Ep 1 - Waiting Room - closed
Aug 8, 2012 18:53:09 GMT -5
Post by breakdown on Aug 8, 2012 18:53:09 GMT -5
"You, what's your name?" Breakdown asked the next mech in the makeshift line he’d corralled them into for the tenth time that cycle, all business. A couple hours after an attack like that meant they were still running damage control, not getting personal. Way too many confused Cons wandering and limping around everywhere they can get, fragging up what really needed to be done.
Not in the medbay corridor. Breakdown had won his fight, so he was fine, and after Knock Out looked him over to prove he really was, he posted him as the sentry to the medbay with one direction: run triage, and unless he was actively watching someone's spark go out or outranked enough that they could both be killed, get rid of them any way he felt like.
The process wasn't hard, they were just swamped, and half of them had a sob story.
"Your name," Breakdown repeated when the Eradicon in front of him didn't answer quick enough.
"RD-77," the Eradicon with the missing leg said.
"Any other injuries?” He started a visual -- wait. Missing leg, torn clean off? "RD-77?" He checked the datapad he was holding, scrolling through the records of patients' designations and their triage status. RD-77 had obviously gotten in some nasty hand-to-hand fight, but was rated green: walking wounded.
Heh, Breakdown thought, eyeing the empty leg socket. Maybe not.
"Thought I told you to get out of here today. Your limb was pulled out at the joint. That doesn't even hurt. Go back to your quarters." And if you come back again, at least lie about your designation, Breakdown thought. Common sense.
"But I need a new one," 77 argued. Yes, if his internal scans came up clean and the housings weren't damaged, all he'd need was a new limb. That was a simple repair. Breakdown could've done the replacement himself without ever bothering the medics. But the parts were in storage, and in the time it would take to get there and back, another ten patients would be lined up, walking in or carried in by their friends, and half of them whining about how they needed to be seen right now. He had been put out here to control things while the medics dealt with the officers and the serious cases, and he wasn't supposed to leave his post.
"You'll need a new engine block if you don't get out of here," Breakdown countered, leaning over the Eradicon for the intimidation factor. 77 backed off, dragging himself away with some help from the wall. It was pathetic, but Breakdown didn’t care. He had a dozen mechs to process, and that was just until more showed up, since the wounded were still trickling in while the decks were cleared. Even that was without counting the ones already rated yellow and waiting. He eyed them, sitting on the side of the hallway or passed out and put on temporary berths, with damaged limbs, missing components, dents to the head, and energon dripping out of them from unknown burst lines.
He was moving on to the next needing evaluated when out of the corner of his optic range, he saw RD-77 stumble as he tried to turn the corner.
"77," Breakdown called out. RD-77 stopped and turned back in a series of small jumps. "Go to storage and -- here, I'll send you the map. Get a part from medical supply, bin 62. Any one, they're all the same. Don't mess with any of the other bins." He might recognize some distinguishing feature from one of his buddies, recycled, and they didn't have enough time or hands to fix everyone's frames, let alone run a psych ward. "I'm sending you my access code. Come back with a new leg, and I'll put it on for you."
77 nodded, turned, and hopped off on one leg toward storage.
Moving quickly through the line, without pausing he sent six back to quarters with orders to come back next cycle, and five more back to quarters with orders NOT to come back next cycle. Halfway through, one came crawling in, gushing energon from a hole where his spark chamber cover should be, and Breakdown rated him black and carried him into surgery immediately.
And then, slinking around close to the wall, there was Downforce... in alt mode. “You too? Come here,” he said, waving Downforce over. As he drove up, Breakdown took stock. Slight drip of energon underneath him, nowhere near fast enough to be dangerous. Engine sounded like it'd been run over. Engine LOOKED like it'd been run over, and there was nothing left on the front end that wasn't crumpled or flat out missing.
"Something nasty do this to you?" Breakdown thought out loud. He nodded down at Downforce in camaraderie. "Go ahead and transform. Missing windshield's a stability risk."
Turning back to log Downforce into the database, he noted heavy surface damage, some drive train injury, but nothing sparking or bleeding out or otherwise life threatening. "Come back next cycle," he said automatically.
He expected to hear some sort of comment, and instead got Downforce changing gears -- or would've if they didn't physically grind and halt with a sickening noise partway through. Breakdown looked back at him, confused. “Why -- wait, you can’t transform?”
Not in the medbay corridor. Breakdown had won his fight, so he was fine, and after Knock Out looked him over to prove he really was, he posted him as the sentry to the medbay with one direction: run triage, and unless he was actively watching someone's spark go out or outranked enough that they could both be killed, get rid of them any way he felt like.
The process wasn't hard, they were just swamped, and half of them had a sob story.
"Your name," Breakdown repeated when the Eradicon in front of him didn't answer quick enough.
"RD-77," the Eradicon with the missing leg said.
"Any other injuries?” He started a visual -- wait. Missing leg, torn clean off? "RD-77?" He checked the datapad he was holding, scrolling through the records of patients' designations and their triage status. RD-77 had obviously gotten in some nasty hand-to-hand fight, but was rated green: walking wounded.
Heh, Breakdown thought, eyeing the empty leg socket. Maybe not.
"Thought I told you to get out of here today. Your limb was pulled out at the joint. That doesn't even hurt. Go back to your quarters." And if you come back again, at least lie about your designation, Breakdown thought. Common sense.
"But I need a new one," 77 argued. Yes, if his internal scans came up clean and the housings weren't damaged, all he'd need was a new limb. That was a simple repair. Breakdown could've done the replacement himself without ever bothering the medics. But the parts were in storage, and in the time it would take to get there and back, another ten patients would be lined up, walking in or carried in by their friends, and half of them whining about how they needed to be seen right now. He had been put out here to control things while the medics dealt with the officers and the serious cases, and he wasn't supposed to leave his post.
"You'll need a new engine block if you don't get out of here," Breakdown countered, leaning over the Eradicon for the intimidation factor. 77 backed off, dragging himself away with some help from the wall. It was pathetic, but Breakdown didn’t care. He had a dozen mechs to process, and that was just until more showed up, since the wounded were still trickling in while the decks were cleared. Even that was without counting the ones already rated yellow and waiting. He eyed them, sitting on the side of the hallway or passed out and put on temporary berths, with damaged limbs, missing components, dents to the head, and energon dripping out of them from unknown burst lines.
He was moving on to the next needing evaluated when out of the corner of his optic range, he saw RD-77 stumble as he tried to turn the corner.
"77," Breakdown called out. RD-77 stopped and turned back in a series of small jumps. "Go to storage and -- here, I'll send you the map. Get a part from medical supply, bin 62. Any one, they're all the same. Don't mess with any of the other bins." He might recognize some distinguishing feature from one of his buddies, recycled, and they didn't have enough time or hands to fix everyone's frames, let alone run a psych ward. "I'm sending you my access code. Come back with a new leg, and I'll put it on for you."
77 nodded, turned, and hopped off on one leg toward storage.
Moving quickly through the line, without pausing he sent six back to quarters with orders to come back next cycle, and five more back to quarters with orders NOT to come back next cycle. Halfway through, one came crawling in, gushing energon from a hole where his spark chamber cover should be, and Breakdown rated him black and carried him into surgery immediately.
And then, slinking around close to the wall, there was Downforce... in alt mode. “You too? Come here,” he said, waving Downforce over. As he drove up, Breakdown took stock. Slight drip of energon underneath him, nowhere near fast enough to be dangerous. Engine sounded like it'd been run over. Engine LOOKED like it'd been run over, and there was nothing left on the front end that wasn't crumpled or flat out missing.
"Something nasty do this to you?" Breakdown thought out loud. He nodded down at Downforce in camaraderie. "Go ahead and transform. Missing windshield's a stability risk."
Turning back to log Downforce into the database, he noted heavy surface damage, some drive train injury, but nothing sparking or bleeding out or otherwise life threatening. "Come back next cycle," he said automatically.
He expected to hear some sort of comment, and instead got Downforce changing gears -- or would've if they didn't physically grind and halt with a sickening noise partway through. Breakdown looked back at him, confused. “Why -- wait, you can’t transform?”