radioactivibee:

ask-smokescreen:

the-scrappy-stinger:

(Stepping into the Metroplex makes Bee’s teeth itch; the combination of the EM field, the dark, and the tense energy of the moment is enough to make him feel sick with anxiety. Megatron bolts and commands, and Bee falls immediately into step behind him.) 

/Smokescreen starts to bolt through with everyone, running almost exactly when Megatron says, barely noticing the metrotitan’s EM field while in panic mode. He’s focused on looking for any signs of yellow./

I’m sorry, Bee, I shouldn’t have sent you, please please be okay.

The lights continue to flash, guiding the team farther along the residential stretch. A door to a lift opens for them, allowing entrance to the top of the eastern spire. Bumblebee’s habsuite is among the best guarded and hidden within the metrotitan’s walls.

The bot in question doesn’t even notice when the door opens or who comes through the other side. His digits continue drumming against the datapad, optics unfocused and dim – just like the rest of his biolights. The habsuite still looks well-maintained, but a few cabinets housing energon cubes remain open, an unsuccessful attempt to coax Bee out of his trance. The closer they get, the more they can hear the nonsense pouring out of Bee’s intake.

“–and they will fall to the rot. The Creator and the Unmaker will perish and be lost to the universe. A violent race comes to a violent end and the stars will not grieve. It means something, I’m missing it. Don’t send me away. I’m sorry, I’ll change. I’ll change as much as you need me to. But it doesn’t matter, you can’t run from this. Run…”

The lights that lead them deeper and deeper into Metroplex keep flashing with urgency, and he steps into the lift without hesitation. When he was running through the Nemesis, trying shut down a possessed Trypticon, he’d been fighting the environment at every turn. Metroplex opens doors for him with urgency, taking them exactly where they needed to go. Concern permeates the air like a rank odor. The titan needs them.

The final door opens and Megatron realizes that there is in fact a real odor permeating the air. Bumblebee’s suite stinks of the same decay as the slimy ichor that covered the dormitory. Those rust marks, the chanting…

Megatron walks inside, standing over Bee and cringes to see the book in his grasp. The dread in his spark intensifies. “Bumblebee. Give that here.”

radioactivibee:

ask-smokescreen:

the-scrappy-stinger:

(Bee’s immediately flushed with guilt. He promised Smokescreen, but Megatron looked so hurt and there was no way to make them both happy here-) 

(He gives Smokescreen another kick, more frustrated than angry, and pushes the book back into his hands.) Here! Was that so hard? You can put me down now.

/Frag- now he’s feeling guilty, though he’s holding the book close, almost hugging it./

Look- it’s something from Alpha Trion, it probably would have a reaction to Megatron, like it might shut itself off or-

It what now?

/Immediately, he’s pinging the larger Bumblebee. Frag frag frag please pick up./

::Bee? Bee- Bee, are you okay? Have you had any luck finding the book? We’re heading over there, come meet with us.::

He’s not in his usual spot, hunched over and sitting against the wall closest to the door. One servo is rusted over, joints creaking every time he taps the datapad’s screen. Another patch rests on his shoulder, covering the top of his pauldron. Even with all the defects of his frame, those areas stand out the most.

Without thinking, he ignores the comm. There’s more important work to be done. Like figure out the report on the datapad. Prepare for battle in Praxus. Siphon from the frames strewn across a battlefield…

The memories blur together the longer he holds the datapad. But he doesn’t recognize this because there’s work. He has to work. So alone he sits, ignoring Smokescreen. Ignoring Metroplex, who continues to scream at him. To save him. But Bumblebee doesn’t know he has to be saved.

The bridge spills them out at Metroplex’s center, a sparse few mechs wandering about. Bumblebee, the other one, isn’t answering any of them. They may already be too late.

Being inside the cityformer always took some getting used to, the subtle EM field constantly surrounding you. Today however, it was particularly dissonant; the entire area felt distressed. It was as if the metrotitan was in pain, accented by the flickering of the lights to a dimmer setting. The only bright light that remained was at the end of a hallway, and it flashed as he watched it. He broke off in a run. 

“This way!”