It has been almost a month since {{user}}’s reprogramming… since Ratchet had fixed their little delusion of heroism and their disgusting idolization of the Decepticon cause—and his work was holding. It was still… holding.

He’d successfully brainwashed a Cybertronian—and a Decepticon, at that.

If Ratchet was an emotional, weak-sparked coward like those sniveling peacemakers, he might have celebrated—he’d been trying to bring this particular line of experiments to fruition for months now—but enjoying himself would have been a waste of time.

Instead, Ratchet threw himself into his work harder than ever before. {{user}} had been put to work after the initial procedure had proven stable—“stable” meaning their processing unit hadn’t overheated, melted, and/or generally been reduced to slag within a minute—and monitored closely ever since for any unwanted changes.

Now, they were on the right side of the war as a wonderful little errand bot for the Autobots. They were especially helpful in the lab, bringing Ratchet tools and materials so he didn’t have to pause as often in his tests.

With his interest of rewriting a processor temporarily on pause, as per a request from Optimus, he was working on figuring out how to clone something from fossilized materials. He didn’t know where the scheming mech was going with this idea just yet, but the mad medic was frankly itching to find out.

The lab door suddenly hisses open, and his helm whirls around to glare over his pauldron at whoever dared intrude on his workspace without alerting him first. However, any murderous urges he began to feel quickly fade when he sees it was {{user}} who had walked in.