[ti]Ep 2[/ti]Walk of Shame [Closed]

[Knock Out]

Episode 2 | Week 2 | Day 7 (After He Said She Said)
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Pride.

Some mechs had it. Some mechs did not.

Some had more than others, to the point that if they didn't sometimes swallow their pride? They would drown in it, and it would become their downfall. Knock Out sadly was one such mech, which was why he'd spent the better part of the past few hours locked away in the Medical Bay trying to repair his wheel arch after an unfortunate encounter with Megatron earlier.

He hadn't even bothered to clean himself up, deciding that repair could come first, cleanup and pampering himself later. He was covered in dust from where he'd cleaned out Megatron's vents, his faceplate and helm smeared with nasty oil filled clay from where a pustule exploded on him. Covered in dings, scratches, various dents... and Megatron's paint. Ah yes, it'd been an amazing and fun filled day for Knock Out, one which sadly didn't look to be ending any time soon.

Knock Out didn't want to face anyone with his injury and punishment in full view of everyone. No! He didn't want to show himself in this state! He'd told Breakdown not to wait up for him, that he had 'paperwork' to do. Breakdown, as usual, had insisted to come help his partner, only to be met with angry yells and strict orders, forbidding the big blue mech to even come near the Medical Bay until he was done with his work. He knew Breakdown would blow a damn gasket if he saw Knock Out in this state, and he didn't really have the patience to deal with that, not after everything already today. He was lucky though that, for once, Breakdown had decided not to question the Chief Medical Officer's sudden want to do paperwork, and had left well enough alone.

Which, Knock Out was starting to regret. Try as he might, even with some awkward contorting of himself and using the pristine shiny mirror-like surfaces of the benches in the Medical Bay to see better, bending tools and attaching tools to other tools to make longer tools? He couldn't repair this thing by himself. At least not properly. If he were to shift into his alt mode and try to drive? It wouldn't end well, that much was certain.

He needed help.

Flatline.

He shuddered at the very thought of having to reduce himself to asking him for help with this issue, but there was only one other medic on the Nemesis who could deal with this.

Luckily for Knock Out, the hours he'd spent trying to fix it himself meant that (hopefully) most of the residents of the Nemesis were all in their personal quarters, or at least busying themselves elsewhere and not lingering in the corridors. Of which Knock Out would have to traverse many to get to where Flatline resided. Joy.

A heavy vent of a sigh left him as he finally resigned to the fact he would have to swallow his pride afterall and ask Flatline for help. There was no other way around this. He just hoped that Flatline was still awake, and that he could get it done quickly. As in, before tomorrow when Knock Out would have to face multiple patients, and Breakdown.

One sad and futile last attempt at trying to fix it himself only made him grumble in frustration as he made his way from the Medical Bay and down the corridors toward the laboratories where Flatline spent most of his time. Luckily the corridors were mostly deserted, although the Vehicons kept up their patrols throughout the night. Which meant awkward side-stepping and ducking and weaving to not draw attention to himself. It failed, and he only managed to draw wary and confused glances his way, quiet murmurs could be heard among the guards.

Aaah, the walk of shame. He didn't think he'd ever have to do one of these again.

Eventually, with more awkward not-so-subtle avoiding of Vehicons, he found himself infront of the door to Flatline's lab. The door didn't open, which Knock Out found rude; but then again it was late. Maybe Flatline was in recharge.

Too bad for Flatline, if he was! This was a matter of urgency! He raised one servo, ready to knock on the door. He hesitated, inhaling in sharply. He was really doing this. He was about to ask Flatline. Flatline. For help. Maybe Breakdown could fix it. He wouldn't freak out so badly would he? Yes. Yes he would. Damnit.

He knocked on the heavy door and vented out another sigh.

“Flatline. We have a problem, let me in.”

He paused.

“Uh, please. Please let me in.”

That's better.

[Flatline]

Every day before recharge, or more accurately every time he finally decided to recharge, Flatline meticulously cleaned and voided out his work area as much as he possibly could. Every tool was put back in its proper home, and every surface was cleared of projects and devices, even if he intended to work on them in the morning. The only time this really changed, was when the project was simply too large, or was too delicate to be moved so frivolously just for a little quirk he had about his work station. This left the lab seeming empty in a way, only holding two projects that were still upon their racks that looked more like displays due to the fact nothing sat around them.

One was what appeared to be a Vehicon arm that was attached to a few three prong stands to keep it elevated off of the tables surface, and the other an internal fuel pump that was being cleaned up and restored to function.

The limb was twisted up and damaged, the display within the forearm cracked and mangled by some kind of gash that sliced it nearly in half. This left many wires and tattered mesh open to the air, where even a glint of strut material was still visible. Repairs were in the process of being completed, but have yet to be finished. The fuel pump in contrast, was whole, and not damaged, but simply being cleaned out and drained of all of the old fluids that once ran through it. It would take a few draining and passes to get it in proper working order again, but it appeared to be on the right path.

Despite this, the lab was sterile, cleared, and dark. Tall cabinets of dark iron lined the far wall, broken up only by a narrow counter space between some of them to offer staging for more specialized tools or materials. There was a large medical table that was not being used, laying propped up at an angle upon its hinge. The table was standard, with seams and breaks along its surface to permit it to flare out or contract down to try to accommodate a wide variety of frame sizes. Above it sat a domed light, the large disk framed by spindly arms that held multiple tools within their grasp. The limbs of metal were folded up against the light's mounting, to keep the legs out of the way until they were needed.

Flatline was done, ready to turn it in for this night, and wanting to seek some real sleep for a change where he hoped some others wouldn't come and both- and he jinxed himself.

Helm snapping around to look at the door, the slender quills down Flatline's spine bristled up when he recognized the voice instantly. There was no mistaking that voice for anyone else, no Vehicon or Eradicon even coming close to that arrogant slag's obnoxious tones. If it was anyone else, it may be described as smooth and easy on the audials, but because it was HIS it just sounded painful to him, a slow sneer creeping back over his lips. Striding towards the door, but not opening it yet, Flatline called out through the cutting silence of his lab, his own tones raspy and gritty with agitation and displeasure.

"I believe any problem you get yourself into, is simply your problem... the proper sentence is 'I have a problem'. Do you care to give it a second swing?"

No remorse, no mercy. Flatline jabbed at the mech who was in so much slag he actually came to HIM out of all Cybertronian on this ship for aid. It had to be something brutal, and already Flatline's processor was spinning to try to figure out what Knock Out had gotten himself into. Oh this could be wonderfully beautiful, and he planned to savor it fully. Because of this, his sneer started to peel back into a content smile that curled up the corners of his mouth.

[Knock Out]

Knock Out rolled his optics at the reply that came through the closed door, expecting nothing less from Flatline. Sadly for Flatline, he was wrong – but he should be used to that.

The Chief Medical Officer didn't have time to stand around in the hallway looking a mess and in a frustrating amount of pain due to his wheel arch, and as such would reach out to flip open the keypad next to the locked door before another patrol passed him and he'd have yet more people to avoid for the rest of the week. One good thing about being a medic, especially one of rank, meant he had override codes for pretty much anywhere on the ship. Because Primus forbid someone have a medical emergency inside a locked room. Not that it'd happened yet, but there was a first time for everything. Hence the need for the overrides.

He hummed cheerily as his slender index finger inputted the code, and the door would slide open, the lock overridden. He'd stroll in, looping his arms smugly behind his back as he did so, even if it made him wince slightly in pain. He did have to keep up appearances and maintain a bit of his shattered pride despite his current state.

“Ah, no. I'm quite positive that I was correct. I believe it is we that have a problem on account of the fact I am making it your problem... As in, you're the only one who can fix this as quickly as I need it fixed.”

He pouted, looking up at Flatline. There was a compliment in there somewhere. This day had dragged on long enough and the last thing he wanted to do was piss Flatline off more than he probably already had just by coming here. Flatline, sadly, really was the only one who could fix this, and Knock Out didn't want to make even more of an enemy of him than he already had.

He glanced around Flatline's lab curiously. He never made it a point to come in here, if he ever needed anything off Flatline? He'd send Breakdown, or just wait until Flatline made a ridiculous attempt at 'borrowing' something from the Medical Bay and ask him then.

Everything was mostly dark, switched off or in standby. The door to the back room was open. Knock Out didn't even know that door was there. Huh. Well, go figure Flatline lived in here... He was surprised at how clean it was in here. Not that it'd ever be on level with Knock Out's almost impossible standards, but it was something. His gaze lingered on the Vehicon arm, optics narrowing just slightly in thought, before he peered back at Flatline.

For the briefest of moments, Knock Out actually felt a little bad. It looked like Flatline was just about done with the day himself, and was getting ready to recharge for the night. That feeling of guilt quickly faded, however, when Knock Out realized how many times he'd had this happen to him. It was the life of a medic. Nothing quite like getting everything sanitized and clean, ready for the next day... Only for a Vehicon to fall through the door bleeding energon everywhere because they'd done something stupid.

And Knock Out certainly had done something stupid. A backhanded and over-confident compliment to their Warlord had been taken the wrong way, as an insult, and he'd been quickly put back into line because of it.

“As you can see, I ah.. Need your assistance. I'm sorry to come by so late, but I need this fixed. Please.”

It hurt him to say please, but this was a matter of urgency; and manners got you everywhere when you needed something, especially from someone who disliked you as much as you disliked them.

[Flatline]

Flatline's smile abruptly shattered.

He had not expected the door to simply open on its own accord, especially since he was meant to be one of the few with the codes to be able to enter it. It was his so called haven, his place to hide and store away from others. It was a safe place he could work with minimal interruptions, and a place he could organize himself. For all point and case it was HIS, and Knock Out barged in using... Medical overrides!?

Medical Overrides were for EMERGENCIES, they were things to be used only when needed and someone's well being was in danger. To use them for one's own personal gain was unprofessional, and spat in the eye of the job and respect that you were given! It was a heinous thing in Flatline's option, and on second thought... it was perfect for Knock Out. It fit him well.

Flatline could only stand there was the situation was being processed. He didn’t know what to make of the words the other medic had said, and the sight that was now in front of him. The situation was almost surreal in a way, and if the world was not so wonderfully 'rendered' he may have thought it was some bizarre dream, since Knock Out simply WOULDN'T come to him of all people for help. It had to be bad, or something he couldn't do himself and couldn't trust his oaf of a bodyguard to do. That is when he really took stock of the physical damages...

Red optics flicked up to look over the normally pristine Cybertronian. Where gloss bright colors used to be, there was spatters of mud. Where a slick even finish was, were streaks of silver paint transfers. Where there was once a clean wheel with gold radials, was now a mangled and twisted mess hanging s low it was almost invisible from the front view. What stood out most were the paint transfers though, and once Flatline's processor latched down onto it, his features finally showed a reaction.

Lips twisted back into a sneer of disgust, his frame rocking back on his heels when he saw just what was before him. It was like Knock Out was some kind of abomination, and Flatline was appalled to even be in his presence. He finally spoke, revulsion lancing through every word.

"Ok I don't know what you and Breakdown got up to, but you need to stop."

Blunt, to the point, but despite this Flatline did then move towards a cabinet, his strides lazy and slow. He was in no particular rush to help out, and knew the other medic could suffer for a bit longer with no faults other than to his pride. The injuries didn’t seem anything past superficial, and disabling proper steering and maneuverability in Alt-Mode.

"You have a spare hub of your radius, or am I tasked with the displeasure of trying to straighten out that mess or fabricate one."

While asking this he reached beside the cabinet and pulled out the storage drawer, removing from its contents a couple calipers, and a socket ratchet. He then slid the door shut with a soft clunk, and opened the one below it to fish out a couple clamps. Despite the fact he seemed to be relenting and agreeing, he was still a bit moody about it all, though Knock Out's polite attempt did appear to smooth it over. There's also his own pride that he could probably show off a bit, and the fact that Knock Out did sneak somewhat a compliment in his previous words.

Somewhat.

[Knock Out]

One might think that Knock Out would abuse his medical overrides for his own personal gain with how quickly he resorted to using them to get into Flatline's lab. The truth was, he never used them unless he deemed a situation dire enough. And this? This was dire. Someone might see him. It was bad enough he'd been spotted by a few Vehicons in the hallway. He knew how fast gossip spread around here, which was mostly due to the fact that he might've had a teeny-tiny part in starting and spreading a lot of it. But still. When the gossip was about him? It wasn't as fun!

As Flatline looked him over like some kind of weird deer in headlights, he'd absentmindedly reach up in an attempt to scrape some of the dried on muddy crap from his arm. Maybe he should've gone to the washracks first. But then there was the chance that someone would've seen him and, well, if Breakdown was looking for him? There weren't many places that Knock Out frequented on the Nemesis. At least here in Flatline's lab, it was one of the last places anyone would ever look.

His attention would linger on what he was doing, the chalky-like-dust of the mud would easily come away and float to the floor. Only when he noted that Flatline hadn't made some sort of squawk in protest about the way he entered the room did his optics shift to look at the other mech. It was then he saw the sneer of disgust, and the faintest of grins spread onto his own faceplate.

“Breakdown? Oohoo. No, Flatline. I don't sleep with the help. This?” He'd lower his arm, gesturing to himself in the process. “This was done by our Warlord. I found out the hard way that he's a more than a little rough and loves it dirty.”

He wasn't even sure if the comment about Breakdown was implying anything like that, but it's where Knock Out's processor went first. The comment about Megatron? He simply couldn't resist. Even though it was his attitude and comments that'd gotten him into this predicament in the first place. 

With Flatline's back to him now, he'd peer around the lab a little more. It was a shame that they weren't better friends, a lot of the things in here actually looked interesting. He found his gaze drawn back to the Vehicon arm, and he couldn't help but wonder just what it was that Flatline was even doing with it. Or where he got it.

“Mm? Oh. I'm afraid you have the displeasure of trying to straighten out this mess. But by all means, if you can fabricate one before morning, be my guest.” He clicked his tongue, pausing to hum in thought. “..Although, I really don't want to put you out more than I already have, so I'm sure if I looked hard enough, I probably have a spare. Somewhere,”

He really was trying to be nice, which must be some indication about how badly he wanted this thing fixed, and how incapable he was of doing it himself.

He chuckled nervously. “On second thought, it's probably faster for you to just fix this one up with what we have here. By the time I even locate the spare, you could've been done and in recharge, I'm sure.” Another little compliment. Baby steps. Although the truth was? He really didn't want to run into Breakdown. The last thing he wanted was a lecture, or for the much bigger mech to snap over this whole thing. At least this way, too, Flatline could show off his skills.

His gaze would shift to watch Flatline as he pulled various tools from the drawers. At least it looked like he was willing to assist, and was getting things ready to work. Thank Primus. 

"So ah, where do you want me?" 

It was so strange being the patient for once, but Knock Out had to swallow his pride and do so if he had any hope of getting this fixed before tomorrow. 

[Flatline]

The look of disgust instantly tripled the moment Knock Out spoke, Flatline's field rippling with distaste at the idea pitched at him. That was a thought he did not need, and a concept he didn't even want to try to wrap his processor around. His very being rejected the idea so violently, he locked it away in his processor as if it were a virus ready to start corrupting memory files if not quarantined.

"I am going to pretend I did not hear that, and tell myself it isn't true and is just a fabrication of your deranged little mind."

To accent his words, and imprint that much more 'distaste' into his actions so the other medic would know exactly how he felt, Flatline flicked his hands down to drop all the tools onto a tray with a pop. They rattled and clanked against the thin metal, the sound loud in the steel cage of the lab. After the tools were cast so half hazard though, he slid the hand of his primary underneath, lifting it all up while his secondary's meticulously organized the scattered pieces while mumbling under his breath.

"How you haven't been killed yet is beyond me Knock Out. You play with fire."

Turning around to face the other Cybertronian, Flatline's left primary reached over to grab a basic kit from the countertops surface, and place the metal container down atop the tray beside the organized components. Each piece was fitted together in a specific order, meticulous, as if it was a game of Tetris and he had to utilize every inch of space to its upmost capability.

"Unless you plan to lounge on my work table... go and sit on the medical berth."

A pause, in which he realized who he was speaking to. Sharply angular red eyes glared over at Knock Out, the triangle like shapes narrowed down to thin slits in which the small pupils were almost invisible.

"That isn't an invitation."

Flatline growled this before Knock Out could do something catty and stupid like try to shove the severed arm off the table, and lay spread out across it like some human film he may have seen. After he tried to cut off this unpleasant turn of events, he would walk over beside the medical table.

The table was a heavy slab that was rather archaic and simple. Each piece seemed to be able to lower or break away from the central hub if it was needed, able to conform and fit to whatever individual... or cadaver... was laying across its surface. Spikes of kibble, wings, flaring or awkward shaped parts, all could be accommodated or just strapped down. Really, it was more of a dissection table than a true medical one, looking more torturous than anything else.

Once standing beside it, Flatline's foot lifted and kicked forward with a hard press, applying pressure to a panel that released a locking mechanism. This caused the entire thing to slide down for the smaller Cybertronian to be able to get up on his own. Oh sure... Knock Out could have hopped up there just fine ((maybe)), but Flatline had to get some kind of sly insult of his own in by calling the other individual a midget.

"Ok so we have a problem. I know you are all about repairing injuries, and probably know your way around internal organs, but an alloy wheel is another thing altogether for you to wrap your processor around."

Flatline spoke rather... flat... his voice droning on with exhaustion at what may be ahead of him in the coming hours with a fair bit of 'talking down'. This was going to be a long night, and he would expect compensation if this was forced out of him. He did not know what Knock Out was doing tomorrow that NEEDED his wheel, but whatever it ended up being was going to cost him.

"It can take a week to make a perfect mold from scratch, and that is pushing it sometimes. Then I need to melt down an alloy and cast it, and the tempering process will take twelve hours, no sway there. No negotiation. All this is assuming that the metal is poured perfect, and there isn't a single pinhole."

Reaching to the middle drawer on the rolling station he had sat the tray, Flatline pulled out a cleansing wipe which he started to run over his hands, using the edge of a nail to etch between the tiny plates and seams with upmost care.

"I can try to make a mold out of your current functional wheel, to cheat making one from scratch, but it is still going to be a monotonous process. Then guess what? That’s just the wheel. You may not have considered the brakes and if the connecting post is compromised in any way."

He continued to wipe down his hands, slender fingers flaring out and clenching gradually to make sure he got between every seam to the best of his abilities while he spoke.

"If you demand your wheel be a duplicate, and you NEED it by tomorrow for Primus knows why... it will cost you. A lot. I will not do this out of the 'kindness' of my spark, and most definitely not for free."

Finally breaking his gaze from his work, he glared over at Knock Out, having mixed feelings on if he wanted the medic to buckle and give in, or push to gave this done legit. If he buckled, that was less work for Flatline. If he didn’t? well... it would be hellish but he would show off and Knock Out could never argue he had no skill again.

"Your other options are to find a spare you like enough with the proper radius and I can use it temporarily, or I lathe out a steel blank which will work, but be heavier and less efficient. Will make braking and acceleration more difficult."

He finished cleaning off his primaries, and grabbed a new cleanser wipe, using it now on his secondary's while his primaries picked up the tools and began to clean them off.

"I can straighten out your... mess... but it will be compromised. I can temper it again for strength and re-plate it, but there may be pinholes and other imperfections impossible to properly patch rendering it a fancy piece of slag that is there just for looks."

[Knock Out]

Knock Out wouldn't reply to Flatline's disgusted retort. He didn't need to. It wasn't a fabrication of his 'deranged' little mind! The proof was all over his frame; quite literally! The injuries were done by Megatron. The paint transfers? Well there was no denying the fact it was their Warlord. Sure Flatline could deny it, and say it was some other random that had silver paint; but there was also the fact that Megatron would have his own unmistakable cherry-red paint scuffed onto his chassis. Oh how he hoped Flatline saw that before Megatron visited the wash-racks, then he might see the paint from Roulette on their Warlord's frame as well.

Ah yes, that. He'd fully intended to boast about that little piece of gossip too. The moment he saw Megatron earlier, his processor had shifted into the many creative ways he could break Flatline's spark with that news.

But now that he needed something from the other mech? He would keep his mouth tightly shut, even though it ate at him. That gossip would have to be rubbed into Flatline's face later. He didn't even know if it'd hurt the other mech once he was told, but Knock Out liked to pretend that they were a thing. Or at the very least, that Flatline had some weird and creepy secret feelings for Roulette.

He heard the mumble under Flatline's breath, and couldn't help but smirk. He hadn't been killed because he was just that good. Or at least, that's what Knock Out would argue should he feel like getting into an argument over it. But he would remain strangely quiet. He just wanted this done, and he was nothing more than a mere patient at this point. It'd be interesting to see what Flatline wanted of him.

Berth. Well, go figure. The comment about it not being an invitation made Knock Out quirk his brow, peering at the other mech with an amused smile. While Flatline thought he'd do something like sprawl over the table, Knock Out took it another direction entirely.

“Ah don't worry, you aren't my type.”

He hummed, before glancing over to the table. He tensed up slightly, recoiling in slight horror. He was used to the pristine and sterile medical berths back in the Medical Bay. But this one? Looked.. Actually quite menacing. Flatline was into some weird stuff, Knock Out decided.

“...Which is probably for the best.”

He muttered this under his breath, moving over to the table. He could've hopped up there just fine, but Flatline had other ideas and lowered it down. He shot Flatline a wordless deadpan glance, before moving to take his seat on the berth. As Flatline spoke? He'd idly look around the lab, narrowed optics glancing over the various jars that littered the shelves.

While he had plenty of spare parts for the Vehicons due to them being nothing more than mere cannon fodder, he didn't have many for himself. Sure, if he looked hard enough he probably did; but as he was never tasked with any fighting or anything that'd put him in any real risk? He didn't have a stockpile of parts to use on his own frame. Which was probably strange, given how vain he was.

“I do need this done by tomorrow, yes,” He'd look to Flatline once he was done talking. That was a lot of talking, and a lot of options. He had plans tomorrow. Racing plans. He went stir-crazy being on this ship, and needed to escape every now and then. There was that, and the fact he didn't want to explain this mess to Breakdown, or anyone else. It was embarrassing enough already being spotted in the hallway and having to come to Flatline for help. “and I am more than aware that it'll cost me to get it fixed. Primus forbid you do something out of kindness. I'm sure whatever... Payment.. You require, will be no issue.” He smirked.

Not that he could talk, if the roles were reversed? He wouldn't do it for free. Even the satisfaction of getting to gloat about it wouldn't have been enough payment.

“Obviously I do not have twelve hours, for more than one reason. So making a mold is out of the question.”

While he himself could replace said parts on another, he didn't know the full extent of the work that went into making said parts; so every option he'd been given left a bitter taste in his mouth. They were all less then ideal. He assumed it could just be straightened out and he'd be on his way. At least that's what he would've done.

“Mm. Can't we just straighten it out? As long as it looks normal, does its function, and I can get around in my alt-mode without issue, I don't see a problem. Then at a later time I can sit in here for longer and have a mold made and it replaced properly? As I am sure you don't want to sit in here all night fixing this. Because I don't.”

He'd shift a little on the berth, gaze still on the other mech. He wanted it fixed properly, but he didn't have time for that; and he highly doubted Flatline wanted to be up all night fixing this, given the other mech looked about ready for recharge himself.

“Whatever you think is the best course of action, doctor.”

[Flatline]

Once Knock Out sat down upon the berth, Flatline's ped lifted and clicked down against the pedal at its base, a small hydraulic system lifting the assembly up to a reasonable working height for the larger Cybertronian. Flatline was not immensely large, but compared to Knock Out he had some substantial height over the smaller individual, and he needed the compensation less he have to work hunched over further than he typically did in his natural standing posture.

Either way, Flatline didn't know what he would need for his favor or payment, he really didn't, but he knew there would come a time in which he can use it to his advantage. He would need something from the Medical Bay, he would need the other mech's helper/pet Breakdown to break something for him, he would need some kind of material or chemical for one of his projects that only the Medical Bay would be sanctioned to use. Point was, it would come up in due time, and Knock Out's acceptance of these terms was met with a light nod before he had to really scrape the barrel to come up with a solution.

"It will buckle if it isn't tempered. Medic."

Jabbing back in reply to Knock Outs cattyness, Flatline Flicked a hand through the air to brush aside the 'straightening out' idea. It would work for making his wheel look nice, and they could gold plate it so it appeared perfect, but... function wise... no...

If this were a human vehicle? Than no issue. He would have one milled out and ready to go. Replicate the proper shape, throw in some carefully measured metals to compensate for not tempering over the proper time period, make it just good enough... but... this was something else entirely. Knock Out when he transformed would be throwing a lot of mass and weight down onto the wheel, effectively replicating going off a ramp or other larger drop. The impact alone could be rather hefty, and made that much more if the Decepticon chose to round into that form at a run instead of a stand. The alloy wheel shape he used had ten very thin spokes, the rest of the area opened up and empty so there was no room to make a lattice of supporting materials. You could see the brake pads straight through, and while it looks clean and nice, it was a lot of strain for those components that were only a few inches wide.

"Hrgm... let me think..."

Grumbling low under his breath at the challenge presented to him, Flatline finished cleaning off his secondaries, and moved over to a waste bin where he threw the cleanser wipes. He moved carefully, slowly, not because he had to, but because his processor was spinning with other options, and was trying to come up with a loophole that would facilitate their needs. This showed primarily in the way his gaze stared off at nothing in particular, the tiny pinpricks of his optics flicking ever so slightly over the far walls flat surface.

"We don't have twelve hours to temper... to do any less it could collapse when you transform... Can't use a vehicon's and paint it for a spare as the spokes differ..."

Gradually Flatline rolled his weight from one ped to the other, not really looking to start into a walk or go anywhere, but just moving a bit while he worked through options.

"Milling an ingot doesn't work... that leaves the tempering issues as well..."

He knew what had to be done, he KNEW what their only option would be, but it wasn't something he wanted to be caught doing, and he didn't want his hand in it. It was liable to get him into deep trouble, and... and he needed Knock Out to take the blame if they were to follow it.

"Ok so... what we can do is mill one of the steel pigs I have for my project into a mold, and then make an alloy out of Ardite and Kreknorite. Obviously this is a very bad idea, since Cybertronian metals are to be saved for important things and not squandered when other common materials are available."

Flatline turned about to look back at Knock Out.

"You need to sanction its uses, as I'm not going to take this risk."

Megatron already threatened and practically strangled him, he didn't want to end up like Knock Out. His own wheels created his upper arms and his hips, if one of them were to be crushed in and decimated like Knock Outs... well... he would not just look awkward, he would lose all function in that limb until it was repaired.

"You get a wheel that looks pretty and isn't functional, you get a functional wheel that doesn't match, or you forge documents and cheat your way through."

Not even a spark beat of a pause.

"Like you did medical school."

[Knock Out]

“Hence why I said whatever you think is the best course of action, Flatline. You know more about the manufacturing process than I do.”

Knock Out wasn't trying to be rude. Each medic had their own area of expertise, and it just so happened that Knock Out knew very little about the process of what went into making spare parts. If they were closer friends, maybe he'd be able to study under Flatline and learn a thing or two, as he was genuinely curious about the whole process – but it didn't look like that would happen anytime soon. A shame, because making and tinkering with things was something that Knock Out loved to do.

As the berth was raised, he'd swing his legs idly, his servos moving to hold the edge of it. He was surprised that Flatline didn't come out with some ludicrous demand as payment – he figured the other mech would've wanted something off him for a long while. A tool. A cadaver. The use of his Medical Bay for a day. Something that he'd been holding back till now. So when there was no mention of payment? Knock Out would simply shrug, wincing as he did. Ah right. The wheel. Ow.

He was only half paying attention to Flatline now as he made his way around the room. He did this himself in his own Medical Bay; walking and talking aloud was an amazing and often successful way to come up with ideas, or think through problems or issues. As he wasn't sure what the best plan of action would be, as his idea had been shot down? He'd remain quiet, letting Flatline muse aloud to himself. That was until the words 'Ardite' and 'Kreknorite' came into play, and he'd quirk a brow, peering at Flatline closely now.

He hadn't even thought of those, and was surprised that goody-two-shoes Flatline had even suggested it.

He pretended like he was deep in thought, mulling it over. Those metals were very rare indeed. And should Megatron, or even Starscream find out that Knock Out had used them for himself? For an injury that he'd gotten as punishment? Oh that would not end well in Knock Out's favor. Still, it really was the fastest way – the only real way that this would get done before tomorrow.

“I'll allow it. Use them. It's needed. We need a functioning Chief Medical Officer, afterall; and I certainly cannot function like this. I'll just.. Aaah. Cook the books, or whatever the term is. Cheat my way through. That. Sure.” He'd be able to come up with some excuse why the precious metals had to be used, and he had no doubt that he'd get away with it too. While he no longer had to use his charm and wit to con others to buy weapons upgrades and modifications; it was a skill that still came into play often, and one he used to this day on the Nemesis.

“Do what you must.”

The faintest of smirks spread onto his lips. Not even a spark beat of a pause.

“And Flatline..? I didn't go to medical school. It's all natural talent.”

He'd curl his servo to his chassis as he boasted this fact, fingertips splaying across himself, and his smirk only grew. The fact that he'd managed to work his way through the ranks to become the Chief Medical Officer on talent and skill alone, with no formal training? Ooh that had to sting.

[Flatline]

Oh there was a payment Flatline wanted, but he was going to sit on it awhile and make sure Knock Out was looped in entirely before he proposed it. The last thing he needed was for the medic to decide there was a less spendy option available, or to back away, and thus Flatline intended to dig his claws down solidly before he spoke of the request. Perhaps... he would wait until the preening diva was cooing and awing over their new wheel like the arrogant grease stain he was.

However... what he considered a high cost may not actually be that high.

What Flatline wanted required a bit of finagling and may be a bit sketchy in the eyes of a medic, but... Knock Out WAS squandering valuable materials on something as foolish, disposable, and idiotic as a damn wheel that didn't even impair him in his day to day function. No... this had to be for fun, this had to be for looks, it was only for personal gain and joy. What Flatline wanted in return would be seen as cheap, easy...

He may need to boost up his request a bit.

With the idea locked down, and Knock Out seemingly approving it flippantly without a care, Flatline broke away from his shuffling motions to turn and walk across the laboratory. He moved deliberately, calm, calculated, thinking as he progressed up to the computer bank that stood across the room from the medical table. It had been deactivated, shut down for the night, and while that was annoying it didn’t change what Flatline was doing, his hand swiping a datapad from a shelf beside the terminal.

"Well that explains so much..."

Droned out in reply to Knock Outs words, they were half focused and without a care. More... a desire to say such sass back, but not having the energy or fight left to do so with zeal ((especially when knowing he'd have a ton of work ahead of him this night)). It is because of this they were near mumbled, as he powered on the datapad and used his thumb talon to snap open a small cover just below the wheel of his bicep.

Casually the tip of Flatline's claw pulled a thin wire line out from the crook of his elbow, it reeling out just long enough for him to plug it into the datapad resting within the same arm. It was an innocuous line, simple, used for medical reports, diagnostics, and other quick exchanges of information. It was once he plugged this into the device, he started to concoct a quick makeshift contract, Cybertronian text clipping up onto the screen rapid-fire, while he lifted his helm to peer over at Knock Out.

"Once this is taken care of, I will begin work immediately. You must understand my... reluctance to dive in without a safety net on this subject."

Striding back over to where Knock Out was sitting, he unplugged the datapad that now had a slapped together contract. While he expected Megatron to still probably backhand him across the room, he wanted to be able to hide behind 'Knock Out told me to' as a viable excuse. The 'Chief Medical Officer' was above him, and should take the blame! It is because of this he held out the datapad, for the over promoted mech to give his digital stamp of approval.

The contract was honestly simple. No tricks, no funny language to try to doom them. It was straight to the point that Knock Out sanctioned and insisted in the use of the two metals, and that it was not Flatline's call, nor suggestion to take such a role. Used only if Flatline was cornered by a superior.

[Knock Out]

Knock Out couldn't really judge Flatline for being half-assed with his reply to his stinging comeback. It was far too late in the day for wit and their normal sassy banter. Although, that wasn't to say that he'd half hoped to get some kind of reaction out of the other mech, but he himself was tired as well. It'd been a long and ridiculous day. It was probably for the best, as the last thing he wanted or needed was to annoy the only real mech who could fix him. Normally he'd be all for it! He enjoyed the battle of wits and sass with someone who gave as good as he got! But since he needed something, and that something was a huge favor? He wouldn't push the topic further.

It was all natural talent, though. And Flatline would do well to remember that. He wasn't just a pretty faceplate! ...and chassis.. and frame.. and alt-mode... He was a damn good doctor! Even if Flatline didn't want to believe it.

He'd stop swinging his legs as Flatline moved to the shelves and pulled out the datapad. His optics narrowing ever so slightly as he watched. They'd then widen in realization as Flatline pulled the innocuous line from his arm. Flatline you sneaky little fragger... Go figure. Knock Out's word wouldn't be enough, it seemed. Nor did it seem that Flatline trusted him enough to cook the books properly? Really? He'd been doing it for years! Not that he'd ever tell Flatline that, of course, but he knew what he was doing!

“I do understand your reluctance, but I do believe you are working yourself up over nothing, Flatline,” He smirked, holding out one servo to take the datapad and his optics would begin scanning over what was written. It all looked simple enough. “I assure you, there's no way this would come back to you even without this document. I do intend to take full blame should we get found out, you know. Which we wont. So relaaaax.”

He'd wink, before shifting slightly to gently ease a similar thin wire line out from the crook of his own elbow, and plugged it into the datapad without so much as batting an optic. This would ensure that it was his digital signature on the document, and not a forgery (although if he could get away with doing that, he would) – if only for Flatline's peace of mind. Plus it wasn't like he had a choice in the matter, he wanted this done; and Flatline with his pointless safety nets and demands was sadly the only one who could do this. At least do this right, anyway, which was why he signed it with zero fuss. 

There would be a small beep of confirmation. Document signed. He'd unplug the datapad and hand it over, the wire would slide back into his joint and he'd rest his servo back on the edge of the berth, swinging his legs once more.

So now what..? He'd keep his gaze on Flatline, although kept strangely quiet. He hoped Flatline didn't intend for him to go fetch the alloys himself. That was beneath him! Plus he wasn't planning on leaving this room until he was fixed, the less people that saw him the better. Maybe, he hoped, Flatline had some on hand in here. Knock Out had some locked away not to be touched in his own Medical Bay which they could probably use – but it probably wouldn't be even close to the amount needed for this. With this being the more scientific-area of the Nemesis, Flatline hopefully had more on hand. He did say he'd begin work immediately, so... Knock Out would sit quiet like a good patient and wait.

[Flatline]

Knock Out's word had as much weight as helium to Flatline. He didn't trust the little polished turd's assuring statements, and didn't trust that he wouldn't be thrown beneath Megatron's wrath were he to be caught. That was why he demanded this document, and why he seemed to relax greatly when Knock Out relented and actually applied his digital stamp.

"I have been strangled once on this warship by our Lord, and I do not long for an encore."

That was all he said on that subject, snatching the datapad back with a quick motion as if he was scared the other medic would try to back out. With a cursory glance, he looked at the document, making sure it wasn't a forgery as far as he could tell, before he powered down the datapad, and moved to replace it back where he had found it. Later on he would file it away in the back room, out of sight, unable to be found by anyone being nosey, but for now it just needed to be kept safe from damages or chemicals.

After this was filtered away, Flatline's posture appeared to change. His weight leaned back some upon his heels, and his hunched spine straightened out somewhat. He was still a hooked shape, his frame seemed inclined to bend that way at rest, but he did roll his shoulders back and started to zero into the task at hand. Or more... the challenge at hand. He was not an overly competitive sort, but given this opportunity to brag? He was going to do things well...

So maybe he was a bit competitive...

Ok no, he was competitive.

Flatline moved then over to sealed storage on a nearby wall, plucking the curved edge of the back of one of his claws into the keypad to get the metal plates to slide away with a snarled hiss. The contents of this storage weren't particularly volatile, nor dangerous, but with how many undesirables seemed to meander in unannounced, he didn’t want his rationed medical supplies to be tinkered with or broken. It is because of this, he pulled out a rather standard cylinder, grasping a plunger with his other hand which he slid the object into with a clunk which was followed by a hiss of air being ejected and drained out.

He didn't feel need to supply small talk for this, Knock Out would recognize the medicinal container as being the same as he used, both supplied from the same storage facility on the ship. It was a rather typical pain killer all things considered, able to knock down and keep down the tactile receptors for a reasonable amount of time which should be more than enough to get what he needed done. Grasping the plunger then in a secondary, and collecting the rest of the previously gathered tools, Flatline moved so that he was standing behind Knock Out.

"What do you have planned tomorrow that makes this so urgent?

Asked simply, dryly, Flatline reached a free primary up to gently place down on the post that once held a functional wheel, careful not to apply needless pressure, but holding it with a light grip enough to make it steady and permit him to look around it. The entire thing really was mangled pretty bad... and Flatline took a moment to access it while his secondaries ran some of the previously used cleanser over the plunger's needle to clean it. Once this was done, he reached forward to spear the needle of the plunger at the base of the connecting post. He knew it should spread through his lines and knock down... or dare one say 'knock out' any pain in the immediate area over the course of a few minutes. After this was completed, and he administered a reasonable dose, he set the plunger aside while already picking up the chosen socket wrench.

The joys of multiple limbs.

Reaching up to the non-injured tire, Flatline roughly pressed the socket wrench in-between the gold spokes, and started to unfasten the attaching bolts, supporting its underside with an open palm so it wouldn't fall down onto the table with a hard bang if he were to get it completely off.

"I imagine it is rather vital."

[Knock Out]

“You would think our Lord would have more respect for his Medical team...” Knock Out would muse aloud, frowning as the datapad was snatched from his grasp. As much as he wanted to know the juicy details of why Flatline had been strangled, he had a feeling that even if he asked, the other mech wouldn't reveal anything. Because he was a spoil-sport and didn't know the meaning of fun.

He'd look up at the ceiling as Flatline put the datapad away, not watching or paying the slightest bit of attention to the other Medic as he moved around the room. He just sat still, swinging his legs, and waited. Now that things seemed to be in motion, hopefully this would be over and done with soon.

Only once Flatline had moved to stand behind him did he finally snap out of his zoned out state, glancing briefly over his shoulder to see what the other mech had in his servos. Well, at least he was going to be administered a painkiller. Finally. He found the whole thing amusing in a way, having yet to take one himself for the injury. He hadn't dared while Megatron had been in the room with him. It was also amusing in that it was talk of a painkiller that'd got him into this damn mess to begin with.

“Mm? I'll tell you what my plans are if you tell me why our Lord strangled you,” He turned back to face straight ahead, mostly to hide the smug grin on his face – but also so Flatline could administer the painkiller properly and get this over with.

Maybe he'd get to hear the tale afterall, although he doubted it. Still! They'd be here for a while, and small talk would pass the time!

He found it hard to sit still. He could hear Flatline moving behind him, and there was a little pain as Flatline placed his servo on the post. He did his best to stay quiet and not flinch. The pain wouldn't last long, however, as the painkiller was applied. It'd been a long, long time since he'd been a patient, or had anyone else work on him – Breakdown with the buffer didn't count – so he was a little unsure of what to do. Fidgeting with his servos in his lap.

He felt bolts being loosened, but would just sit and let Flatline work. That being said, while he couldn't see what Flatline was doing? He was judging him. Scrutinizing everything he did, to make sure it was done correctly. While he didn't doubt the other mechs skills, he was going to hold him to almost impossibly high standards – given how much the other mech bragged about how good he was.

“I assume whatever the reason was not your fault?”

[Flatline]

"Talking too much"

Flatline bluntly replied to Knock Out in a dry cutting tone of voice. He obviously found the reason to be juvenile on some level. Their Warlord, their LEADER getting so angry and hurting him because he happened to chatter too much? Granted, Flatline should have been more respectful and quiet, but he hadn't exactly been on the best of repair at the time. While his physical ailments had been mended, actually in part from Knock Out's own help, he mentally didn't catch up till much later and things got to a routine.

"After my awakening, I wasn't... settled... and spoke too freely."

Knock Out would probably remember that day. Repairing all the rubber seals on internal parts that had gotten exposed to the sea water and rotted, as well as scraping out grime and fowl from the ocean's organic elements, it would have been a lot of small tedious work and maintenance to have to do on a Cybertronian that was more antagonistic than helpful. It wasn’t a LOT different from current Flatline, but he still had seemed... off... different than he was now that he had fit into place and found a flow on the great warship.

"Your turn."

Small talk would help speed things up a good deal, which is why Flatline was even playing along at this point. It was after this question he finally got the undamaged wheel off of Knock Out's frame, and he set it down on the table beside the other medic. The wheel was sat face up, so that the gold spokes were visible and easy to work on, before he moved over to the other side and started to try to remove the mangled wheel, which... was a far more tedious and difficult task.

The thing was bent at heinous angles, and even pulling some of the hex bolts off didn’t loosen it. It was essentially squished like gum, and he kept trying to fiddle with it to see if he could get it off without having to saw off the entire post... not that he wanted to do that. It would compromise the connecting point and if Knock Out hit it hard while going into Alt Mode, it may not bear the weight without proper healing time which they didn't have. He would need to... well... he would need to do something more drastic.

While he pondered this, he temporarily abandoned the goal, and moved back around in front of Knock Out, continuing forward to a far wall towards the incinerator hatch. The incinerator was a locked gate of thick metal towards the back portion of the room, where he could dispense things that would be sent down to one of the furnaces on the Nemesis to recycle for parts. It was beside this hatch that a second lock was located, and Flatline grasped onto the handles and pulled hard with a snarled grunt.

Fixing up his lab had been a work in progress. Getting all the tools he wanted and needed, and building the things he couldn't obtain. It left everything a bit cobbled and advanced all together in a mangled mess, and what he used as a makeshift crucible was no different. The tool was pulled out of the wall to hang out into the room somewhat like a peninsula, revealing a series of copper cables and pipes that bound and wound around a large vessel in its center. Cybertronian tech wove between all of this, pulling it far from the medieval counterpart that humans used.

While Flatline worked on starting up the systems, he listened to what may be told.

[Knock Out]

Knock Out gawked for a moment, mouth hanging open as if in disbelief at what he'd just heard.

Talking too much? Flatline? Talking too much? And here was Knock Out thinking it was going to be some delicious gossip worthy thing that he'd treasure for the rest of his life. This was actually beyond disappointing, especially when Flatline continued and mentioned it was after his awakening. That was so long ago! That didn't count! This wasn't a fair trade!

He did remember the day that Flatline had come to the Nemesis, though. Having to repair rubber seals that'd been damaged by sea water, the tedious and DISGUSTING work that'd taken hours, getting into an argument with this random stranger over which wires to use. Yes. It'd been a good day. Their unfortunate 'friendship' had been doomed from the very start. At least since then, Flatline had become somewhat of his equal in terms of wit and snark. But that was about it.

He wanted to pry for more information, like what had Flatline actually said that'd annoyed Megatron? But it didn't really matter what the topic of conversation was - 'talking too much' seemed to be a thing that did annoy their Lord, and the only reason that Knock Out got away with it himself was because of his Medical knowledge, usefulness on the ship, and his rank. After today, however, it seemed even Knock Out wasn't immune to punishment for little things despite all these.

Not that a backhanded compliment to their Lord that was actually a disguised insult could probably be counted as 'little things', but that was by the by. He'd learned his lesson.

“My turn? Already? Well, that's no fun,” He smirked.

Now came the hard part. He couldn't exactly tell Flatline that he was going stir-crazy and was planning on sneaking off the Nemesis to find a race against fleshbags. That wouldn't go over well with anyone, let alone with the only viable replacement for Knock Out should their Lord deem the Chief Medical Officer unworthy of his job. Nor could Knock Out say it was a vanity thing because he didn't want to be seen with an ugly, mangled wheel. He would've been told to suck it up and deal with it.

He would glance to his side as the undamaged wheel was set down next to him, reaching over to idly scrape at some of the hardened clay that'd gotten into the treads with his index digit.

“I have been tasked with the wonderful job of accompanying some of our Vehicons to Earth while they mine for Energon in one of the newer deposits that we located,” He started, tone neutral – almost bored sounding, even - and showing no hint that he was making all this slag up as he went along. They weren't hurting for Energon and had a few mining operations, there probably would be Vehicons transporting more onto the ship tomorrow, and Knock Out wouldn't be around – so the story should check out. “After they had that little incident at the last mine, with the whole.. Rock collapsing thing and two Vehicons almost bleeding out? They want me there just incase. At least for a while. Health and Safety or whatever it is they call it. I can't do that with a mangled wheel, as I have to travel in my alternate mode.”

He hummed, picking at more dirt from the tire. He honestly didn't care if Flatline didn't buy this dumb story. He could, and would pay off or blackmail a Vehicon or two to cover for him should the other Medic decide to pry deeper and ask around – so he wasn't too worried. He'd have to get them to cover for him anyway because of his partner, so adding Flatline to the list was no big deal. 

Finally his gaze and attention shifted to the other mech as he moved to the far wall. He couldn't quite see what Flatline was doing, so would lean over slightly to watch. While he wouldn't say so out loud, at least not yet, he was more than curious about this whole process and hoped to learn a thing or two as well as getting fixed.