The Game

The cathedral was indeed a safe haven; peaceful, save for the distant guns and the moans of agony resonating off the high ceilings. Ratchet seemed to occupy himself with brushing strands of short blonde hair from Bumblebee’s filthy brow, attempting to wipe away the caked blood and dirt.

“Optimus was wrong,” came the youth’s raspy voice. The medic stared down at his patient, then sighed as he dipped the rag into a nearby basin; “He usually is…” Bumblebee cleared his throat as if to speak again, reaching up to pull the collar of his uniform away from his neck, but words escaped him.

“Ratchet!”

The owner of said name turned his attention towards the door and gasped at the scene; Skyfire had carried in another wounded and a second following close behind. The medical officer wasted no time in settling the two in; he was so determined to aid the Autobots—to save a life, be it one faction or the other, was truly fulfilling. But just as he set to treating the wounds, the door flung open with a loud clack to reveal a very smug dark-haired man; his smile, the mischievous glint in his amber gaze…

Bumblebee struggled to sit up and when he succeeded, he almost wished he hadn’t; “R-Ratchet…” Cough. “Ratchet!” The medic swallowed the growing lump in his throat and rushed to his side. “Don’t move so much,” he grumbled, keeping his eyes locked on the intruder.

“Well, well, well…” The Decepticon made his way down the aisle, holding his gun firmly in both hands. Closer and closer; Ratchet could make out the specks of blood dotting the man’s black uniform. He was dangerous, this one; a member of the Elite; a seeker. The older male straightened himself, trying to appear unmoved by the other’s presence. “This is a place of sanctuary… Leave. Now.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. I was given strict orders to demolish this place and kill all survivors… and to commandeer the lead medical officer.”

“What… Megatron’s getting desperate, is he? Well, tell him to kiss my ass after I kick yours.” Without a second thought, the Decepticon pulled the trigger, hitting Ratchet square in the chest. Bumblebee screamed, “Ratchet!” He forced himself off the table and crawled over to his friend’s still form.

No blood?

The blonde quickly covered the body with one of his blankets and glanced back over his shoulder to see the enemy stepping closer. “What’s wrong, kid? You’ll be seein’ him soon,” he started; “Ol’ Skywarp is feelin’ generous, after all.”