In These Hands

Consequence

Not in Tarn, not in Vos, nor any establishment around was Ratchet safe to transverse into. Even the sub levels of the cities were too familiar with Ratchet and his convictions. He had to journey further.

The aspect of leaving Cybertron sounded all too appealing to the once-medic despite the ache in his circuitry. But because of the nature of his situation, he couldn't quite go to any congregation and lose himself. After the broadcasting and post-analysis of the case, Ratchet was often recognized and once he was the alienation flooded in. Carriers would move in the opposite direction, the youths would be urged to divert their paths by older counterparts, militant 'bots would keep him within their radars, and citizens would murmur, most words Ratchet could pick up, none at all too kind.

It was a lifestyle Ratchet never foresaw for himself. He wasn't at all prepared for such harsh realities and yet he found himself continuing to move at an avid pace. At least until he felt he found a place he could disappear.

It was in Kaon's sub levels where he found his solace. Still wrapped in a cloak, Ratchet kept his frame and face shadowed. No one there looked upon him, no one there found any reason to. Yet, even after some semblance of relief, Ratchet found the woes of the planet clumping together in the crevices he moved through.

Aging, discrepancy, disease, malfunction, and absolute disrepair cluttered the sub levels. Even in the northern settlements, Ratchet can't quite provide a good statement of witnessing anything as unfortunate as the individuals currently around him. Medical programs still ran through his processors, and with each automatic scan, the state of the 'bots hanging onto the corners and rolled into the ditches was enough to make Ratchet want to break himself apart if just to offer much needed parts.

Rubbing at the cracked corner of his helm, Ratchet recalled an altercation with a more than erratic sire. For no other reason than falling into the public's hate of him, the mech had slammed his fist against Ratchet, luckily only clipping the side of his helm, but that wasn't the only near-mobbing Ratchet had to escape from. Following such incidents he learned to wear a covering and keep from the more populated regions. After all of that, he couldn't abandon his safety simulations and kept to himself amongst the desolate.

Thoughts of fuel and upkeep provisions began to stream through his processor. Ratchet knew he'd need to find a way to obtain both if he was going to be able to prolong his life. From where he stood he could see junkyards, each mass infested with damaged, run-down, and troubled 'bots hoping to find something to help. Not ideal, but a place Ratchet would need to get to know soon.

At a corner, Ratchet sat himself down for a short rest. His joints could use a good lubing, it had been a while since he was even able to do so. The scuffs on his once pristine white paint were many and dated. It wouldn't be too long before Ratchet mirrored those around him.

In his personal examination Ratchet noticed a misplaced screw wedged in the corner of his knee joint. Not one of his own, but somehow embedded within. He must have picked it up during a drive.

His hand bent away and a pair of pliers slung out. Despite the top-tiered equipment being taken from him, Ratchet was fortunate enough to find discarded machinery, or pieces thereof, and after some adjustments, crafted the tools for himself. Rough and a little more challenging to handle, Ratchet made due with them. The pliers were able to latch onto the foreign screw and pick it clean of the 'bot's frame.

"Almost feels like new," Ratchet muttered to himself, managing a quiet chuckle as he swung his leg. It's been a while since he resounded so much as a pitch that rang similar to a laugh. Perhaps there was still a chance at saving Ratchet's sanity.

Standing up, Ratchet looked across the walkway. A fairly large junkyard lay there. With his route in objectives, Ratchet began making his way toward it. However, something came across the walkway that prevented him from reaching his destination.