Delerium

Summary: (June 2028) Jetfire has one hell of a mind-trip while recovering from his throw-down with Scourge. Let this be a lesson kids! Keep all psychological profile information in a databank NOT linked to your inner core!

Repair Bay

''This is the main repair bay for the Autobots. Several operating tables lie in a row here, and a long bench lines one wall. On the bench are assorted tools used in repairing damaged Transformers. Scattered throughout the room are various repair bots, awaiting the arrival of more wounded to repair. The room gives you the perception of being immaculately clean, with not a single tool out of place. ''

The recovery was bound to be long and rough after the vicious grudge fight with Scourge. Sound would probably greet Jetfire's audials first. A graceless clatter, followed by a hissed out, "Stupid cables" can be heard. And then, pressure on the Air Guardian's left shin. Was that from the squeeze from the support braces lining his shattered form? Activating one's visor would instead reveal an intruder, using his strut-supported leg as a bench. With legs crossed, and feet swinging freely, maybe a bit impatiently off the edge of the table, Fusillade fans herself with one wingblade, and balances herself with a hand on the Air Guardian's knee. Propped atop her shoulders, incandescent white from backlighting, are two pert, stiff dove wings. Finally, almost as if in slow motion, the artifact of memories turns its head in slow motion to him, and with a sheepish smile, raises hands to wiggle them in a coy wave. "Hiiiiii," she breathes out.

Jetfire's battered frame shows signs of having been worked on certainly, but he's still under repair and will be for another day or two at the least. He'd been resting comfortably, able to at least move his upper body once more when the strange sounds reach his ears. He sits up partially, optics narrowing as he tries to figure out just what it is he's seeing. He can see quite clearly that Fusillade is sitting on his leg looking - well he's not sure what that look is exactly, but the logic centers scattered along his processing pathway are saying how inarguably ridiculous that is. Peacekeeper is around here somewhere, and he's in the bowels of Autobot City for heavens sake! So it's a tentative moment that passes before the normally self assured guardian tilts his head slightly, "Uh... hi?" no flying off the handle about intruding or anything like that, his logic won't let him even accept that as a possibility, though to anyone else in the room he appears to be greeting thin air.

Peacekeeper is, in fact, in the med-bay at the time, focusing on rechecking the repair work she had completed yesterday to restore Perceptor back to full strength. Not because she thinks that she missed something, but simply because she's become a bit too used to repairing far more critical damages, like the ones Jetfire had taken.

Speaking of whom... She turns in her seat slightly to look at Jetfire, who had sat up somewhat and seemed to be looking at... what? She looks towards where the Guardian's gaze seems to be focused at, but sees nothing. Confused, she sits still and watches him, not sure what's going on, exactly.

The sensation, the weight, certainly seemed real enough, the data pulled from the estimates that Jetfire himself likely made. Leaning forward to wistfully rest elbows on his chest, the vision tch tch tchs, and shakes its head, tapping fingertalons on the pristine armor. "Certainly hope that the certain something's still in the compartment." How could she --it?-- know that? "Just WHAT was going on in that processor of yours?" And now it seemed to not have access to his knowledge. Highly inconsistent... but it was certainly personable enough. "You know, that whole proving a point thing about genocide of one race or the other, the Autobots or Decepticons, is a futile sacrifice, at best. You cannot seriously expect to accomplish more than make a statement that'll be promptly ignored by the squabbling sides," she scolds with a tap of wingblade on his chestpiece. There's a prim, self-assured flick of those glowing white dove-wings tacked on her shoulderblades, the brightness almost painful as it emphasizes the strength of that conviction.

The sensations are incredibly real, the very curse of having so powerful an onboard computer system. He thuds back against the table as Fusillade puts some weight on him, his expression twisting into one of mild confusion as he just babbles out the first question that comes to mind, "Er... how'd you get here?" his tone lacking the confidence and strength it so often has as the apparition speaks with such knowledge. He glances around, notices Peacekeeper looking at him and gives a blank stare back before his attention is grabbed once more, Fusillade's cutting into his philosophies seeming to bring a sharp response, "It's risk that has to be taken if the war is to end in anything other than total disaster. I for one would rather not have the energon on my hands!" his optics dim a little, the logic voices in his head admonishing him for arguing with someone who simply could not actually be there, but it was too real for him to simply shrug off.

Peacekeeper frowns slightly as she watches, visor glinting as she narrows her optics. Just who, or what, is Jetfire talking to? Judging by the look that Jetfire gave her in return, he doesn't quite know either... and that's not exactly a good thing. He's the one who seems to be talking to thin air. "Sir," she finally says, slowly standing as a slightly concerned look crosses her face. "Are you alright?"

Fusillade mmmms, the facets of her golden optics glittering as she purses her lips, and waves a hand airily. "I came from nothingness. And soon will return there, as is the fate of every cog in the Decepticon war machine. Hey, did you hear someone say something?" She cants her head to the side, as if listening, and then shrugs. "Ah, probably isn't important anyway," she says affably. "And you're great! This is a good idea, but hard to to execute if YOU'RE executed. If you catch my drift. You know, that whole saving Transformers-kind kinda sorta just needs to start with you. And those you know. YEAH it's small, but it is a start! And don't start with that defeatist 'not soon enough' smelt with me." Her expression carries hope in it. "Besides: Under the heavens we journey far, on roads of life we're the wanderers."

Jetfire stares for a few moments, "Came from..." he trails off. For whatever reason every time he draws close to recognizing what's going on, something steers him away. A short in the system? Who knows exactly, someone will probably have to find out at some point. He stares at Fusillade for a few moments, trying to figure this all out - it MUST be due to his extensive psychological profiling, that's it. "What do you mean? I was in no danger of death. Scourge is powerful yes, but he has little chance of killing me so long as I retain my wits. I'll stay alive for a long long time yet..." he trails off at the last bit, "Er... nice?" he glances around, at this point seeming unable to see Peacekeeper - probably a side effect of the hallucination so blithely dismissing her from his consciousness. The guardian sits up slightly, "Look, you really shouldn't be here. You're going to get killed!"

Peacekeeper's frown deepens. Well, isn't this just Prime. Did the damages he obtain in his fight against Scourge somehow mess with his psyche as well? Well, she's not going to get answers as long as he's acting like this. She isn't exactly sure what she can do, if Jetfire no longer even acknowledges her presence, but moves towards the side to get a sedative ready. If this continues, it might be needed.

Murmuring, the Fusillade apparition takes on a more doting tone, "All it takes is one lucky shot... or even an accident. We cannot have that. I've had my fill of accidents." Rolling to wallow glibly atop his chest, she extends one hand to pinch one of the seams of the nearest scarlet and white chromed wing. Pulling upward, the hiss of clawtips on metal echoes with a sinister undercurrent. "I'd like to think it's nice. There are a LOT of nice things that can't be said. And I'll be fine, as long as I don't leave here! The ones that would kill me out are outside." Her grin is made more of bravado than belief.

Jetfire tilts his head slightly, trying to muddle through all of this. What she says makes perfect sense to him, yet he cannot shake the feeling of a heavy fog surrounding him, "Accidents..." he echo's, unaware of Peacekeeper's presence so close by, though if he had his wits about him he'd be thankful for her diligence as well as her patience in handling the situation, "Yes, accidents. That could happen regardless of what action we're undertaking, Fusillade. I could be stepping onto the lift and end up getting crushed by the doors." the sound causes him to wince a little bit, one hand moving up to cup his audial, "Some things are best left unsaid, because sometimes they're already known." he retorts, his optics dimming and his expression turning slightly more serious as he tries to fight off the penetrating fog in his brain.

At the mention of Fusillade's name, Peacekeeper raises an optic-ridge as she looks at Jetfire. She doesn't know much about the Decepticon femme, except for the Fort Knox attack and the brief meeting on the Ring a few months ago, but still. Why would she be in whatever hallucination Jetfire is experiencing right now? Most likely for some reason in the past before she joined the frontlines a few months ago. Well, either or, this whole issue ends now.

She finishes getting the sedative ready and walks over to Jetfire. "Sorry, sir, but you need to rest," the combat medic mutters softly as she injects the sedative into Jetfire's systems.

As Peacekeeper makes her presence more forcefully known, the vision desperately forces itself to remain in this plane. Alarm turns to scorn. The hallucination reacts in the same manner as the real thing, but the effects are amplified exponentially. "WHAT?!" it shrieks out in disbelief, white pinions fraying as spear-tipped bone splits upward, mantling with the crooked knotty limbs of October wind-stripped trees. Pulling one of its legs up, it slams a foot in the table, bracing itself even as hands, unbidden, reach upward and begin clawing away joints and internals. Her gaze behind that visor goes from jaunty to jaundiced, and with a panicked tremble, it whispers out at first, "No." And more forcefully, each time louder and shriller, "No, not yet! It was so perfect! No, don't let it happen, please!" Even as the shrapnel of shredded pieces of energon-streaked infrastructure slip past and swirl away in a vortex. A final plea of "Don't go away, you were right, you were right, you ARE right!" sobs out from the shattered vision, before the howl of anguish fades into its earlier-predicted nothingness.

The sedative is fast, but no-where near fast enough to prevent Jetfire from having one hell of a nasty experience. His optics brighten, his voice frozen in shock as he watches the apparition essentially tearing itself apart, "What the smelt!?" he's finally able to choke out, he sits upright abruptly, trying to catch the larger pieces, trying to prevent whatever the horror is that's going on around him from happening. Whatever it is that's got a hold of him, he can't let anyone end this way, in such a... brutal... his senses start to sag, the vision turning blurry, his motions suddenly feeling like he's moving through molasses. He watches as the last of the apparition is gone, a sick feeling seeming to settle upon him as he thuds back on the table unconscious.

"Whoa!" Peacekeeper yelps in surprise, not prepared for Jetfire to suddenly sit up straight like that, and she actually jumps back a step. She quickly recovers and somehow manages to catch the Guardian before he collapses completely back on the table and crack the back of his helm against the surface. Now THAT won't help matters any. "Primus," she mutters under her breath as she gently lays Jetfire back down on the med-table and sighs. There's going to be a few explainations to be made once Jetfire wakes up...

--End--