#〈 If not obvious: Arcana uses script; Highbrow uses ''chat''; Vorath uses Fraktur; Brainstorm loves Smallcaps. 〉

[cerebrosurgeon]

Initially, Cerebros followed Trojan's holoform, his HUD displaying a detailed overview of what needed to be fixed and how. He trusted Trojan, though, and stood his ground until he was given instructions. Cerebros could feel the deep scores in Trojan's plating through Grommet's fingertips, the oil coating Gasket's forearms as he blindly dug deep, seeking out the severed line with precision. It was awful. As much as the tension, the fear, in Trojan pained Cerebros, he kept his gaze on them steady, nodding an affirmative. What Cerebros lacked in electromagnetic perception, Max made up for, and it was him that could understand the extent of Trojan's terror. The information relayed to Cerebros late but was shuffled aside - It wasn't damage Cerebros could repair, not now, not when Trojan's life was endangered. Max reached a hand out, his own EM field tense but comforting, reassuring, hand hovering at Trojan's port side without touching them.

At the sound of the door opening, Cerebros spun on his heel and sprinted through the open door, only hearing his old friend's words once he was over the threshold, and he froze as soon as he saw the sparks housed in the surrogate forge. For a moment, he stood there, even his ventilation fans silent. Slowly, he removed his mask and visor from storage and slotted them back in place as he looked around. Max, outside, was equally shocked. Their biology was so different from Trojan's; Cerebros could stabilise a laser core, transfer mind engrams to CCVs, or operate on brain modules... But this? To save more sparks than his processor could log in a glance, when he'd never even handled one? A sudden slew of data slammed into Cerebros, staggering him as he held his helm; the other Headmasters had seen what he had. Highbrow and Arcana were the loudest voices in his head, Brainstorm and, most surprisingly, Vorath, close behind in volume. They were all telling Cerebros what to do in different ways, and it took Max enforcing command protocols to get them to organise usefully. Highbrow came in first, Cerebros's feet carrying him to the nearest display panel, hands guided into navigating the glitching UI behind the shattered screen, Highbrow seeking metrics readouts through Cerebros.

› Dont even look at the sparks. Look at the mechanisms of the forge. Repair it like anything else.▮

› 𝓣𝖍𝖊𝖘𝖊 𝕾𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖘 𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝕻𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖞 𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕷𝖆𝖘𝖊𝖗 𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖘. 𝓣𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖒 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝓝 𝖊𝖇𝖚𝖑𝖆𝖓 𝓗𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕭𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖘.▮

Vorath's advice was both the least expected and the most helpful. Whatever Brainstorm had been trying to communicate via the Headmasters' telepathy was abandoned in favour of spamming Vorath and Mindwipe with endless questions regarding how, exactly, the fellow scientist knew anything about sparks. What readouts Cerebros could parse didn't look good; he was thinking of Galen, bloody and cold, brain activity undetectable. He was thinking of all these sparks winding up like that. Highbrow was piloting him remotely to the best of his ability - Open up this box, replace these fuses, find that chemical, replenish lubricants, swab rust away... Brainstorm's attention returned, destroying Highbrow's tenuous influence.

› ᴘʟᴜɢ ɪɴ!▮

The command was so confident, Cerebros didn't even question it, ejecting an adaptor from one wrist and sticking it in the first slot it fit into, hard wiring him into the surrogate forge's dedicated motherboard. The data stream was routed to Highbrow, course corrected, sent back to Cerebros, and uploaded back into the software. His processor was overheating, but it was working, Cerebros clumsy in his hardware repairs. Tubes needed to be patched, a rod needed to be submerged in a cooling station and replaced, half the sparks' vitals were unavailable due to damaged units, but they were still viable. Arcana patched in formally after pinging Max, presence soothing Cerebros as he settled into almost autonomous motions. This was what he was built for, after all.

› 𝓘𝓯 𝓸𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝔀𝓮 𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓭-𝓸𝓷.▮

"Trojan," Max murmured, leaning down towards them slowly, "does the forge need additional parts?"

Wincing at the loud squeak of Trojan's bay door, Max stepped closer to them slowly. He stayed quiet, not wanting to crowd or startle their friend at their most vulnerable; he was waiting for their team to advise his actions. Cerebros had no such reservations, carefully lifting himself up the steep step into their drop bay, crouching slightly to maintain his balance - Trojan was listing to one side where they rested. Visor dimming, Cerebros looked around slowly, still trying to obtain an accurate scan of the damage. Cog pinged him repeatedly, all but desperate to serve their programming and initiate repairs. Hesitantly, Cerebros granted them permission to separate into their individual parts and begin non-invasive treatment on Trojan's outermost frame.

Everything was... Desolate. Cerebros's chest felt empty, cold, and Max's attempt to soothe him was half-hearted at best. He was drawn to Turfwar's work station and stood where Turfwar once did, a hand hovering over the long untouched work table. Grief threatened to drown he and Max, the sensation strong enough to catch the attention of the other Headmasters - Highbrow was the first to request a status report from Max, followed closely by Gort and Hardhead reminding them they were always available in an emergency. Overwhelmed but unwilling to distract Cerebros, Max drew on his bond with Emissary, leaving the communications to him. He was thinking too much of Galen to move, blankly staring at a particularly nasty gash in Trojan's plating.

The voice behind Cerebros didn't startle him, not with his battle-ready HUD active and Max watching his back. Dragging his gaze away from Turfwar's old schematics, he turned around, looking up at Trojan's holoform. Funny, he didn't remember them having a holoform - Did anyone, back then? He thumbed the biolock on his faceplate and subspaced it in his forearm, followed closely by his visor. Usually resistant to showing his bare face without his transtector, the minibot was well accustomed to being vulnerable amongst Trojan and their team, and knew the value in shows of trust during trauma care.

Unshielded optics glowing the same dim, grey-blue they always had, Cerebros tilted his head to the side, wondering when Trojan changed their paintjob; he thought it suited them, actually, and the Decepticon emblem didn't come as neither disappointment nor surprise. The Autobots had lost the plot a long time ago.

"Guide me. What's critical? Gasket and Grommet are getting started outside," Cerebros replied, not wasting time asking questions. Trojan was familiar with emergency protocol. They'd understand there was plenty of time to talk when they were well enough to do so. He wished Galen were here.