Death of a Doctor

++ Iacon ++

Gleaming gold, silver and blue as far as the eye can see: the capital of Cybertron itself can be breathtaking to behold. Architecture both old and  modern reflect a sense of stately order as well as artistic beauty, with  gentle arches, gilded domes and spiraling towers that rise into the skyline. Even the walkpaths and roads are copper and bronze, the maintenance workers here diligently tending to them to prevent any kind of rust and corrosion. The city itself almost seems alive, with glowing power conduits in circuit pathways running along the streets and buildings, powering external lights and glowing holomatter signs. Cyan-colored crystal and glass windows reflect the hue of the sky in day, or glow from internal lighting at night.

Populated mostly by high caste and above, Iacon is the seat of Cybertron's government, military and intellectual class. At the end of the main road into Iacon is Trion Square, which features an enormous video screen, every bit as big as a combiner, constantly flickering with news feeds, state-sponsored messages and advertisements. Translucentia Heights, the most elite residential area on Cybertron, is nestled into a corner of Iacon's living quarters. Energon refineries, technoversites, merchant plazas, a nurturing creche and even a nature preserve fall within the massive polity's boundaries, making Iacon one of the few completely self-sufficient cities on the planet.

It's day like any other at Rung's clinic.

The psychiatrist arrives for work bright and early, greets all of his employees and patients with a warm smile. Then he heads to his office to see how many patients have scheduled visitations from him today. Then a very short lunch break before it's back to work, again. The number of patients in the past couple weeks has sky rocketed, and what with trying avoid a murderer bent on taking his and several of his close friends' lives, Rung is a little worn out.

But he tells no one, not even his employees, whose cheery faces and expressions dim when they see how tired he is. "Rung, what's wrong?" they ask, "are you alright? You look so tired lately." But he simply dismisses them. "I'm fine," he reassures them, "save your worrying for our patients," he would say with a weak smile. He would rather them stay ignorant and happy than burdened and perhaps in danger from knowing about his predicament.

Rung has also been trying to keep an optic on Arcee, who has been here since the bomb on her was diffused. He checks in on her every once in a while, just see how she's doing.

Arcee came back online some time after the work to diffuse the bomb was completed. For a while afterward, she recuperated quietly, optics on but non-responsive. Eventually, she's sitting upright, trying to figure out where she is.

Perhaps Rung's employees are worried, but they'll probably be even more worried when they see that several police vehicles appear to be gathering outside the front doors. Why were the Enforcers here? Was there trouble? There had to be...

And who should come to the door but Prowl, second-in-command of the Autobots himself. This couldn't be good at -all-.

The employees watch Prowl cautiously, some of them worried, some of them not. After all, the first time he came, it was just on casual visitation. However, no one can deny that all other times Autobots showed up at the clinic, it spelled certain doom for somebody there. The secretary greets him warmly, but some of the other clinicians watch him warily, looking afraid.

Rung just happens to be walking by Arcee's room when he sees her sitting upright. He smiles at her. "How are you feeling?" he asks.

"...Better, thank you. I'm very sorry for any trouble I caused. Did..." Arcee checks her internal chronometer, confused at the amount of time that's passed since she was in the park. "There \*was\* a bomb in there, right? Because I remember very clearly that it happened."

"I need to see Rung immediately." Prowl responds tersely to the secretary's warm greeting. He might have had a 'casual' visit last time (if anything about Prowl can be considered casual), but this time it's quite apparent that something more serious is underway. For one, he isn't alone. Instead, he's accompanied inside by a pair of beat cops brandishing large rifles, ready to spring into action should someone be -reluctant- to cooperate...

"He's upstairs near his office," the secretary answers, looking worried. "Is it urgent...?" she asks, but Prowl probably won't answer her.

Rung smiles. "Arcee, don't blame yourself, none of that was your fault." He pauses. "Yes, I believe so."

"Please let the individuals responsible for disarming the bomb...let them know I'm extremely grateful for their help," Arcee tells Rung. "It's kind of hard not to feel at least somewhat responsible for this mess. Someone could have very easily died. This maniac, he...he was trying to get me to kill you, Blast Off, and Onslaught -- that last mech, I've only ever met once, I wasn't even sure how the bomber thought I could accomplish this."

Nope, she doesn't get an answer. Prowl immediately strides past her, the other two officers following him up to where Rung's office is. They are now standing in front of it, and the two of them can probably hear the loud knocking on the door from down the hall where Arcee was staying.

"I will most definitely let them know," Rung says cheerfully, "but I'm sure you'll see them around and you can let them know yourself. Arcee.. don't worry about it, it's over now--" And then there's a loud knock on the door. "Oh.. do excuse me.." he says, and answers the door.

Arcee peers over toward the door to Rung's office worriedly. That heavy knock sounded fairly...demanding, and urgent.

Prowl is standing in the doorway, with the other enforcers standing behind him. "Rung, you are under arrest according to Article 852, subsection delta paragraph 7--medical malpractice involving the illegal alteration of memories belonging to an individual in state employ, resulting in psychological instability of and ultimately leading to the subsequent assaults upon Senator Ratbat by that same individual. Cooperate and you will not be harmed. Resist, and lethal force may become necessary. I would list your rights as a citizen, but an intelligent mech such as yourself no doubt is already aware of them, am I correct?"

Prowl is standing in the doorway, with the other enforcers standing behind him. "Rung, you are under arrest according to Article 852, subsection delta paragraph 7--medical malpractice involving the illegal alteration of memories belonging to an individual in state employ, resulting in psychological instability of and ultimately leading to the subsequent assaults upon Senator Ratbat by that same individual. Cooperate and you will not be harmed. Resist, and lethal force may become necessary. I would list your rights as a middle-caste citizen, but an intelligent mech such as yourself no doubt is already aware of them, am I correct?"

Rung doesn't look at all surprised or afraid. "If am I under arrest, then I am under arrest," Rung says sadly, "what good will rights do me?" He hangs his helm, and offers up both arms, ready to be handcuffed.

His gaze is glued to the floor, his expression dim. But then, all of a sudden his expression changes to one of intense fear and dismay. For the window behind Prowl is open, and an unwelcome and very explosive object has just tumbled in. "Officer..."

Arcee watches from the doorframe of the adjacent room, watching with considerable anxiety as Prowl and some enforcers come to arrest Rung. Then, she just flat-out screams when the explosive flies through the open window. Sadly, she's had no training to deal with this sort of thing.

Prowl is about to clamp the stasis cuffs on, but suddenly Arcee screams and he turns around. "GET DOWN!" Immediately recognizing the threat, he grabs Rung and dives to the floor behind the desk, bracing for the worst.

Rung doesn't even have time to say anything before he's slammed to the ground violently by the Autobot officer.

The bomb explodes--and it certainly isn't a hand grenade. The explosion penetrates through six walls and blasts a giant hole in the floor and ceiling. Hot, flaming debris rains down on them, as the terrified cries of the clinicians and patients reaches their audio receptors.

Arcee is, thankfully, not in the direct line of fire and she's able to dive under a table before the blast goes off. She remains curled up there in a prone position, shocked into a kind of cataconic state for the time being. She feels like her entire world's coming to an end, and...it's just taking her some time to get a grip. All she needs is a little time...to get a handle on all this...then she'll be just fine.

The blast scorches Prowl's outer armor, but fortunately he'd been able to prepare for it somewhat by diving behind the desk. Cursing, he glances around, then opens a comm to the other units in the area informing them of the explosion. "Report, what's your status?" he says into the communicator as he pushes some debris off of himself and begins searching for Rung, or anyone who might be trapped.

Blast Off has been trying to find out what happened to Arcee and Rung ever since the unfortunate \*bomb\* incident caused by Drift just recently. The shuttleformer did manage to nearly dispatch the assassin, but somehow Rung talked him out of it. He's been unsure if he should have listened to the psychologist or not ever since. He walks towards the mech's office now, seeking a word or two with him... and perhaps finding out how Arcee is doing and how she wound up with a bomb planted on her in the first place.

Arcee and Rung are somehow... strangely... as close as he has to friends. He's not exactly sentimental about it, but he's not completely immune, either. So he walks in- and suddenly... are those explosions he hears?

Rung coughs a little, half-buried under a pile of hot debris. He blinks, noticing that one of the security monitors is displaying a feed from the lobby. He sees Blast Off entering the clinic, and becomes quite dismayed. "Officer.." he croaks. "Save yourself and evacuate the building..."

And that's when the second wave hits. Two more well aimed missiles fly in through the giant hole in the wall, and proceed to wreak destruction. The floor caves in, and all around them fiery structural supports are falling in, setting things ablaze as gravity takes its toll. Rung is now trapped under a blazing support column--and to move it would be certain death for Rung and whoever tries to free him...

Prowl quickly moves to attempt to free Rung from the debris, but alas, he is too late. The missiles come flying, and smash through the hole that had already been made, exacerbating the situation further. Fortunately, he sees the projectiles coming and takes cover, but Rung isn't so lucky. "Slag it..." The officer mutters. He examines the wreckage, but it's no use. There's no way he's going to be able to get the doctor out.

Finding Arcee under the table, he drags her out and orders the other units to round up any survivors. "Everyone out! I'll search for the perpetrator...." he mutters, handing the fembot off to one of the other officers. Hm. Having tracked the trajectory of those missiles, he moves toward their source. Whoever's doing this can't be far away...

Blast Off stands at the doorway as the entire building threatens to come down on him. He scans the area, trying to find order among the chaos, and finally just radios Rung, <<Rung! Are you in here? What is going on?!>> As another piece of debris hits the ground next to him, he jumps back, bracing himself against the doorway- always the strongest part of a structure. <<Answer me!>> Why does this kind of slag seem to follow the three of them around?

However, the remaining survivors aren't exactly willing. There aren't actually very many left, as the building is almost entirely collapsed by now. "Where's Rung?" one of the clinicians pleads, tearing himself away from the Autobots. "We're not leaving the building without him!"

"<Blast Off.. save yourself and get out. There's no time....the clinic is going to collapse any moment now>" The psychologist says, sounding tired. "< I knew I couldn't run my clinic and get away from the assassin at the same time for.. well, forever. So I made a distinct choice. Blast Off, it was wonderful knowing you. But I'm quite certain the Senate wants both of us dead. And well, being how I am..I knew it was only a matter of time. Goodbye, dear friend..>"

And then the third volley barrels in. The grande finale. Five more missiles strike the building at each of its weakest points. If Blast Off and the Autobots are smart, they'll leave the clinicians with their dying wish and get out. Because the building is a now a flaming pile of quickly collapsing debris, soon to be nothing but a mound of ashes.

Prowl may be moving towards the source of the missiles, but it won't do him much good. Whoever the perpetrator is, he's gone, now that the clinic is a smoking ruin.

"We're sorry, but Rung didn't make it." The officers inform the desperate clinic workers. Still, they seem to have a death wish. Well then, that isn't any of the police's business. Especially not here, not now. Quickly, they transform and get out as fast as their engines will carry them. Prowl watches the structure go down from outside, but it seems the perpetrator is long gone. Shaking his head, he ensures that a clean-up crew will arrive shortly to deal with this...mess. Perhaps some clues will be found in the wreckage.

Blast Off hears Rung's radio message and something just kinda snaps in the shuttle. He is SO SLAGGING TIRED of these assassins... and the havoc they've been causing in his and others' lives. THIS IS IT. He may not have any good weapons on him right now, but... he DOES have something else. The building is coming down anyway, it seems, and if he's going to barrel in... it better be with a damn big shovel... as it were.

<<Stop whining, Rung. And stop being so slagging ready to give it to these fools. Find something sturdy, get under it... and HOLD ON.>> With that, there is suddenly a huge SPACE SHUTTLE, thrusters revving and roaring- and ramming its way right into the crumbling mess.... towards the source of Rung's radio transmissions. The crashing building might topple him in root mode, but in shuttle mode... well, it hurts like slag, but if he can just reach the other mech in time.....

All around Blast Off, the building is crumbling, falling to pieces. Burning bits of debris rain down on the shuttle former, scorching his armor. And then, there's a groan like a dying soldier on the battlefield, and the structure caves in completely. Blast Off will be very hard pressed to avoid the rest of the debris which is layering to form a pile of smoking rubble.

He didn't make it. Rung is buried. There's no way any mech of the psychologist's size and stature could have survived.

It would appear that their assassins have been successful in taking out one, at least.

Blast Off forces himself into the shattering mess, suffering a good deal of damage... and it is still for nought. He tries radioing the psychologist, but only meets with static now. <<Slaggitall!!!>> He thinks to himself, muttering a string of curses quite unbefitting of a gentlemech. Finally, he has no choice but to power through the rubble and break free... flying up to where he transforms, lands on a rooftop, and swears that he WILL kill Drift next time. Rung stopped him... and now look where that got the meek mech. No... he won't be merciful next time.

++ Rodion ++

Home largely to middle caste society, Rodion has the feel of both a burgeoning metropolis and a quiet little home town. Comfortable residential complexes rise high into the skyline alongside data processing offices, entertainment domes and various merchant complexes. Near one of last active hot spots, Rodion is also home to several Guild Assessment offices and  Primary Programming schools, each capable of handling the nuturing of new  sparks, as well as their education and placement in society. Rodion is also home to Maccadam's, one of the oldest and most well known bars on Cybertron. Influenced by nearby Polyhex, the buildings and archeture have a distinct hexagonal, prismatic bias, though the color scheme leans mostly towards golds, bronzes and coppers, with roadways and pavement in silver-gray. The city enjoys a multi-level structure with dozens of roadways, paths and      walkways in layers above the ground.

Prowl is at his Rodion office, sorting through images of the clinic at Iacon that had been attacked and destroyed just the other orbital cycle. There's been a lot of activity here, and the story is all over the news.

Speaking of which, a videopane on the wall in the atrium is currently replaying some footage of the explosion. On the list of casualties is pretty much everyone who worked there, including the chief physician, Rung. And, of course, it should come as no surprise that the Decepticons are being blamed for the attack, because Rung had been about to turn himself over to the police. The reporters in the newsroom are discussing this, and basically agreeing to it.

"Rung, the physician in practice at the facility, had an arrest warrant on grounds of illegal memory alteration leading to the assaults on Senator Ratbat just a few megacycles ago. Investigators are speculating that he was a Decepticon sympathizer, but the organization could not afford to allow him to be taken into police custody. The individual perpetrator is still at large."

"In other news, the ground races are set to relaunch in Ibex on cycle 502...more on that in just a moment."

Arcee arrives at the station. While most at the clinic were killed by the bomb attack, Arcee was apparently one of the few fortunate survivors. She was taken to an area hospital as a precautionary measure, treated for superficial wounds, and then transported to the police station. She watches the news expressionlessy while she waits in the lobby.

Chromedome strides in. He doesn't have the facial features for scowling or anything of the sort. He often looks blankly pensive at best. But this case, today, his eyeplate looks narrowed, distressed. This is, after all, a disaster. He's in the lobby like he belongs there. Of course, he is. Forensics is still police work, right. He announces himself with a brisk, upset, "What a mess."

Prowl glances up from his work, briefly making optic contact with Tumbler. Ah...his old partner from mechaforensics. Perhaps he's come to assist in the investigation. He also examines Arcee, and she seems to be all right, so that's good. Back to work.

At the comment about the mess, a lower ranking officer nearby nods. "Yeah, heh. Always trust those Decepticons to make a mess wherever they go."

"Excuse me, can I talk to someone here really quick?" Arcee asks.

Chromedome marks Arcee with a swift glance and continues to Prowl's desk. He lightly taps the edge. "Prowl. Sorry to interrupt. But I wondered if I could be of service. Like old times."

Prowl looks over at Arcee again when she speaks up. "Yes? What is it Arcee?" She looks remarkably calm, after what just happened to her.

It comes as no surprise when Tumbler approaches. Though the mech arches an optic ridge at his former partner and shrugs a little. "Just do your job, Tumbler. You're still in Mechaforensics, right?" He looks back to the workstation momentarily, where annotated images of the clinic wreckage cover the display. Why does he need Prowl to assign him to something? "Or is this about something else? If so, just say it." Prowl likes conversations to be right to the point, yeah.

"I would like to know what happened to my pet. I surrendered him as ordered, and I don't think that asking where he went is an unreasonable request," Arcee says. She glances over at Chromedome curiously for a moment, before looking back toward Prowl.

"Still in Mechaforensics, of course. But illegal memory alteration's a bit of a--" Chromedome lowers his voice slightly, "I'd be interested in being more involved than just working through crime scenes. If there's a place for me. Just keep it in mind, is all." He eases a step back. "I miss working with you."

"Oh, the Insecticon." Prowl says evenly. "Thank you for cooperating, but I'm afraid I don't know any better than you do as to where he was sent." Which isn't -completely- true. He has an idea, but it isn't his job to find that out, so he hasn't really cared to confirm it. "Rest assured that he is safe, however. Right, Tumbler?" he glances at his old partner.

"As for 'being more involved', what exactly do you mean? You have full access to all of the evidence recovered from the site of the explosion." he shrugs. "A...witness provided us with information pointing to the fact that he altered the memories of a Shifter under Ratbat's supervision, thus leading to the attacks against him. We believe the alteration involved planting false data, causing her to become convinced that she was abused and enslaved by the Senate. He feels guilty about it, doesn't resist arrest--but of course the Decepticons can't let him continue to be an information leak so they get rid of him. Seal up the crack before it spills too much or gets any bigger, right?"

"...See, that's the thing, if he's so safe, then why can't anyone tell me where he is? Interesting." Seems that's all Arcee came to do. She apparently has no comment on the bombing incident in a park in Vos involving herself, or Rung's recent death as well as the death of many of his co-workers. Being obstinant goes both ways, as she sees it. She's not going to volunteer anything if he won't. "Alright, well goodbye then."

"He's fine," Chromedome / Tumbler reassures to reassure. He doesn't give Arcee a location, though, like a jerkwad. To Prowl, "Right. You're right. I have all the evidence. Still compiling the data, of course. You don't mind if I talk to the witness, if needs be?"

"What, do you not trust the organization you -just- swore your allegiance to?" Prowl asks of Arcee. "Autobots took care of Kickback, didn't they? They're us. -You're- us, now." he points out, moving his hand slightly to indicate the red badge on his chassis, which she now also has. "So really, your concerns are unfounded. Unless you've suddenly had a change of spark and are now convinced that you yourself can no longer be trusted."

Prowl nods at Tumbler. "Of course, you're welcome to any evidence we've managed to gather, including witnesses." he says with another nod toward Arcee.

"Oh, I didn't say THAT, I just said that if there was a simple answer to a very basic question, there's no legitimate reason why I shouldn't be able to have access to that information," Arcee says. "The whole Autobot thing doesn't even factor into it, in fact, as I could have just been an unaffiliated civilian asking the same question. There's no reason why I \*shouldn't\* have an answer. That's my point. I'm getting jerked around. That's my other point." Arcee's done with this, now, for sure. At least...for now. She hasn't given up on the topic entirely, but she's not going to get jerked around on a very simple yes-or-no question. She's been through enough garbage in the past few cycles to ever have to put up with it again. It's just not even on her tolerance scale any longer.

The heavy foot falls of a large mech can be heard approaching. Orion Pax has just caught the last bit of the conversation. "What information?" comes a low and commanding voice. Where he gets it who know, but there is just something about it. As his glowing blue optics move from bot to bot. "Exactly what's going on here?" he doesn't ask one he asks them all.

"Thanks," Tumbler brisks toward Prowl, his tone lighter for it. Less neutral, more friendly. To Arcee, Tumbler / Chromedome's about to offer some kind of legalese diversion, but he's distracted by Orion Pax's entrance. "Hm? Oh. Sir. Dealing with the aftermath of this facility explosion," is probably too vague of an answer.

"No need to thank me." Prowl replies to Tumbler. "Having access to the tools of the trade is an essential part of getting the job done right."

And then the outburst from Arcee. The police officer arches an optic ridge at her. "But why should you be so concerned about having that information if you fully trust those who handled the situation? You wouldn't question something you trust in the first place, would you? And if you don't trust it, then why are you one of us?" Prowl questions further. He then shrugs. "If I knew the answer to your question, Arcee. I would have given it to you. So stop acting as if I'm trying hide something from you, because I most certainly am not." He looks up as Pax enters, nodding his greeting. "When have I ever been dishonest with you? With any of you?" He asks, including Pax in that question as well. "Didn't think so. Now, why don't you just accept that the simple answer to your question of why you don't have access to that information is because no one you've asked thus far actually -knows- the answer."

"Ha! What's THAT all about?" Arcee shakes her head. "All of \*that\*...just to say, 'I don't know where he is'. Why not just say, 'I don't know where he is'? Then, I would have said, 'Oh, I see, well thank you for your straightforward answer, it may not have been the answer I came here looking for but it was an actual \*answer\*.'

As Orion arrives, Arcee turns to him. "Seems Prowl doesn't know where my bug is. Which is fine. But he could have just told me that in the first place. Nothing world-shattering..."

Pax quietly looks at them all. His optics going from one to the other. "Alright." he starts "But remember my friends, we're all Autobots. Meaning we're all on the same side. So keep your calm with your comrades, because you never know when they'll need you or you need them. Meaning: There is no need for bad energon between teammates." Short speech and hopefully an effective one. With a nod to each the large bot walks away from his companions.

"Figure everything's just processing right now." Chromedome spreads his hands, his attention still diverted onto Pax. "No need for anything but calm here. I'm sorry if we let things get a little heated." He turns his face mild toward Arcee. "I'll do better in the future."

"Isn't that what I -said-?" Prowl mutters, shaking his head. He sighs. "Look, Pax is right. That -is- what this is about. If you were still working at the Citadel I wouldn't have given a scrap. But you're one of us now, so you'd better start learning to trust us. Is that clear, -soldier-?" It's almost a demand, he fixes her with a pointed glare.

"Oh, it's clear, alright, but you're the one making this about trust -- not me. I just came in here with a question." Arcee was such a little \*mouse\* at one time -- she wouldn't dare act like this in the past, so clearly, something's changed. "I'm not making bad energon with anyone," she insists. As she begins heading toward the exit, she tells Chromedome, "And you, I never even met you before, how could I be trying to make any problems with you? Don't worry! I'm out of here. I'm going. You won't have to hear any more out of me..."

"And you're the one questioning your superiors." Prowl points out. He shakes his head as she leaves. Hopefully Arcee will learn...eventually.

"I didn't say you were," Chromedome says, mild and a little put upon. "You're always welcome to come back if you need anything," he tries to re-friendly after Arcee.

Arcee is probably not in a very good frame of mind at the moment, either. She's still talking, mostly to herself, as she exits and heads down the street. "Because I can't possibly have any points to make, can I? Oh yeah, I'll come back...been given every reason to want to! To want to...trust...\*anyone\*..."

Her voice fades out as the doors close behind her, but she's still talking, all the way down the street. Just to herself, now.