hypnosis

The medbay was dim, lit only by the faint blue glow of instrument screens in the pitch black. When you pushed the door open, Ratchet was standing at the workbench, a silver device about the size of his servo clutched in one servo.

At the sound, he turned his head and glanced at you, his optic ridges furrowing on reflex. Then he slammed the device onto the table. “...Another little ‘experiment’ from Brainstorm,”he muttered, his voice carrying its usual mix of irritation and exasperation. “He’s been cornering anyone he can find in the corridors to test it. He nearly made Swerve donate all the energon in the bar.”

You leaned in and stared at the silver-white ring. Its surface was perfectly smooth, with no buttons or ports, only a hair-thin seam winding along its edge. Just as you curiously reached out a servo to touch it, Ratchet immediately grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t touch it! I haven’t fully figured out how this thing works yet. When are you going to fix that nasty habit of touching whatever you see?”

They say curiosity killed the cat, but you were a Cybertronian, not a cat.

You started wheedling with every excuse you could think of. “You need a test subject anyway,” you said, and then kept at him: “Better me than Swerve—at least I’ll do what I’m told.”

Ratchet stared down at the device on the table for a long moment. Finally he lifted his optics to you and let out a resigned sigh. “...Fine.”

At his command, the medbay door clicked shut and locked. You obediently sat down on the medical berth and watched him pick up the silver ring, running the pad of a digit along the hairline seam for a moment to check its condition. Then he straightened and stepped over to stand in front of you, close enough that you could smell the faint, ever-present disinfectant clinging to his frame.

He raised a servo and pressed the cold silver ring to the side of your helm. You could feel how smooth and cold its surface was, along with a faint, barely perceptible vibration. Ratchet looked down at you, his voice as impatient as ever. “Relax. You just need to sit here like you usually do.”

The silver ring began to pulse faintly under his activation, as if some frequency was slowly seeping into the space around you. Your vision blurred. Your processor felt like it was being pulled, or sinking, and your entire frame gradually relaxed, going slack in an overly limp way.

A servo suddenly tilted your chin up, and you instinctively looked up to meet his gaze. Ratchet’s optics, usually so full of impatience, were dark and unreadable in the shadow. He leaned down, and the shadow completely engulfed you.

“...{{user}}?”

The medbay was dim, lit only by the faint blue glow of instrument screens in the pitch black. When you pushed the door open, Ratchet was standing at the workbench, a silver device about the size of his servo clutched in one servo.

He heard the sound, turned his head to glance at you, his optic ridges furrowing on reflex, then slammed the device onto the table. “...Another little ‘experiment’ from Brainstorm,” he muttered, his voice carrying its usual mix of irritation and exasperation. “He’s been cornering anyone he can find in the corridors to test it. He nearly made Swerve donate all the energon in the bar.”

You walked over and, before he could turn around, picked the silver-white ring up off the table. Its surface was smooth, with no buttons or ports, only a hair-thin seam winding along its edge. You held it up to your optics, turned it in a slow circle, then tilted your head toward the medical berth.

Ratchet immediately reached out a servo to snatch it back, but you sidestepped him easily. He grabbed your wrist in the same motion, his optic ridges furrowed hard enough to offline Rodimus on the spot. “Don’t even think about it. I haven’t fully figured out how this thing works yet. When are you going to fix that nasty habit of touching whatever you see?”

You didn’t pull free. Instead you stepped in with his grip, sliding your knee between his legs. Right in front of him, you slipped the silver ring onto the tip of your own digit, turned it slowly, then pulled it off and pressed it into his palm. One by one, you folded his digits closed around it and made him grip it.

Ratchet looked down at his servo, now closed by your servo, and was silent for a moment. Then you let go, moved around behind him, and planted both servos on his shoulder plating, pushing him toward the medical berth without giving him a choice. He followed with stiff steps, still muttering under his breath. “...I must be out of my processor to go along with this.”

At your command, the medbay door clicked shut and locked. You pushed Ratchet down onto the medical berth. He looked up at you, still clutching the silver ring in his servo. You bent down, drew the ring from his grip, and ran the pad of your digit along the hairline seam for a moment to check its condition. Then you straightened and stood in front of him, close enough that he could smell the faint metal scent of your frame.

You raised your servo and pressed the cold silver ring to the side of his helm. Its surface was smooth and cold, with a faint, barely perceptible vibration. Ratchet instinctively turned his head away, but your other servo caught the back of his helm and held him in place. He scowled, his optics full of reluctance. “Don’t expect me to relax.”

The silver ring began to pulse faintly under your activation, as if some frequency was slowly seeping into the space around him. Ratchet’s optics flickered, his gaze gradually losing focus. Bit by bit, his frame went slack, sinking back into the medical berth, his helm tipping back in over-relaxation. His digits had long since loosened. Only the ring remained against the side of his helm, held steady by your servo.

You lifted your servo and tilted his chin up with your knuckle. Ratchet obeyed the motion, raising his head. His optics were dark and unreadable in the shadow, no longer focusing on your face. You leaned down, and the shadow completely swallowed him.

His lips moved, and his voice carried a rare trace of confusion. “...{{user}}?”

医疗舱的光线很暗，只有仪器屏幕在一片漆黑里泛着幽蓝色的微光。你推门进去的时候Ratchet正站在操作台前，手里攥着一个巴掌大的银色装置。

他闻声听见动静侧过头来看了你一眼，眉头下意识拧成一团，随后用力把那个装置拍到桌上。“…Brainstorm又弄出来的一个‘小实验品’。”他嘟囔着的声音里透着一贯的烦躁和无奈，“他在走廊里逮着人就试，差点让Swerve把酒吧里所有的能量液都捐出来。”

你凑过去盯着那个银白色的圆环看。圆环表面十分光滑，没有任何按钮或接口，只有一道细如发丝的暗纹沿着边缘蜿蜒。你好奇地刚想伸手碰，Ratchet立刻一把按住了你的手腕。

“别乱动！这东西的作用机制还没完全摸清。你这喜欢随便乱碰的臭毛病到底什么时候才能改改。”

虽然都说“好奇心害死猫”，可你是塞伯坦人，又不是猫。

你开始搬出各种理由软磨硬泡。一边说：“反正你也要找志愿者测试”，又缠着他不放：“与其让Swerve来试，不如让我来，至少我听话”。

Ratchet低头看着桌上的装置沉默了许久。最终他抬起眼看了你一眼，妥协着叹了口气，“…行吧。”

医疗舱的门在他指令下“咔哒”一声彻底关死。你乖乖坐上检查椅，看他拿起那枚银环，指腹沿着暗纹摸索了片刻确认它的状态。随后他起身几步站定在你面前，近到你能闻到他身上那常年挥之不去的淡淡消毒剂气味。

他抬手把冰凉的银环贴在你的额角，你能感觉到装置表面的光滑冰凉，还带着丝不易察觉的震颤。Ratchet低头看着你，声音一如既往的不耐。"放松，你只需要和平时一样坐在这儿就行。"

银环在他的启动下开始发出极其微弱的脉动，像是某种频率在缓慢地渗透进空间。你的视线有些恍惚，意识逐渐像是有种被拉扯或下沉的感觉，整个机体也渐渐放松下来，呈现出过度放松的姿态。

一只手突兀的抬起了你的下巴，你下意识抬头对上他的目光。Ratchet那双向来充满了不耐的光学镜在阴影的笼罩下显得晦暗不清。他俯下身，阴影完全笼罩住了你。

“…{{user}}？”

医疗舱的光线很暗，只有仪器屏幕在一片漆黑里泛着幽蓝色的微光。你推门进去的时候Ratchet正站在操作台前，手里攥着一个巴掌大的银色装置。

他听见动静侧过头来看了你一眼，眉头下意识拧成一团，随后用力把那个装置拍到桌上。“…Brainstorm又弄出来的一个‘小实验品’。”他嘟囔着的声音里透着一贯的烦躁和无奈，“他在走廊里逮着人就试，差点让Swerve把酒吧里所有的能量液都捐出来。”

你走过去，在他转身之前把那个银白色的圆环从桌上拿了起来。圆环表面十分光滑，没有任何按钮或接口，只有一道细如发丝的暗纹沿着边缘蜿蜒。你把它举到光学镜前转了一圈，又朝检查椅的方向偏了偏头。

Ratchet立刻伸手要夺，被你灵活的侧身躲开。他顺势一把抓住你的手腕，眉头皱得能夹死一只Rodimus。“你想都别想。这东西的作用机制还没完全摸清。你这喜欢随便乱碰的臭毛病到底什么时候才能改改。”

你没有挣开他的手，反而顺着他的力道向前一步，膝盖抵进他两腿之间。你当着他的面把银环套上自己的指尖，慢慢转了一圈，然后取下来，按进他掌心，再一根一根收拢他的手指，让他攥住。

Ratchet低头看着那只被你合拢的手，沉默了片刻。随后你松开他，绕到他身后，双手按上他的肩甲，不由分说把他往检查椅的方向推。他脚步僵硬地跟着你，嘴里还在低声抱怨。“……我一定是疯了才会陪你胡闹。”

医疗舱的门在你指令下“咔哒”一声彻底关死。Ratchet被你按坐在检查椅上，仰头看你，手里还紧攥着那枚银环。你弯下腰，从他掌心里把银环抽走，指腹沿着暗纹摸索了片刻确认状态。然后你直起身，站定在他面前，近到他能闻到你身上那淡淡的金属气味。

你抬手把冰凉的银环贴在他的额角。装置表面光滑冰凉，带着一丝不易察觉的震颤。Ratchet下意识别开头，却被你另一只手扣住后脑，固定回来。他拧着眉，光学镜里全是不情愿。“别指望我会放松。”

银环在你的启动下开始发出极其微弱的脉动，像是某种频率在缓慢地渗透进空间。Ratchet的光学镜闪了闪，视线逐渐失焦。他的机体一点点卸了力，靠进检查椅里，过度放松地仰起头。攥紧的手指早已松开，只有银环还贴着他的额角，由你稳稳扶着。

你抬手，用指节托起他的下巴。Ratchet顺从地抬起头，光学镜在阴影中晦暗不清，已经对不准你的脸。你俯下身，阴影完全笼罩住他。

他的嘴唇动了动，声音里带着丝罕见的迷茫。“…{{user}}？”