Chapter Fifteen | Serve Me

                                    

                                          
SERVE ME
                          
"Brainwash, brainwash,
B-b-b-brainwash, brainwash."

                          
⬵⤁

                          
 Ratchet came to slowly, the first thing he could feel were his aching arms. Groaning softly he opened his optics, sensing a tingling across his entire frame. Everything from before was fuzzy, though he recalled bits and pieces of what happened. 
                          
The acidic taste of the dark energon across his glossa, Megatron's laughter, and Knock Out's grip on his chin was all he could remember. But judging by the way his body felt, he had drank a substantial amount of dark energon. Much to his moral disgust it felt good, as if he had become a few million years younger. 
                          
	Shaking his helm he tried to refocus, ignoring the insidiously pleasant feeling in his chest. The second thing he noticed was the fact that he was no longer chained to the ceiling, instead left to lay in the corner of the cell and await the next phase of Megatron's insane plan. Moving to get up he paused, thinking something was wrong. After taking a moment to listen, it hit him that his audio receptors were picking up only silence.
                          
	"Jack," He gasped in realization, turning his helm to look for the boy. His optics contracted in shock when he saw the human curled into a ball, back to the metal being. Dried blood streaked the wall, and more brown spots dotted the ground around him. "Jack!"
                          
	Quickly moving to his charge, the medic gently knelt down, his extended servos hesitating. He did not want to hurt the boy if he was truly injured, however his urgency almost overrode any sort of precaution. He reached out again, his processor nearly stalling when he realized what he was doing.
                          
His servos, both of them, were fully functional. The one that had been crushed and mutilated was now healed, not a nick to be seen to indicate he had suffered any injury at all. It took a long time for him to reach a conclusion: the dark energon he had consumed had mended its new host. 
                          
Recovering from his shock he very gently touched Jack's back, running a sensitive digit along it and taking in as much information as he could. Data popped up in his line of vision, his medical protocols unable to pick up any abnormalities as the sensors on the tip of his digit read Jack's electrical signals from his spine. 
                          
	The action resulted in a shudder from his charge, a moan of pain escaping Jack. He shifted away from the digit, both relief and annoyance washing across Ratchet's spark.
                          
	"Jack, it's me," he said softly, lightly touching him again. This prompted Jack to move a second time, shifting and sitting up from his initial position. When he turned his head to look over his shoulder Ratchet immediately saw the wounds on his face, the scratches erythemic but not concerningly so - they were irritated, not infected. 
                          
	The boy did not react how he expected, jerking backwards with a yelp, scrambling towards the wall and staring up at the medic with a terrified expression. He was still turned away from him, just moving to get away.
                          
	"Easy, easy," he said, holding his servos up in the universal "surrender" position. "Jack, you seem to have suffered some cranial trauma. Are you aware of who you are?"
                          
	"Ratchet," not an answer, but a fair enough response, "are you . . . is that you?"
                          
	The medic was briefly confused as to why he would ask such a question. "Can you see?"
                          
	Jack looked equally bewildered. "I can . . . and I can see your optics. They're purple."
                          
	An alarmed servo shot up to his face, Ratchet realizing what would have made Jack so afraid. Looking up, he was able to see a distortion of his reflection on the cell wall - the typical orange and white was comforting, but the eerie purple glow ruined the relief in his systems. He truly was infected.