Vaccines were getting harder and harder to come by. Megatron himself seemed resistant to this particular strain, his medics crediting it to the fact that he’d suffered through a similar condition in his youth and survived, (or more likely, the dark energon coursing through him. This, however, was not public knowledge.) Even so, he was warned against coming into direct contact with any of the victims. Most of them were going to die within the week anyway, there was no reason to visit them.
Of course, telling Megatron that something is a bad idea is pointless once he’s made up his mind. Perhaps not the entire fleet, but he made a point to check in on those who had fought with him in the arena. These were the strongest of his Decepticons, both in strength and devotion, and out of everyone they should have had the best chance at recovery. It was eerie to see all of them so still, downed by something so microscopic as unnatural oxidation. Blackout was a holdout, old and stubborn, approaching the 10-day mark that so few had reached. If he could just stay awake past then, the plague would run its course and he might survive. Warning or no, Megatron put a servo on his shoulder.
“You will fight this. You will win. Is that understood?”
Megatron's back up 