike the other satellite bases, Area 51 does not hide its existence; instead it hides what it truly is. Most believe it still under the control of the United States Air Force. The base's command center leads directly to the underground GroundBridge terminal connecting it to the rest of EDC HQ, and work with them to monitor the state of all EDC vehicles around the globe. Its defenses are the most conventional of them all, with massive anti-air laser turrets, missile batteries, long range radar dishes, and a whole host of tanks and soldiers here to defend the base. Blurr is out running around yet again, zooming across the Nevadan desert and kicking up a storm of sand behind him. But he had taken a lot of punishment back in Cairo last solar cycle. Streetwise had shown up, but not before the speedster had taken quite the beating from both Needlenose and Cackle. Still, if you asked him, he showed 'em up pretty well. But, alas, he finds himself exhausted and leaking badly, out the middle of the desert. <> he chastises himself inwardly, though he'd never admit it to anyone but himself. Area 51 can be seen nearby, but he is too exhausted to make it there. Blurr collapses against a rock, stasis lock threatening to take over his body. It isn't long before a rather nondescript trio of EDC soldiers on a foot patrol sight Blurr. He /could/ be a Decepticon trick. Relations with the Autobots aren't /great/... but they radio him into base to get some aerial surveillance, and then they approach on foot. One hallos, "Autobot Blurr?" Blurr does not answer, remaining motionless. It's quite obvious that he is in bad shape. Looked as if he'd been in a rough tussle recently. Energon stains the sand-covered ground around him. He's vaguely aware of someone calling his name, but is too drained to respond. The three soldiers approach more closely, and they hallo again carefully, "Autobot Blurr, can you recite the counter-code? We need to verify your identity. Charlie Zebra Alpha Tango...?" Blurr twitches slightly. Was that...the EDC? Could the Autobots still trust them? Hopefully...he didn't really have a choice right now. What were they asking? The counter-code? Oh...what was it now, 'charlie--zebra--Alpha--Tango--... "...a-alpha?" The soldiers look at each other, and one says, scratching his chin, "...well, that's the /start/ of the counter-code." The other says, "The 'bot looks like death. Don't think we'll get the rest of it out of him. Let's just get a tow truck out here and get him over to one of the motorpools. We'll keep security on alaert, just in case." "You sure about taking him back?" "If he blows the base up, you can say, 'I told you so.'" LATER, AT THE MOTORPOOL "...so do we even have a mechanic around rated to work on these guys? I mean, this isn't your momma's beat up old station wagon," says one of the soldiers. "We can just wait around and see if the Autobot come and pick him up," opines another. "...do not worry. We do have a sufficiently rated mechanic," calls a somewhat odd voice, and Apocryphacius pokes into the cordoned-off area of the motorpool where Blurr has been brought. "...eugh. He is rather.... brightly coloured." The Quintesson pulls on his welding goggles, a set for each face. /Much better/. "...you just put him on the floor? Do you have /no/ sense of decorum? That is absolutely no way to treat a patient. Place him on one of the lifts, gently now." Once this is done, he hovers closer to the Autobot. No so scary, when they're injured, are they? Why, this Autobot even looks... manageable. Briskly, Apocryphacius declares, "Energon drip. Flatlining due to energon loss would be simply unacceptable." He locates a likely energon line on Blurr and splices in a drip, deftly and neatly. The drip does its job, and quickly. What can I say, Blurr is fast. Everything about him is fast. Talking, driving, thinking, running, even his energon lines and internal systems are fast! Hence, no more than a breem after Apocryphacius has hooked him up to the energon source, Blurr's optics light up and he bolts upward in a startled fashion. Then he grimaces, realizing that hurt terribly. And then he sees a Quintesson standing next to him with tools. /Tools/. Panic spreads across his faceplates almost as fast as he could run, and he attempts to dash away but unfortunately he was in bad enough shape that isn't able to make it very far. "P-primuswhattheslaggingwreckwhatinthenameofVectorsigmawhatwhatwhatareyoudoingtomewhathaveyoudonegetawayfrommewgetawaygetawaygetaway!!!!" And that isn't the end either, he continues to repeat what he is saying along with lost of "Nonononononononononooonononono..." etc., etc., until someone either knocks him out or otherwise shuts him up. Apocryphacius backs off, clearly surprised and more than a little bit afraid of his patient. He takes a moment to remind himself that he has repaired Autobots before. It isn't hard at all. This Autobots would have a really, really hard time hurting Apocryphacius. Right now, he's just a sapient being in pain who needs medical care. That's all that should matter. It's just so hard. Apocryphacius backs away even some more, puts away his tools, puts his his tentacle sin the air, and he says calmly and soothingly, "You were found injured and barely responsive in the desert. These EDC soldiers brought you in to the motorpool for repairs. If you would prefer, we can wait until the Autobots come to reclaim you. Your condition is stable," but severe, which he does not say. No need to stress the patient. Blurr is already obviously rather upset. Amber MacKenzie wanders in, curious to what she's overheard over broadband. Especially as an injured Autobot *here* implies that he was injured nearby, which means that he was attacked nearby, which means that she's just paranoid. She arrives in time to see the scary Quintesson back off from the panicky Autobot. "Uh... is everything okay here, Apocryphacius?" Blurr continues babbling for a good few astroseconds before he stops and looks around, seeing that he is not on Quintessa, or on a Quintesson ship, or in some dark, ominous place. In fact, he is, as Apocryphacius just mentioned, still at Area 51. At the motorpool. Now he's just confused. "Wait...waitwaitwaitwait...whattheslagisgoingonherewhat'saQuintessondoingherehuhwhyisn'thelockedupsomewherehuhwhatwhatwhatwhat?!" The speedster demands of one of the EDC soldiers. Quintessa was blown up. Being on Quintessa would involve time travel. So it's not impossible. Just implausible. One of the three soldiers looks at the others, and the third pipes up, "...uh, he works here? I mean. He's on base arrest, but as long as he doesn't try to leave EDC grounds, there aren't any others to lock him up?" He shrugs. Apocryphacius pinches the bridge of his active nose and covers his optics with another pair of tentacles, as if he has a migraine. He asides to Amber, deadpan, "I am absolutely splendid, Miss MacKenzie. As you can see." Blurr's reaction hurts. Apocryphacius has fixed how many Autobots, now? Defended them in battle? Protected /their/ planet? And their first reaction is still to insist that he needs to be locked up and throw a fit? Ugh. Autobots are /so/ juvenile. Then he pulls out some forms and says briskly, "While my medical opinion is that the sooner the treatment, the better, if you wish to refuse treatment, I have some forms that you will need to fill out, here..." Amber MacKenzie sighs and shakes her head. "The usual, I see. Blurr, Apocryphacius here is a member of the EDC and has been repairing Autobots for years, usually without any thanks, and often accompanied by insults and death threats. Yes, he's a Quintesson. Yes, the Quintessons have done Bad Things. No, they aren't all alike. No, they aren't all evil. He's one of the people responsible for saving Cybertron from being blown up." Wait...what had he been thinking just now? Quintessa? Quintessa was /gone/. Oh--that's right. Blurr begins to calm down. Slowly. "Now wait just an astrosecond here." Finally he has enough willpower available to speak at a normal pace. Yes, this /requires/ willpower for him, believe it or not. "You have a /Quintesson/ working for you?! Vector Sigma! Who made /that/ decision? That terrorist guy? No /wonder/ we were having trouble trusting you people!" But he turns to Amber when she speaks up, and listens for once. "Okay, so," he folds his arms. "And so what makes you think he's somehow any /better/ than the ones who enslaved and tortured us?" Apocryphacius 's faces shift around, and he says coldly, "General Michael Briar. He allowed me into the EDC in 2027. Which is in my freely available unclassified file if you request it, as an Autobot ally of the EDC." His classified file takes a whole lot more work to access. The Quintesson visibly flinches at the mention of torture. However, the question is for Amber, who is clearly a REAL PERSON, and Apocryphacius will let her answer it. He starts jotting down some tooling notes on the sorts of spart parts that might need to be fabricated for Blurr. The soldier just shrugs awkwardly again and says, "Yeah. That. He's been around a while now." Apocryphacius transforms into his Apocryphacius mode. Amber MacKenzie rolls her eyes. "So, what makes you think you Autobots are somehow any *better* than the Decepticons? The only difference is the symbol, right? Right? Wrong. The difference is the actions, and your actions - usually - testify that you're here to defend the Earth, not attack it. Well, *this* Quintesson's actions also testify to his intentions." She's aware that Apocryphacius has something shady in his past, but that's not the point. "Bias based on race is a very common human failing. I advise that you don't fall into the same error as we have in the past." Amber MacKenzie adds regretfully, "And continue to this day, I'm sorry to say." Yay for the UN and its definition of sapiency. At Amber's first question, Blurr looks /extremely/ offended, and he stands up off of the lift. "ExCUSE me, miss, but are you insinuating that--kkk..." Oops, overexertion. Looks like he forgot he was on the verge of stasis lock. "....." He sits back down, gripping his side and clenching his jaw before he speaks again, though this time it isn't quite as loudly. "...sure, you can say that because you're not one of us. You have /no/ idea what they did to their little 'slave-bots'. And even after we drove them off, they still tried to hunt us down and experiment on us..." Though, after having accessed the unclassified file Apocryphacius was talking about, he was calmed down a bit more. At least it /seemed/ he had a good record. But, it's hard for him to accept it. Apocryphacius steeples a pair of tentacles, even though he keeps at work a pair of other tentacles at work on doing CAD drawings of the parts that would be needed to repair Blurr. As he gets them done, he sends the drawings via WIFI to the rapid prototyping lab to have them machined. His faces shift, and he sasy softly, "I would advise against sudden movements, as a medical professional. Out of curiosity, Autobot Blurr, and I do apologise if I am intruding on any sensitive issues for you - have you ever been personally enslaved by a Quintesson? Or met someone who was?" Apocryphacius doubts that Blurr was or has. Blurr's too young. Even Kup wasn't alive during the Quintesson Oppression. Apocryphacius /bets/ that Blurr just heard about all of this from a report. Apocryphacius transforms into his Apocryphacius mode. Finally, he asks the Quint a direct question. "So, then. Apocryphacius. Why aren't you like the others?" Blurr sighs. "Well, no...but they've caused us problems before. But now /I'm/ curious. Why aren't you like the others? Why aren't you cruising around in one of those Quintesson ships with a bunch of sadistic scientific minds looking to toy with sapient life and see how it reacts to various forms of torture, huh? Why're you here helping the humans, and helping /us/?" Amber MacKenzie remains silent and lets Apocryphacius speak for himself. At least the silly Autobot is listening now instead of just reacting. Er, overreacting. Apocryphacius taps a different tentacle under his chin, since Blurr is actually speaking to him, rather than treating him as an object. "Well. I was not raised as the child of Quintessons who were violently thrown out of what had been their home for generations by their servants." He raises one tentacle warningly. "Make no mistake. Slavery is wrong. However, imagine if you were built on a world, where your creator's creators were built. Then you were thrown off it. Brutally. You lose most of your family and loved ones. More often than not, hate would grow in your mind, no matter how just the reasons for your removal. I was not raised as the child of Quintessons whose planet was destroyed by your kind - no matter how just or unjust the reasons behind the destruction, if your planet was destroyed, more often than not, hate would grow in your mind." He spreads his tentacles out. "I was raised the child of men. Humans. So I fight for their world and their causes. My superiors have allied with your kind." Blurr is silent for a while, soaking all of this in. He supposes the Quint is right. He remembers reading those history logs...the Cybertronians of that time /had/ been quite brutal, and violent--destroying all who failed to escape in time and driving the rest off into deep space, doomed to roam the cosmos for the rest of eternity. Of course, they felt it was justified in light of what the Quintessons had done to them for so many vorns. The cruel cycle of vengeance upon vengeance...it was sad, really. Finally, he sighs with resignation. "So...the humans created you?" Apocryphacius shakes a little side-to-side and sighs, "No. They merely found me. A Quintesson ship crashed on an island in the South Pacific of Earth. The adults were killed. The gestational tube I was in was cracked by the crash, and I was decanted." Does Apocryphacius /really/ have to go over this with everyone? He sends a few more CAD designs to the rapid prototyping machine. Blurr nods. "So they saved you. Huh. No wonder you work for them." He didn't /think/ the humans had the capacity to do that kind of thing. "I saved myself. Figuring out how to repair my own wounds by trial and werror was enlightening. The humans on the island provided companionship and guidance. Social interaction. A purpose to my life. If there had been no humans on the island, Earth eventually would have had the unique pleasure of discovering what a feral Quintesson child is like," Apocryphacius mutters. And this is why he has Skills: Cultural Knowledge: Tropical Islands and Survival: Wilderness. Just ask Apocryphacius to carve a fishhook out of bone. He's great at it. "Okay...right. You saved yourself. But if it hadn't been for their companionship, you'd be like a wild turbofox or something." This is going to take some getting used to. Blurr is still sort of having trouble trusting the guy, and he's still not really sure if he wants him to be the one to repair him. "Heh--well what do you know. A /good/ Quintesson. And I thought I'd seen it all." he comments. Apocryphacius ...actually chuckles and observes, "I take it that you are unfamiliar with your own creation mythology. Now, if we can put my species aside for a moment," oh, how he wishes he could just put his species aside entirely, "as a medical professional, it is my opinion that would you be better of with repairs now. However, as you are of sound mind, you may refuse repairs, in which case you get to wait here with these nice gentlemen," and he nods to the three soldiers who found Blurr, who look like they wish they were elsewhere; they are playing a game of poker, not paying attention to the conversation, "until an Autobot medic can find the time to come here and pick you up." Blurr sighs again and rubs the back of his neck cables (and when he brings his hand back out there is energon all over it). Well, Primus. This was going to be hard to say. "Look, Apocryphacius....I know you're probably a nice mech. And that you're probably not lying, otherwise the EDC wouldn't trust you like this. B-b-b-b-but I-i-i-i jjjjj-just--just--it's hard for us to get past all that. A-a-a-a-and so I think I'll just wait for First Aid or s-s-s-s-someone..." Unfortunately, Blurr's systems run so fast when he is conscious that in the state he's in, it is quickly exhausted and only causes extra strain leading to his condition worsening at an ever-increasing pace. Thus, his vocal processor is glitching badly and static laces his words. Apocryphacius puts down his datapad and opens up his radio. Then he says quietly and soothingly, "Autobot Blurr, your condition requires some attention. I am sorry. There is no one else on this base currently rated to tend your kind. I am going to see if an Autobot will come out here sooner rather than later, but I do need to stabilise you now. It would be a miscarriage of medicine to put your life in danger. Again, I apologise. I am going to looks for slow leaks and short-circuits first." Having clearly explained what he intends to do, he picks up his tools and - making no sudden movements, he starts to check for leaks and short circuits. Blurr starts to protest but but is ultimately too weak too do so. Suddenly he collapses back down onto the lift and the monitoring equipment starts to flatline. ...bip...bip......bip.......bip.................bip..............bip.............beeee....beeeeeeeeeee..... First Aid has arrived. Convenient that Blurr somehow found himself near Area 51 given it's the EDC shuttle base. This means it isn't tough for the Protectobot to hitch a ride on one that's heading towards it. All in all, it takes about 45 minutes for First Aid to arrive, jogging into the motorpool from the outside. His tool kit is already in his hand, and questions are already on his mind. Just what happened to Blurr? Why'd he wind up here? Why'd he refuse treatment? Apocryphacius feels kind of awful, working on someone who has made it clear that he does not consent. However, Blurr's condition was stable earlier. There was no reason to think that Blurr would suddenly flatline! Just waiting around for the Autobots to come pick Blurr up made sense at the time, btu Apocryphacius berates himself. What did he miss, that Blurr's condition was not as stable as it appeared? Maybe Apocryphacius needs to stop wearing welding goggles indoors. "...oh, of course, that is so simple! I should have seen it earlier. This leak is causing a short circuit here, which causes a drain in power over there and... Autobot Blurr, I need to shut off this portion of circuitry and clamp this leak. I am sorry." The Quintesson does what he just said he would, which should hopefully satop the short and bring Blurr out of flatline. Combat: Apocryphacius expertly repairs Blurr's injuries. Combat: Apocryphacius is able to repair some of Blurr's internal systems damage. Combat: Apocryphacius runs a diagnostic check on Blurr Blurr isn't exactly in any condition to reply to Apocryphacius' apologies, but he can assume that the speedster would rather let the Quintesson repair him sooner than die waiting for another Autobot. Fortunately, though, the fix works and the monitors stop flatlining, returning to a stable pulse. First Aid arrives in time to see Apocryphacius working feverishly to save Blurr's life. The Protectobot rushes, sliding into a kneel before Blurr as he begins his work. "What happened here? Was there some kind of accident?" Having only just arrived, First Aid is still in the diagnostics stage of fixing Blurr. Apoc may have to do most of the repairs anyhow! Apocryphacius triple-checks his works with the clamp and the isolated circuit. Right, right, this is all textbook. He cleans out the dripped energon that is shorting the circuit and then puts a seal on the energon line, before removing the clamp. Okay, that fixes the leak, and the circuit is now dry, so he restores power to the circuit. That should deal with what was causing Blurr to flatline, but... Apocryphacius about jumps when he becomes aware of First Aid, the Autobot whom he just invited here. There is pretty clear and obvious fear in the Quintesson, who nervously fiddles with the goggles and backs away from Blurr. "...a squad brought him in injured. I have no idea how he became injured. I mean, I can guess, judging by his injuries, probably a fight with a Targetmaster? But uhm... well, he was flatlining, so I... yes, well, letting him flatline would have been wrong, yes? Blurr does not have a DNR in his file, does he?" He seems rather oddly nervous and defensive, as if he was just caught in the cookie jar. First Aid gives Apocryphacius a brief glance, "Letting him flatline is bad, yes, no matter what silly thing he may have said. If anyone asks we'll chalk it up to his injuries affecting his judgement." First Aid: he'll make sure you get fixed whether you like it or not. The Protectobot quickly gets caught up to speed on Blurr's injuries, "Wait, this isn't because of the Cairo thing from yesterday, was it? Did he aggravate his injuries or something?" Blurr's in a lot of trouble if he went back out into the field without getting fully checked out. A few kliks after the monitors stabilize, Blurr groans and turns toward Apocryphacius and First Aid. "Oh...h-hey First Aid." He greets the medic faintly. "Thanks for coming..." Then he glances at the stable monitors and feels terrible for saying that to the Quint. He sighs again. "Apoc...ryphacius...I'm sorry. That was--really horrid. I thought--never mind. I just shouldn't have refused treatment." Yes, he has aggravated his injuries. Clearly. "I would surmise that he has indeed aggravated his injuries, judging by these stress marks here," Apocryphacius replies, ointing out one stress mark without touching. "I drew most of the necessary replacement parts for him in CAD - we do not exactly stock alien hovercar parts here - and had them fabricated on one of the rapid prototyping machines. You should have what you need to finish his repairs. Thank you for coming, Autobot First Aid. I do appreciate it." To Blurr, he says soothingly, "Do not strain yourself, Autobot Blurr. Just relax." Well! Now First Aid doesn't know what to do. Blurr already admitted he was wrong and so the doctor has no way to lecture him. "Happy to help, you two. Don't worry, from what I can see Apocryphacius did a bang up job stabilizing you. If anything, the trip was worthwhile just so I could admire it. So, um, what ended up happening to you, anyhow, Blurr?" "Well, I--I should thank you." Blurr says finally. "For fixing me, and, well, not blowing up at me. Like most people do." Which is true. He knows he has a bad habit of overreacting, as Apoc just saw, and many of his comrades don't take very kindly to it. Most of them certainly aren't as patient as the Quintesson. Blurr turns toward First Aid. "Well, we drove off the Decepticons...but then I got busy with a bunch of delivery missions afterward, and I thought I would fine, and well...you know..." "...I wasn't." The worst that Apocryphacius usually gets is mildly passive aggressive. He hovers off to retrieve the parts that were machined for Blurr, and he starts to lay them out neatly on a tray. Apocryphacius demurs, "To be honest, you do not need to thank me for doing things that are merely common decency. Everyone should behave in such a manner. No one should blow up at anyone for any reason, and 'fixing' happens to be in my job description. That said, you are welcome." First Aid's praise makes the Quintesson's tentacles turn an odd shade of green - he is 'blushing'. "...ah. Well. Thank you, Autobot First Aid." First Aid nods to Blurr, "Well, I'll spare you the lecture on proper post-battle maintenance protocols, and I won't mention this to Hoist, but I think the lesson has been learned." Or so First Aid hopes. For some reason Autobots hate being stuck in a medical bay for days at a time. Glancing at Apoc, he asks, "You're welcome, Apocryphacius. Say, are you alright?" He has no idea what the green shade means. Blurr nods. Actually, this Quint guy might actually be better than some of the other Autobots. Like Repugnus, or Air Raid. That being said, those present should treasure this moment because Blurr admitting he's wrong about something is quite rare. Apocryphacius has to take a minute to figure out what First Aid even means. Apocryphacius is a neurotic bundles of phobias who wears welding googles /indoors/ when he has to deal with Autobots because their bright colours set him off. Is he 'alright'? Not by any standard. However, he realises that First Aid is just talking about his 'blushing', and he explains, "Oh, just an organic phenomenon. My circulatory vessels dilate, causing a darker green colouration on my skin when I experience embarassment. Quite normal. No cause for concern. Bruising would have more purple tones to it and then yellow tones, later on..." Being a better Autobot than Repugnus isn't hard. Vortex is a better Autobot than Repugnus. For what it's worth, First Aid hasn't the foggiest what a nervous wreck the Quintesson is on the inside. As he works on Blurr, he nods, "Oh, blushing!" First Aid says, "I know about that. Some day I'm going to have to take a course on Quintesson anatomy," he adds jokingly. It's a joke because nobody really knows anything about Quintesson anatomy so there'd be nobody to teach him. Apocryphacius decides to explain a bit more to First Aid, for some reason, "Fear is a paler green, though it can be hard to make out. Constriction of the circulatory vessels due to the fight or flight response to prevent undue bleeding. This is how a radiation burn scar looks," and he points one of those out, "and this one is..." Apocryphacius pauses, and his tentacles turn a bit pale, "...rusty machete laceration aggravated by the application of table salt. I... uhm. Ahem. Just in case you ever need to act as medical supervision on the interrogation of a Quintesson. Uhm. If you do wish to learn, I would be willing to trade. I would rather dearly like to learn Cybertronian neurosurgery." Which could set off alarm bells. Can any good come of a Quintesson wanting to muck around with Transformer lasercores? He preps the parts for install and sets about slotting them into Blurr - gently and carefully, so that First Aid can take Blurr home and yell at Blurr or not yell at Blurr, whatever it is that First Aids do. Several months ago First Aid would have balked at a suggestion of trading technical expertise, but now he merely nods and gives Apocryphacius a friendly look. "Sure, I'd be happy to help."
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