::I’m
F͛ͩͦ̔̄͞I̶̾̄Ņ̾͌͗̃ͨ̉̽E͂ͦ͒̿̔͝.̍̃ͣ͗̀̚ :: He can make it to the washracks. Set it to coolant only. He doesn’t particularly want to talk about Optimus right now, but high-grade is too good to pass up.
::…Give me… a few kliks.::
::Are- are you sure? You’re worrying me, Megatron.::
If Megatron doesn’t want to talk about Megatron, that’s fine, as well. Either a distraction or a chance to mourn is welcome.
::Alright. Ping me your coordinates when you’re ready, I’ll try to grab some high grade.:: He’ll go back to the med bay eventually to finish his repairs, but a night of high grade couldn’t hurt that much. His vocalizer’s pretty much all healed up already!
For now, he’s going to get as much high grade as he can afford.
The coolant feels like ice and it hurts at first, but at least his systems are cooling down enough to function properly. His vents slowly cycle down, his joints no longer burn. The wound on his spark still throbs, as it does for days every time he exacerbates it. He is at least able to stand up straight, after leaning against the wall of his washrack for a good long while.
::I’m in my quarters, though here is not a good place for guests at the moment.:: He glances around to the remains of his desk, the fresh dents on the walls and floor. ::The mess hall is closed during these hours. We may take advantage of that.::
Megatron's back up 