[ti]Ep 2.5[/ti]The Price of Negligence [Closed]
Jul 12, 2019 23:41:42 GMT -5
Post by Flatline on Jul 12, 2019 23:41:42 GMT -5
Episode 2.5 | Week 4 | Day 1
Oh Primus, this was the day he died.
Flatline couldn’t even argue it was nice while it lasted, living in limbo, living between life and death... It was distressing, and left him uncertain what to even do with himself, and what to even think.
It would be one thing if he had a literal death sentence for a disease, something where he knows death is coming for certain, he knows his end is near, and can appropriately prepare for it in his mind. Come to terms with some things, maybe say something to... well... he didn't really have any FRIENDS in the traditional sense so he couldn’t leave any last words... but, it would be nice having the hard cold facts in place and know what was coming. Instead, he was trapped between not knowing if death was coming, and not knowing if he was expected to continue serving the Decepticons.
It was hard to say even what he wanted.
Flatline wanted to keep serving, to continue his science efforts and experiments, but that gateway was probably long closed. He would not get a laboratory again, he would not get to tinker on his own contributions, he would probably be shackled as a nurse to assist Knock Out and clean up after him. Given jobs that were beneath Breakdown, elevating the brute to a new level of assistant that would order him around just to probably get a thrill of being in charge. Or maybe not, Flatline didn't really know the dusty blue colored Cybertronian. Whatever the case, Flatline would probably be demeaned and his skills put to waste it felt like, and as such he didn’t know if it would be better if Starscream just ended his service right here, right now.
Cut up his 'contract' by cutting his throat.
Hollow. Empty. Exhausted. Worn Down...
Flatline looked like a right mess.
His injuries may have been repaired by one of the best, but it didn’t remove the fact he seemed broken. Once deep black armor somehow faded and dingy, small scuffs and light trails of dust skirting across the dark paneling, a haggard posture with sloped down shoulders, to the less than covert limp he sported. The limp was rather severe, so much so he clutched firmly onto a pipe that was transitioned into a makeshift cane to alleviate some of the weight from having to be placed upon it. The knee looked normal; it looked just like the other, but the damage underneath was still recovering poorly. In addition, his harpoons were notably missing, and his features just looked that much more sunken and hollow.
Lack of recharge, lack of proper rest and the plague of constant fear and worry, it did not do the mech well. It almost looked as if he had aged a few millennia in the time it took the summons to finally arrive. Alas, that day had come, and it was time for him to finally face the individual he borderline hid from in the base.
A click, followed by a slight scrape and click, followed by another click... the oddly structured mech strode with his limp down the hallway with an odd calmness about him, dulled red eyes downcast towards the ground as he maneuvered on the outskirts of the hallway to avoid being in anyone's path. While he was not fast, it still felt like he got there too quickly, namely because it felt like he was approaching the edge of The Well, gaze flicking up as he saw Starscream waiting outside his quarters.
Once Flatline fully approached, and he knew his presence was known, he dipped his helm and crooked his frame forward as far as he could with his injuries, pulling his recovering leg back during the bow while his opposite arm placed in a fist against his chest. His hand clutched firmly onto the cane, it slightly trembling to help support his weight, though he didn't show signs of falling. While his leg ached and protested, he dared not move from the stance, gaze remaining downcast towards the ground as sign of submission.
"Reporting to your summons, Lord Starscream..."
Oh Primus, this was the day he died.
It would be one thing if he had a literal death sentence for a disease, something where he knows death is coming for certain, he knows his end is near, and can appropriately prepare for it in his mind. Come to terms with some things, maybe say something to... well... he didn't really have any FRIENDS in the traditional sense so he couldn’t leave any last words... but, it would be nice having the hard cold facts in place and know what was coming. Instead, he was trapped between not knowing if death was coming, and not knowing if he was expected to continue serving the Decepticons.
It was hard to say even what he wanted.
Flatline wanted to keep serving, to continue his science efforts and experiments, but that gateway was probably long closed. He would not get a laboratory again, he would not get to tinker on his own contributions, he would probably be shackled as a nurse to assist Knock Out and clean up after him. Given jobs that were beneath Breakdown, elevating the brute to a new level of assistant that would order him around just to probably get a thrill of being in charge. Or maybe not, Flatline didn't really know the dusty blue colored Cybertronian. Whatever the case, Flatline would probably be demeaned and his skills put to waste it felt like, and as such he didn’t know if it would be better if Starscream just ended his service right here, right now.
Cut up his 'contract' by cutting his throat.
Hollow. Empty. Exhausted. Worn Down...
Flatline looked like a right mess.
His injuries may have been repaired by one of the best, but it didn’t remove the fact he seemed broken. Once deep black armor somehow faded and dingy, small scuffs and light trails of dust skirting across the dark paneling, a haggard posture with sloped down shoulders, to the less than covert limp he sported. The limp was rather severe, so much so he clutched firmly onto a pipe that was transitioned into a makeshift cane to alleviate some of the weight from having to be placed upon it. The knee looked normal; it looked just like the other, but the damage underneath was still recovering poorly. In addition, his harpoons were notably missing, and his features just looked that much more sunken and hollow.
Lack of recharge, lack of proper rest and the plague of constant fear and worry, it did not do the mech well. It almost looked as if he had aged a few millennia in the time it took the summons to finally arrive. Alas, that day had come, and it was time for him to finally face the individual he borderline hid from in the base.
A click, followed by a slight scrape and click, followed by another click... the oddly structured mech strode with his limp down the hallway with an odd calmness about him, dulled red eyes downcast towards the ground as he maneuvered on the outskirts of the hallway to avoid being in anyone's path. While he was not fast, it still felt like he got there too quickly, namely because it felt like he was approaching the edge of The Well, gaze flicking up as he saw Starscream waiting outside his quarters.
Once Flatline fully approached, and he knew his presence was known, he dipped his helm and crooked his frame forward as far as he could with his injuries, pulling his recovering leg back during the bow while his opposite arm placed in a fist against his chest. His hand clutched firmly onto the cane, it slightly trembling to help support his weight, though he didn't show signs of falling. While his leg ached and protested, he dared not move from the stance, gaze remaining downcast towards the ground as sign of submission.
"Reporting to your summons, Lord Starscream..."
Humble, but exhausted. Flatline's ordinarily leveled voice sounded worn down and beaten, an added gruffness with a gravely edge that held a ghosting of there not being much fight left in him.
He was ready for whatever would be said.