Chapter Text
Pharma was falling.
His spark twisted with fear as frigid air streamed past, chilling every surface of his frame. He glanced down at the snowy white rushing up to meet him, calculating the distance. His focus broke at the sight of energon streaking up his arms.
Heat erupted in his chest.
Pharma folded into his alt mode and zipped through the ravine, staying low. Pain began to radiate around his ha— where his hands used to be.
Once certain he'd put sufficient distance between himself and Delphi, he emerged from the ravine and headed to the nearest abandoned mine. Unfolding from his jet mode, he landed in the day-old snow and slipped into one of the vacant modular offices. His open wrist hit the door lock with a clang, sending fire up his arm.
Dammit!
Extending the grabbers in his forearm, he slid the lock into place before pulling down all the window shades. Standing in the dark, he thought better of it and reopened a few of the shades—just enough so he could see in front of himself.
Pharma stared at his open wrists, waiting for the sensation of rust eating at his internals. He moved out of view of any windows.
Energon continued to ooze from his open wrists, but nothing else happened. A weight lifted off his shoulders, and a shaky chuckle escaped him.
It worked! There was always a chance of vaccine failure—especially with a rush job. But not this time. The dose he'd given himself earlier—it worked. He hadn't needed the booster after all.
Ratchet, you poor fool.
Pharma located a supply closet and procured a magnetic headlamp, situating it on his helm at an awkward angle. He returned to the open window shades and shut them again before heading back to the supply closet. Pulling out a couple trash bin liners with zip closures, he struggled to open them with his forceps and situated them over his open wrists. Slipping the closures over the liners, he grabbed the ends with his teeth and pulled as tightly as they would allow without snapping.
The room swayed as Pharma stood up, so he returned to the floor, sitting down all the way this time. He shook.
He tried standing again—slowly. He stumbled through the halls of the makeshift facility in search of the medical station. It wasn't far.
Switching on the station's modular lighting, Pharma raided the cabinets and drawers until he found leftover medical-grade energon, a basin large enough to hold contents of the entire canister, and clamps. He pried open the energon canister and emptied it into the basin, then ripped the trash bin liners off his arms and plunged his open wrists into the cold solution. He winced.
Ignoring the pain, Pharma extended the grabber tool in his forearm and grabbed one of the clamps. He submerged it in the energon and swished it around before pulling out his other arm and spraying the open energon lines and clamp with antiseptic. Carefully, he clamped one of the energon lines sticking out of his wrist. He repeated the same for the rest of the exposed lines in his wrists.
As Pharma let the med-grade energon dry, he double checked to make sure he wasn't leaking his energon anymore. Satisfied, he raided the supplies again, looking for ligatures. He collected them and began the tedious process of tying them around the clamped energon lines in his wrists. One handed surgical knots were challenging enough. Zero handed knots were on a whole different level of difficulty.
Pharma lost track of how much time he'd spend on the ligatures, but they were holding, which was all that mattered.
Heading back to the supply closet, he grabbed fresh trash bin liners and fitted them over his arms the same way as before.
Pharma returned to the med station and sat on one of the portable slabs, resting his elbows on his knees and staring at his bagged wrists.
One of the bulbs in the nearest lighting units flickered. Had it been doing that this whole time?
As the bulb continued flickering, irritation rose in Pharma. Just die already.
Lifting his legs onto the slab, Pharma turned onto his front and lay down, dangling his forearms off the sides of the slab. He shut his optics and slowed his breathing.
Pharma was falling.
He jolted as his optics flew open, his breathing quick and sharp.
When had he fallen asleep?
His hands ached. No, not his hands.
Pharma eased himself to a seated position and assessed his arms again. The ligatures and clamps had held.
A dark patch around his left elbow caught his eye. He stood and walked closer to the light to get a better look. His spark sank.
No!
He extended his wire cutters from his forearm and scraped at the patch. Fine powder came away from it.
No, no, no!
He continued scratching. More powder.
The dying bulb ceased its flickering for a moment, growing brighter than all the rest before going dark.
Pharma slammed his arm into the lighting unit, sending it crashing to the floor. He kicked it before stomping on the bulbs until they were all dark. Turning his fury on the other lighting units, Pharma destroyed them next. He swiped the magnetic lamp off his helm and sent it flying across the room.
His rage cooled in the darkness, and he crumpled to his knees, crushing the glass shards beneath him.
He wept.
Pharma stumbled forward into the deep snow. He couldn't feel his feet anymore. He dragged himself to the edge of a short cliff and lay down with his back to the edge.
From this angle, the falling snow was mesmerizing in a new way. Pharma turned his head just enough so that the white flakes collected on his face. After a few moments, he opened all his vents and let out a puff of air, scattering snowflakes into the frigid air.
He closed his vents and waited for the snow to settle back down. He repeated the process a few more times before leaving his vents open, allowing snow to collect in them.
Pharma extended the surgical saw in his forearm and pulled one of his knees close to his chest. Shaking, he located the vulnerable spot between his leg plating and pressed the blade to the back of his knee. He grunted as he shoved the blade deep into the knee from the back, barely feeling the energon line within rupture.
Pulling out the saw, he stared at the energon dripping from the tip before bringing his other knee as close to his chest as possible. He pressed the saw blade to the back of the knee and shoved it in.
Pharma yanked out the blade and retracted it. Slowly, he straightened his legs enough to reveal the energon that had been spilling from the freshly cut energon lines in his knees.
As he lay watching the snow, Pharma shut down all inessential systems. He was no longer shaking. A wave of tiredness washed through him, and his breathing slowed.
He closed his optics and slid back off the edge of the cliff.
Censere looked up at the sound of an imminent death alert.
PHARMA OF ALTIHEX
He flicked his hand to acknowledge the alert and watched as the computer loaded the name and statue of Pharma's killer—where the new, empty flower would be blooming.
PHARMA OF ALTIHEX
Censere stared sadly at the name and statue and uttered a quiet prayer under his breath. He pulled up the map of flowers around Pharma's statue, and a purple dot flashed to indicate where Censere would find the new flower.
Acknowledging the new entry and sending the data to the teleportation chamber, Censere rose and stepped into the chamber, remote control in hand. He activated the chamber and materialized in front of Pharma's statue, scanning for the new flower. Locating it, he marked its position with a paint pen, gently pulled it from the ground, and inspected it closely to make sure it was viable.
Satisfied, Censere teleported back to the citadel to log the collection of the flower into the system. Sending new coordinates to the teleportation chamber, Censere stepped inside and wrapped his cloak tightly around his body, steeling himself for the kind of scene that might await him on the other side.