[ti]Ep 3[/ti]A Rude Awakening (Barricade, Knock Out, Flatline)

[Deleted]

Week 1, Day 2

[System rebooting...]

At the far end of the medbay, situated on one of the repair tables, laid a navy blue mech who had definitely seen some better days. An amalgamation of thick cords plugged into various parts of his bulky frame, and most of them looked as if they were well past their intended lifespan. A few weren't even rated for proper medical use in the first place. Despite these less-than-stellar care conditions, the clunky vitals monitor to the Cybertronian's left read that he still functioned at an acceptable level, save some reduced brain wave activity due to his medically-induced stasis. Either his caretakers were really good at their jobs, or he just happened to be extremely lucky.

[Main power nodes online...]

The monitor beeped as it started to register a steadily climbing increase in brain activity, signaling the patient's slow return to consciousness. First one digit twitched, then another. Heavy eyelids opened halfway, still adjusting to the harsh lights above. Not exactly a nice environment for someone with sensitive optics.

[Activating secondary routines...]

Barricade flexed his hand into a fist, clenching it as hard as he could before relaxing. When he tried to move his forearm, however, he felt something restraining it. He looked up, then to the side, and finally down at his body, only now realizing the mass of tubes currently running into him. It took the police bot another five seconds to process the visual information, but only one second to react.

"GRAAHH!"

High-pressure tubes blasted their contents all around the room, no longer connected to Barricade's frame. Ripping the rest of the cords out of his arms and chest one by one, he quickly rid himself of the infernal devices. Responding to the sudden loss of its information source, the monitor rapidly blared out shrill tones and flashed red, which further startled the very much awake patient. In his flailing and thrashing, he thrust his hand into an overfilled sludge bucket below the table.

The warm sensation in Barricade's hand tipped him off to the fact that he had stuck it somewhere terrible.

[All systems online! Have a wonderful cycle!]

Who the Pit programmed that into me?

[Flatline]

Repetition brought peace, and peace brought relaxation.

The Medical Bay was generally a constant between incidents, the cage of stone and earth creating a buffer between it and the outside world. It was only disturbed during downtimes by the occasional footfalls walking past the doorway, yet otherwise was isolated within its own familiarity. An ambiance of struggling tools and monitors, the noises from either medic or the CMO's little pet... punctuated only by Knock Out's music when he decided to run it for some reason or another. It was a peaceful environment.

Until it wasn’t.

Flatline was partly slumped forward in his chair at his makeshift desk, eyes dimmed with one arm folded across his midsection. He was a workaholic by nature, and often pushed himself to try to accomplish whatever goal he set out to achieve at the cost of his own wellbeing rather often. Yet, even the most stubborn could only go so far, and it showed in the way he apparently had hit that wall and fell into recharge. The fact he hadn't fallen forward into his desk, or slipped off the chair showed its regularity for him... perfectly content where he was. Until everything hit the fan.

Lurching violently, Flatline's legs kicked out and swung to the side of the seat to grapple for purchase on the ground, his arm that had been across his stomach snapping down to grab the edge below him, while the other lurched back to grasp the backrest of his chair. Before he even could comprehend the source of the noise, he was flinging himself upright, sending his makeshift 'bed' falling behind him with a rattled slam as it slid across the stone flooring, and jostling his desk with a ram of his hip.

Panic. Fear. Flatline had no idea what had happened right away, only that it was loud and abrasive and overall scared the ever-living pit out of him. A flicker later he would wrench around violently to look at the source the very second he was on his feet. Red optics were bright and wide, the apertures twitching as they tried to adjust to the light of the room and focus on the meant-to-be unconscious Cybertronian.

"Whoa whoa!"

Both hands would hold up infront of him, showing Barricade that he had nothing in them and was no threat, attempting to placate as he took a step towards the chaos. Flatline only got a couple confident purposeful strides in the direction of the panicked individual, wrapped up in the moment to do what he could, before his damaged leg caught up to him.

With a wrenched grunt, Flatline's bad leg buckled with pain and disfunction, the misaligned disk not given a chance to slip into place when he stood up. It caused his frame to drop down sharply before his weight could throw onto his good leg, his disproportionate arms hooking forward to slam down onto the floor to keep himself from toppling over. Gyroscopes whirred and buzzed in his upper torso, aiding in not cascading completely down.

Unable to get up right away, Flatline watched in horror as the pipes and machinery were ripped free, sending its contents spraying.

"KNOCK OUT!"

[Knock Out]

Where Flatline found relaxation in this momentary lull of familiar quiet, Knock Out could only find boredom.

Today was just one of those days, then again they all felt the same as of late. Blackridge wasn’t exactly the most exciting place in the universe what with its unchanging and somewhat claustrophobic stone walls. At least here in the Medical Bay, that mundane was broken fairly often by actual work. Folks coming in for routine checkups, Vehicons who’d suffered catastrophic injuries in the mines - the CMO and his assistants were kept busy enough, especially when paired with the fact this was no Nemesis, and the equipment they had on hand was holding on for dear life. There was plenty to do on a busy day, that was certain.

But it was these lulls that were the worst.

Unable to sneak off and go racing - because that was when fate would intervene and have some huge emergency come up (plus without Breakdown here, he didn’t quite trust Flatline alone) - Knock Out had resigned himself to the fact he should probably try to make his own entertainment.

Which today meant going through and sorting the few boxes that still remained from the Nemesis. Joy.

He’d noticed Flatline had slipped into recharge at his desk, and- while normally he would’ve taken advantage of this, either by spooking the other mech awake or using this moment to doodle on him with a glitter pen, he had, for whatever reason, decided to let the other mech rest.

He probably needed it.

So Knock Out found himself in the area adjacent to the Medical Bay - the room that they tried to keep as clean as possible for surgeries, which was a feat in itself given all the dust. A door separated the two areas, meaning that every so often he could peek into the other room to make sure an idiotic Vehicon hadn’t wandered in only to stand around confused because Flatline was asleep.

Working in silence was its own form of torture, and so he found himself humming as he sorted through various tools and other miscellaneous pieces of junk.

Only for a yell to catch him off guard, making him pause in his movements as he cast a glance toward the door.

Had... Flatline just fallen off his chair? It sure sounded like it - a frustrated yell, the sound of… something else, possibly him taking everything off his desk in the process. With the black and red mech’s gyroscopes, he didn’t even think such a thing was possible, then again he had seemed pretty out of it.

And he’d missed it! Aw.

Tsking softly and chuckling to himself, he would turn his attention back to the crate he was currently sorting through. Only for another yell to sound - a more frantic, panicked one. One that was calling his name.

Had he somehow hurt himself in the tiny fall from his chair? Did he have a bad dream? Awww…

Wiping his servos on a nearby rag, he would ease into a walk, pushing open the door.

“Everything okay in- WHAT.”

Immediately faltering in his steps, his optics widened as he zeroed in on just what was happening. Barricade was awake?! For months now he’d been idle, presumed a lost cause - a piece of furniture at this point and an excuse for Knock Out to look busy while he worked on something.

“Flatline what did you DO?!” he squawked.

Ah yes, it had to be his fault.

He’d deal with Flatline and the current state of the room later, but for now he had to move into action even though this was probably more of a Breakdown job. Unfortunately, the other mech wasn’t around and- well, Flatline looked to have crippled himself again.

What was the point of having assistants, anyway?

“Barricade! Hey! It’s okay!”

Pushing forwards into a stride, he would make his way across the room. First order of business was to turn off that damn monitor which was definitely not helping the situation.

“Do not make me sedate you. You need to calm down.”

His tone was firm, and so clearly not in the mood for any of this as slender digits took the easy way out - instead of turning the machine off properly, he would yank the power entirely - the shrill alarm beeps silencing in an instant.

With that done, he would quickly sidestep out of harm’s way while Barricade hopefully took a moment to compose himself.

[Deleted]

Once one of the medical staff--the one called Knock Out, he could thankfully remember from the doctor's unforgettable red color scheme--deactivated the noisy machine rather unprofessionally, Barricade began to calm down. Wiping the sludge off of his hand, but completely ignoring the mess he made of the rest of the medbay and himself, he gave a mental command to switch on his visor.

Without the annoying din of the medical equipment or the noisy fwoosh of sustenance tubes discharging into nowhere, both Flatline and Knock Out could pick up a light whirr as Barricade's visor flipped down, and a click as it set into place. The burning sensation in his eyes caused by the lighting were taken care of. It was time for him to survey his surroundings.

Now able to properly see what was in front of him, Barricade carefully moved to sit up. The first thing he realized was that this did not look like a standard Decepticon medical room at all (and he'd found himself in a lot of those). Had he been moved off the Nemesis? He only remembered scanning some kind of police vehicle before being picked up by the warship, where he later collapsed. Perhaps they secured a larger presence on this backwater planet than he initially expected, and their forces amounted to more than one ship. Barricade felt too tired to think about whether that was a good or bad thing, and he needed to get his priorities straight.

The repair table creaked as the blue mech slowly lifted his right leg up and over the side. Feeling the cold floor underneath his foot brought sort of a sense of relief to him. He really did wake up, as abruptly as that awakening was, and he could move his body somewhat properly. Adjusting his direction before repeating the process with his left leg, Barricade leaned forward in preparation to stand on both feet. These medics probably wanted to run some kind of tests on him before having him stand, but he didn't care. They could easily monitor whatever they needed to, vertical or horizontal. With him out of commission on a table for what felt like an eternity, he preferred the former option.

Gears in his legs clacked and slid into place as Barricade pushed up with his arms, shifting more of his weight to his lower half until his upper limbs reached full vertical extention. He then pushed forward, forcing his legs to carry even more of himself. Finally, he removed his arms from the table and raised his body to his full height. Tentatively, he picked up a leg to take a step, quickly finding his balance.

Barricade glanced at Knock Out, then down at the other mech in the room who seemed to be keeping himself from slipping. One of his assistants, maybe. He cleared his voice box before he spoke.

"We're not on the Nemesis, aren't we?"

[Flatline]

"Flatline what did you DO?!"

"He woke up on his own!"

Flatline's voice pitched up at this, not sure if his words would even be believed. How could this Decepticon simply wake up on his own volition? Did one of the machines have a hiccup? That had to be it. Something backfired and initiated a boot-up without all the proper checks being gone through. This wasn't just a normal recharge... this was medical stasis and it wasn't traditionally lurched out of with so much... zeal. It is that fact, plus the horror-stricken surge from recharge, that had Flatline gawking, the panels along his back flaring up slightly with a rattled click of anxious energy.

Having never met Barricade before, the black and red mech had no frame of concept on what sort of temperament that he had, and just how it could evolve if disoriented. It didn't really matter, medically speaking... for Flatline knew that things had to be wrangled back under control. And fast. If he could walk properly, he would have already surged into action, potentially even using his mass to try to slam the other mech down onto the berth so he didn’t fall and hurt himself. They were not that different in height, and while the other Cybertronian had more bulk to his build, momentum and being caught off guard could do much.

It wasn't that Flatline WANTED to get into a brawl, but he did care about his job, and took it seriously, even if he was nothing but a lowly assistant under Knock Out.

It was irrelevant though, given his leg was broken.

Uselessly knelt on the ground, Flatline watched as Barricade tried to stand, wishing he could do something to stop it. It didn't matter if the mech seemed to articulate his movements well, for that could always change the second he moved and lost traction due to the runoff.

"No! And sit back down! You have just woken up from prolonged stasis!"

A barked command, snarled words. While Flatline yelled this, his damaged leg would slowly push out and away from his mass with a creaking grind sound. The slipped disk in the knee slowly slid a moment, before it painfully snapped into proper alignment with a crack that made the panels on his back flare again. A strangled snort of pain hissed at this between gnarled teeth, before Flatline pulled the leg under himself to try to regain composure. He just needed a moment before he could try to stand.

"I don't know what happened Knock Out! I was sleeping and... and..."

Flatline sounded disoriented again, trying to mentally catch up to things.

[Knock Out]

“He woke up on his own!”

“He was in medical stasis!”

Patients didn’t just wake up from that - not on their own, and so Knock Out could only assume Flatline had taken matters into his own hands the moment he thought he was alone. Jealous of the fact that he was still nothing more than a lowly assistant doing the most mundane of tasks, having an actual patient to show off his skills to look like a real life medic would make the CMO see he was worthy of being delegated more work.

He’d deal with Flatline later. For now, the fact Barricade was attempting to move was an issue - and a rumbled huff sounded as his assistant got there first with the statement of common sense.

“What he said! Please sit down for a moment until you’ve had time to adjust!”

A snapped glare was shot Flatline’s way, before his attention shifted back to Barricade, expression softening - though he still held a look of concern. As he’d pulled out the power cable for the screaming machinery, any vitals were simply not being shown in this moment. However, given the other mech was awake, talking, and seemed to know where he was (a loose term, though he seemed lucid enough to realize they weren’t on the Nemesis) - the cherry-red mech could only assume that things were probably okay.

Venting out a sigh, he would shake his helm.

“No, this is not the Nemesis - which is probably something else you should sit down for.” his answer far kinder than the snapped ‘No!’ of Flatline, though still frustratingly vague.

Ah yes, time to tell another unfortunate soul what’d happened to their flagship. Then again, Barricade had been in pretty bad shape when he’d arrived to begin with, and so hadn’t really got a chance to familiarize himself with the floating fortress. Still, though, waking up somewhere entirely different from when he was powered down? Never a good thing.

Flatline’s disorientated voice was met with a scowl, though he did sound genuinely distressed by everything to the point Knock Out found himself second-guessing if the other mech really had done something to wake the sleeping patient up.

“And you say I’m a useless medic! At least I don’t— you know what, never mind, get up and help me sort this out.”

A vague gesture was given to the mess that’d been caused by the lashing high-pressure tubes as they’d been torn free, before he would peer back at Barricade.

How had he woken up? A machinery malfunction, perhaps? Great… Just what they needed, even though he wasn’t exactly surprised, given what they had to work with.

[Deleted]

"No! And sit back down! You have just woken up from prolonged stasis!" Knock Out's assistant snapped, in response to Barricade's inquiry about their current location.

Fussy medics. Always a staple of medical bays. You couldn't be one unless your energy vessels teetered on the verge of popping, it seemed. Though he understood why they kept such a high-strung temperament, and begrudgingly respected them for their thoroughness, Barricade wasn't exactly a fan. As both of the medics could clearly see, he got back on his feet without any major complications. He even managed to take a step after standing. Hurtful as that first step felt, he didn't fall down. What mattered to him was that he didn't need their help at all.

Well, except for being carried into the Nemesis' medbay. And getting repaired. And being carried off the ship into Primus knows where.

"So? I've woken up from stasis before!" the ink blue mech snarled back at the darker-colored medic. Slowly, defiantly, Barricade pushed away from the ground to enter another laborious stride. He could feel his foot start to freeze up, sending stinging pulses into his processor. Pushing through the sharp pain, the only visible reaction he displayed was a grimace. The sooner he could walk, the sooner he could get out of this room. By this point in his life, he had enough of medbays.

"What he said! Please sit down for a moment until you’ve had time to adjust!"

Ignoring the second plea to rest, Barricade craned his neck at Knock Out. "I am adjusting right now," he scoffed, his volume lower, but his tone still just as harsh.

Unfortunately, his second step proved to be less than successful. Forcing more weight onto his planted leg caused it to buckle, and the patient collapsed onto his knees. He yelled in frustration, violently slamming his hands onto adjacent repair tables. Using the tables as supports, he struggled to lift himself up. After some cursing, Barricade twisted his lower body to sit back on top of the very table he woke up on. 

"...There," he growled, his back hunched over in defeat and humiliation. At the end of the day, doctors did know best.

"Now, where are we? I would prefer an actual answer this time."

[Flatline]

Stasis and Medical Stasis are two different things!

Words that wanted to be screamed... anxieties and stress peaking a second!

Only to be quieted.

Flatline could be an arrogant individual. He knew he had skill, he knew he knew what he was doing, and he KNEW he had value! In the past it made him confident enough to assert his thoughts and made him want to take charge when things got too far out of line like they had moments prior. Yet... disorientation, pain, and a sort of shamed humbling and fear since the Nemesis' fall quelled this fire in the now, his frame hunkering down as Knock Out berated him for being useless.

He wasn't useless. But, it truly felt like he was, and that was a bitter pill for Flatline to swallow. He brought to the current table nothing more than an alarm would, calling out to the CMO to evidently pick up the pieces when he should have been able to do so. It was frustrating, his tired gaze dimming some as he watched Barricade fall down to the ground with a ram of metal against stone. There was no attempt made to reach out. What good would it do?

There had been no grandiose plan to do good here, no want to 'one up' Knock Out and fix someone who was in stasis for a long time. He didn’t go rogue! He was innocent! Yet it was an argument that couldn’t be had, and he knew later on he would need to try to defend himself, as he would likely be verbally assaulted no doubt. For now however, as to not start an argument in front of a patient, he chose to force himself to focus on his leg, no longer looking at the other two.

With a careful grasp, Flatline wrapped his hand around his damaged knee, silently cursing Breakdown while his thumb pressed along the side of the aching joint to feel the mechanism and make sure the disk had slipped back into place with the earlier snap. With this confirmation, the mech would shakily stand, the majority of his weight upon his good side. He would then move to the table with an extreme limp, grasping his cane which had fallen to the ground from the chaos. Once this was in his possession and he was partly functional, Flatline could finally stand once more upright, walking towards the new mess and detached lines to evaluate what all had gone wrong and look for defects.

For a fleeting moment, red optics did look up at Barricade, a disapproving frustrated glare that the moronic patient would need to fall and feel pain before he accepted a medic's advice. Was Flatline surprised? No. Many Decepticons could be bitterly moronic. Pride, arrogance... there were times to have it, and times to swallow it.

Knock Out could answer him.

Flatline wasn't going to do more beyond this seething look, his attention moving to the detached machine to look for anything physically wrong with it.

[Knock Out]

As Barricade snarled at Flatline, Knock Out could only manage a quiet ex-vent of a sigh. The fact it had been a prolonged stasis - medical stasis at that - was the only reason he wasn’t snapping back with a retort of his own or being firmer with his demands. The other mech was probably confused, disorientated, even if his stubbornness was preventing him from showing as such. Everything would catch up soon enough, and he could only hope that it would happen in this room.

And so for the moment, he stood quiet. Servos held up as if to show he wasn’t going to interfere with anything going on, letting Barricade work out for himself that this was not a good idea. He watched as the other mech attempted to walk, and while the grimace was not lost on him - having a keen eye for detail, and well - that wasn’t exactly hard to miss, he would remain where he was, making no motions to assist.

Only when the other mech scoffed at him did he grumble, rolling his optics.

“Mhm...”

As Barricade took that second unsuccessful step and buckled, Knock Out took a hesitant step forward. These stubborn types did not like help, preferring to do things themselves as to not show weakness or other silly reasons - and as such, he knew better than to immediately jump in and offer assistance. Watching with a scrutinous - if slightly judgy - look, he was patient as Barricade somehow managed to pull himself back up and onto the table.

“And what did we learn?” purred words, a gentle tsk following as he relaxed his posture, lowering both arms to his sides. At least he knew now if he annoyed the other mech, he’d be able to outrun him.

“As for where we are - we are at Blackridge Hold, a small outpost in the wonderful state of Oregon. You’ve been out of action for…” a quiet hum of thought followed “A little over three months now. In that time, we have obviously lost the Nemesis. Sort of. It’s ah, it’s- at the bottom of the ocean.”

Resisting the urge to spare Flatline a knowing glance at that, he would continue.

“Probably not that first thing you want to wake up to, but that’s just how it is. I assume you have other questions? Might as well ask them now, kill some time while you recover from waking up so suddenly.”

A mystery that Flatline would hopefully be able to solve in a moment. 

[Deleted]

“...it’s- at the bottom of the ocean.”

The words echoed in Barricade’s processor, bouncing around its circuits as he slowly realized the gravity of the events relayed to him. His mouth agape, he struggled to find words that could describe the dread, no, horror, welling up inside of him and clawing to get out.

There were no words for that. Instead, he decided to inquire about the one force on this planet that could possibly cause such a catastrophe.

“The Autobots did this? But we wiped almost all of them out.” The last time Barricade saw the Autobot army, they’d loaded whoever still functioned into an evacuation vessel and disappeared into the depths of space, with the Nemesis not far behind. For all he knew, the Autobots had lost the war. So how did a scattered, starving ragtag faction manage to take down the mighty Decepticon warship in the first place? Were the Autobots stronger than they seemed all this time? That couldn’t be right. This disaster was much more likely to be caused by fatal oversight in Decepticon leadership--

No! he screamed inside his head.

Don’t go there. Don’t ever go there. Those are a traitor’s thoughts. You are not a traitor. Not anymore.

Barricade raised to digits to his temple, trying to massage away the start of a processor-ache originating from that area. Enough dwelling on who to blame with the playing field leveled. The Decepticons still possessed an army, but were left without their greatest weapon on this planet.

[Flatline]

Flatline kept his helm down as he worked on trying to source the issue, leaning his cane against the medical berth while he rolled his weight onto his good leg.

At first glance, the machine looked like a mess even beyond the fuel lines and other hoses that had evacuated their contents. Monitor twisted to the side at a violent angle, a few wires ripped out and splatters down the front... To an outsider the monitoring system and accompanying tools for prolonged stasis were possibly broken, however Flatline did not seem particularly concerned with what he saw. He simply settled at the head of the medical slab, pulling the stand that the monitor was on out to face him more, while gently hooking two fingers over one corner to push it down and level it out.

While working, Flatline remained quiet, not initially planning to interject or draw attention to himself, especially as Knock Out spoke about the Nemesis' fall. He didn't want to be a part of such a conversation, he didn't want to be around when the reality of what he had done was brought up. Not only did it pain him a great deal to think about, it also held an edge of danger in this situation should Knock Out point out his involvement.

This unknown Decepticon could decide to take some rogue justice.

Thankfully, it appeared as if the CMO was feeling gracious enough to not bring it up instantly to punish him for something he didn’t do, so Flatline kept his attention locked onto his task, long slender fingers hooking beneath some of the pulled free cables to track down what each one was. He was just confirming the loose lines were all those Barricade had ripped away from rather than bridging monitor to tower, when said Decepticon spoke up, his question giving Flatline pause.

It was one thing for Knock Out to dance around it initially. It was another for him to do so again when another was asking a question. It was a level of protection Flatline did not expect to come his way, and there was a sudden nauseating feeling Knock Out's following words would be 'Why don’t YOU tell him Flatline?'. This made his tank churn in disgusted stress, the spiked panels along his back smoothing down after bristling slightly as the turrets on either shoulder clicked slightly in anxious tension.

"I don't know where you got your information, but there are plenty around still. Earth is a nice little cluster, including the Prime himself."

Flatline's words were stilted and abrupt. It did not hold his normal sarcastic edge, nor a bitter hatred or irritation. It was simply regurgitated facts, this bland tone continuing into his following statement.

"As for the Nemesis, a disease ran rampant and it fell among the chaos."

No eye contact was made during this, Flatline's frame dipping down enough so that he could run the back of his fingers across the side of the main monitoring tower. He was feeling for excessive heat that may be a sign of a short or other burnout that could have led to this issue. Perhaps the inner cooling was clogged up from dust in the caves, a very real possibility despite efforts to make it clean.

[Knock Out]

Autobots?

To be fair, if their positions had been reversed? Knock Out would’ve jumped to the immediate conclusion that the enemy faction had been the ones to take down the flying fortress. In a way, it was probably good that it wasn’t them - while the saltwater was probably not doing the ship any favors, at least it was still in one piece.

A drawn-out battle, or even a blast big enough to knock it out of the sky would make it pretty much unsalvageable. Not that Knock Out knew the first thing about repairing things like that, but he was sure he wasn’t too far off the mark.

His gaze remained on Flatline, noting his body language as he worked. With Barricade being so seemingly on edge after being out for so long, all it’d take was the truth slipping out and Flatline would probably find himself in a world of trouble. The temptation was there - and to be honest, it always was. The chance to throw Flatline under the bus? Ah, how could he pass that up! But he’d found himself growing fond of the other mech’s company, and even he couldn’t deny that his assistance in the medical bay was invaluable at times.

Well, that and he didn’t really feel like getting in the middle of what would probably be a fight, nor dealing with the aftermath of cleaning up the room.

Letting the black and red mech speak first, he would nod at his words.

“You know how it is. Get rid of one, two more pop up. Their presence on Earth has certainly grown, then again so has ours.” a satisfied hum followed these words as he made his way over to the seemingly faulty machine now that Barricade had sat down, listening to how Flatline would explain away the fate of the Nemesis.

Ah, the vague route - probably a little too vague, and so he would pipe up once more, though he would keep his attention on the machine itself, looking for anything that may have been missed by Flatline in finding the cause of the malfunction. He was only putting in about half the effort of the other mech, not taking the time to lean down nor touch any of the wiring.

He didn’t see anything wrong at a glance, and so would shift his attention back to Barricade as Flatline dipped down behind the machine.

“A disease that is - of course - now under control, I might add, so no worries there. But as Flatline said, that’s pretty much the gist of it. Disease. Chaos. Crash into the Ocean.”

Okay, vague was probably the way to go.

“Absolutely riveting stuff, you’re lucky you were in stasis!” he laughed “I’m sure Lord Starscream has some sort of plan to dredge it up from the depths eventually, though.”

Another hum followed his words, and he’d gently - if somewhat awkwardly - clear his throat before continuing.

“That’s another thing, Starscream is in charge now. Well, officially, anyway - even if it is no doubt temporary. Megatron has not been seen in some time.” which was probably for the best, though he wouldn’t say that out loud. “So be sure to call him ‘Lord’! He loves that.” he cheerfully added, even if there was a bite of sarcasm to his tone.