Beside Juliana’s bed, the tiny hologram of the Allspark present in various places throughout Salvation flickered dimly.
Darkside eventually found himself in hangar two, where Fortress was currently.
The crewmember turns his head, and looks up at Fortress.
“Yeah, I guess so,” he says. “If this is gonna be our new way of getting around the galaxy fast, I certainly don’t mind.”
The guard takes Brieg to another cell.
“Most of the guys in here are cracked,” she says. “That one was involved in a riot a few weeks back on OL-0. Tried to kill Shockwave with some buddies of his.”
“I advise you to speak with Forcep in the deck three medical ward,” Shockwave suggests. “He has recently acquired the means by which to mend your physical ailments.”
“Oh, I just keep this place tidy,” the crewman says. “Tidy as you can keep it, anyway.”
“Yeah,” the guard agrees. “Somebody put 'em up to it, orchestrated the whole riot, but we haven’t gotten him or anybody else to talk.”
“The means by which to do so are in the medical ward,” Shockwaves maintains. “The Omega Keys control a cybermatter production facility there when plugged into the Conflux at the rear of this ship. The blue variety of the substance had displayed the ability to mend machinery and cybertronian techno-biology.”
“You kidding?” the crewman scoffs. “SideStep and his guys are catching spies, finding Omega Keys and generally doing more to save Primus than I’ve done stacking energon cubes in this hangar.”
The guard shrugs her shoulders.
“Nowhere else to put 'em,” she says. “Fortunately, Salvation’s got no shortage of room to hold prisoners.”
Inside deck three’s medical ward, Forcep oversees teams of other doctors treating crewmembers who had been wounded in the previous battle. Many were making use of vials of Blue Cybermatter to speed up the injured bots’s recovery.
“We’ve got a couple of Shockwave’s old test subjects as part of the crew. I tell ya, I wouldn’t wish what they’ve got on anyone- even Bludgeon and his psychos.”
Hearing his name, Forcep looks up from a console. Looking around, he takes sight of Broadwing.
“Hm. This day gets better and better,” he remarks.
“Yeah, if we could trust 'em not to sabotage the ship,” the guard says.
Forcep quickly reads over Broadwing’s file on his onboard computer, catching up on his extensive medical history. Previously, there had been almost no hope for the Decepticon, but now:
“Everyone aboard this vessel has value. Everyone has a weight to bear. Be it I, a weapon of war, or someone who merely keeps this ship clean and orderly.”
He said, gesturing to the crewmate he was talking to.
“To say you are not important, would be to speak falsely.”
“Very well.”
The scientist said with a shrug.
“Finally…”
He hissed.
“Thank you.”
Broadwing then followed the medic. Excited to finally be rid of his afflictions.
OOC: Heads up. I have work soon. Same drill as always. Break in two hours. I’ll be off two hours after that.
“Best thing they can do for us talk, if we can get 'em to,” the guard says. “Some of these guys aren’t just footsoldiers; they know things.”
Forcep leads Broadwing to a new room in the medical ward, a small factory of some sort with walls lined with transparent tubes pumping green and blue cybermatter into small black canisters.
“This room was put in during our retrofit on OL-0,” Forcep says, looking around. “It’s definitely been helping us out, getting you warriors back on your feet after our battles.”
“I’m a spy. Espionage is the one thing I can do. Yet here I am, in friendly territory on a combat ship! I can’t even fight. My gun doesn’t evn do permanent damage to those heratic goons chasing us. I’m useless on this mission.”