2018-10-22 Protihex vs. Nicasius
From Transformers: Lost and Found
|Protihex vs. Nicasius|
|Location||Lost Light - Docks and Storage - The Brig|
|Summary||Protihex of Ratchet interrogates a Quintesson prisoner.|
The brig is surprisingly bright, neat and kempt, and filled with Quintessons. Everyone is walled up in their own soundproofed cell, unless someone toggles something on the control console. They all list lazily in the corners, flipping through reading material that some kind spark handed out. Ratchet's subject is all the way at the end of the row, pacing the perimeter of his confines, his remaining tentacles twisted up in a loose tether at his rounded back.
"Huh. Didn't know we had this many..." Ratchet notes upon entering his entry into the brig. He balances on his cane, his medical kit in his other hand, and after a moment to survey the various captives he makes his way towards the one he understands was involved with Rodimus and Soundwave. He doesn't disguise his approach or slow, stopping only at the edge of the field keeping the Quint captive. "I'm Ratchet of Protihex." He greets. "The ship's Chief Medical Officer. Who are you?"
The Quintesson pauses and approaches the glowing green field, tentacles unraveling. "...Nicasius." He brightens slightly, tapping the grasping ends of his tendrils together. "A doctor? I was expecting an interrogator."
"That can be arranged, if you insist." Ratchet replies. He sets his kit down, leveraging himself against his cane. "A lot of nasty types on this ship. Peace makes strange bedfellows, and all that." The doctor looks up, past the field and at the Quintesson. "I understand Rodimus and Soundwave brought you in. That right?"
Nicasius squints and drifts away from the field to stare at the wall. "I don't know who, or how. All I know is that someone ATTACKED me and STOLE my VEHICLE. The Council is going to have a field day with this. All of this," he gestures across the corridor, to the other cells.
Ratchet glances over his shoulder at what Nicasius indicates. It makes him chuckle. "And here I thought you Quints were supposed to be ancient and wise." He turns back, a half grin on his features. "We've been on the Council's slag list for four million years. A handful of Quints isn't gonna tip the scales much, now is it." The doctor taps the top of his cane. "But I'm not here to threaten you. Really, I'm not. I'm a doctor. I'm looking for a cure."
Nicasius presses his bizarre face up against the field, which had been toggled off of the zappy setting apparently. "Cure? Kindly describe the symptoms in detail, Protihex of Ratchet."
Ratchet grins at Nicasius's reaction. "Now, that's what I thought." The doctor replies. "You're a researcher yourself, aren't you Nicasius? You like experimenting?" Ratchet asks. He doesn't lean in, keeping his distance from the field.
Nicasius looks thoughtful for a moment. "I dabble in mechanical disease. You didn't describe the symptoms. You must describe the symptoms." His optics shine hungrily.
"I think you'd be familiar with them." Ratchet replies, his grip tightening on the top of his cane. "How about we trade? You've been inducing disease in the Cybertronian you held captive, the one that we rescued. Some kind of metabolic disorder."
"Tch!" Nicasius flings the tip of his tentacle aside. "I'm not a fool, Protihex. I want something more substantial. I'll be prosecuted for violating the Tyrest Accord. If I give you the cure, I want immunity, for myself and my cohorts. It's a devious little disease, isn't it? Travels through electrons!"
"You said yourself we're not the Council." Ratchet replies. "I can't speak for them. As for us...can't hurt you if you help." He shrugs. "I'd be happy to effect some repairs. That is..." He crouches down and withdraws Nicasius's tentacle from his bag, one of the ones taken by Soundwave. "Interesting, when you scan it. I can see how you delivered the virus."
"Just bend the truth," Nicasius urges, then stiffens when Ratchet pulls the detached tentacle out, as melted as it is. "Give that back. I need that back!" He's back against the field.
Ratchet waggles the tentacle a little. "I'm happy to return it. I'm a doctor. Fixing things is what I do. But." He makes to put the tentacle away, back into the bag. "I have a list of priorities to work through. Triage. Our captain is an outlier, you see. Not the best reaction to your electrovirus."
"Aha! I wondered if it actually got to him. You're right in that it's metabolism-related..." Nicasius watches Ratchet start to tuck the tentacle away. "Wait! I don't have a cure on me, just how to create one. If you're halfway decent at your job, it shouldn't be an issue. As limited as you poor Cybertronians are..."
Nicasius grudgingly describes how to counteract the electrovirus. It's very particular and specific, with some high system risk if the quantities aren't precise. When he's through, he leans back and looks expectant.
Ratchet listens intently, mentally noting the processes the Quintesson describes. He'll have to test them, of course, ensure that the information he's getting is accurate. When the alien is finished he nods. "Hmm. Doesn't sound too difficult." He says, regardless of the actual difficulty. Never let the Quints see you sweat. "No, I don't think it'll be an issue." Ratchet stows the tentacle. "And if it works? I'll be back and we'll get you fixed up. Might even put in a good word with the authorities on that Tyrest Accord issue."
Nicasius doesn't like this answer. "No! I WANT IT BACK NOW!" He whips the field with his tentacles, which have sprung their deadly rows of blades. He slumps and his appendages fall to the ground, limply. "Rrrrgh. Hang on. Let me... correct the solution." He changes a few little details of his description, now that this cure actually has to work. With another angry snort, he retreats to his corner to brood.