We are a literate, intermediate to advanced AU Transformers RPG Based off of the first season of TFP with dashes of other incarnations sprinkled here or there. Characters from any continuity are welcome however must be restyled to match the TFPrime universe.
Active, with ongoing plotlines, we are always willing to integrate new characters into storylines once incorporated into the setting.
While Windshield paused to give Patch one more glance, Soundwave continued, not even faltering or looking back during the Infiltrator's hesitation. He simply walked onward with the soft taps of dampened steps, each one almost ringing with a plastic like undertone that amplified in the confined corridor. While he did not look or seem to take heed however, in actuality he certainly did take notice, timing out how long the lulled pause lasted that could be translated as a moment of weakness to the femme, or a moment to offer one last smug look of victory. It was unknown which way this scale leaned, for he did not view his expressions regarding it.
As Windshield caught up to follow, replying to his question, Soundwave did not play another recording in response. There was simply a hollow silence that followed, punctuated by the distant noise of machinery and working miners that lingered in tunnels far from their current position. Ahead of them sat an awaiting Space Bridge, the curling vortex spiraling sharply while casting white particles away from its outermost edges. With no direction on where it may lead, Soundwave passed through with expectation for Windshield to follow...
No one truly LIKED seeing a doctor... It meant that something was wrong, something broken that may hurt or make them feel sick... There were of course always exceptions to the general mass generalizations however, such as someone who may be addicted to the feeling of pain killers or other medical drugs, yet this was not valid here and now. It was more than apparent this Autobot was planted firmly in the first scenario, with an added bonus fear of faction rivalries and attempted murder that had been made mere moments previously that made things even worse.
Compassion to talk someone through it, to guide and assure that their interests were in mind to keep them alive... that wasn't viable here, as Flatline didn't have time, nor the care, to hold Patch's hand through every step. Her life was on the line, and it was his JOB to try to stop her spark from fizzling out. If she had to be uncomfortable and scared before her own medical training kicked in and she realized what he was doing? So be it.
He refused to fail under Starscream's command, and he WOULD make sure she lived.
Because of this, Flatline didn't even falter as she tried in a futile motion to resist the injection, his thumb hooking up against the downward angle of her chin, its curved leading edge locking at the joint between jaw paneling and throat guard to keep it from folding over smoothly, while his fingers curled tighter at the backside. He was almost clutching a moment, trying to push and keep her steady so she didn't thrash the moment the needle was in place... which... thankfully she was smart enough to not do. With that, the injection was done, and he quickly pulled the tool out while giving Starscream a single word reply that was focused and direct.
"Understood."
He had to try to ignore that their acting Lord was watching.
While setting the device aside, the hand that had been grasping the Autobot's throat moved down so he could press the side of his thumb against the injection point, holding pressure so that the mailable rubber channel of the fuel line could flex back into shape and pinch off. Flatline barely got the tool placed out of the way when he could start to feel Patch relax, red eyes flicking to look at her expression, before the thin white lens plates snapped over to the Vehicon with a sharp and very aggressively pointed look when it spoke.
Flatline stilled, his quick focused movements from before seeming to freeze in time as his focus locked upon the solder, staring straight within its visor as if it could tell him something. This fierceness, was paired with a slight tightening of Patch's throat further, a sort of compressed ire bubbling out from the depths of his system. This lasted a moment before he realized quickly what he was doing and he let go of the Autobot instantly, flicking his fingers back while his hand whipped away so that its inner blade wouldn’t make contact.
He could address that thing later.
"I am here to keep you alive, not torture. Cooperate, and this will be over quickly. Protest, and it will be unpleasant. It is your choice. Remember that."
Flatline spoke bluntly to Patch, his words a sort of mechanical directness that held little emotional inflection. His attention wasn't on expressive opinions on the patient, instead more so on his next actions which focused around stopping the overheating as best he could. He continued to ignore the drainage of fuel, knowing that limbs and some internals could be re-animated should they temporarily go down, while in contrast overheating could permanently fry out more life giving biological elements that they couldn't just boot back online or replace given their environment and current resources. Because of this, his gaze flicked across her frame, finding one of the larger vents that were just behind her side that were angled back.
Sharply reaching forth, with little prompting, Flatline's fingertips plunged between the flared open slats, getting a firm grip on their panels before sharply twisting them at a forty five degree angle to unlatch the lock, before snapping back the forty five degrees to then pull the mechanism out with a popped sound of the latches losing their grip. He loosely tossed the cover plate aside, figuring he would retrieve it later when it came time to re-install, before he reached in to try to hook his claws into the recessed filter to pull it out.
Obstructions of any kind, even should they be beneficial in long term use, were detrimental here. To temporarily remove the frame intake filter would mean there would need to be less back pressure to push through the fibers, freeing airflow substantially so it could ideally flow faster and bleed out heat. Particulates that may get sucked in were insignificant compared to the alternative. While it was only one vent, it would aid, and should he be successful in this avenue, Flatline would move his frame with a grunt of his aching leg to try to locate the matching pair, moving around her given her shackled position.
He would give so much to have his secondaries back, the ghost shapes absently trying to reach down to grab the next tool he would need in a moment... nonexistent fingers slipping through the intended goal with an eerie haze... Flatline could swear he felt them in times like these when they truly would do so much good. The underlying components they had once attached to that were now buried beneath a cover plate twisted in response, small connectors clicking faintly as they pivoted.
Looping his arms casually behind his back, Starscream nodded at the single word response. While he did not expect Flatline to start using a hamfisted approach to this like some sort of brute, he hoped the other mech would stop treating their patient with such… care.
They needed to stabilize her, nothing more. That was about the same level of kindness that’d been given to Windshield upon his arrival, with one Autobot barbarically poking at his T-Cog right there in the desert.
Unlike the Vehicon, there were no offers from the silver Seeker to assist. He remained where he was, standing with enough distance that he could continue to observe, while giving Flatline enough room to work and move as needed.
Flatline’s response to the Vehicon was curious indeed, and while there were no words spoken? That look told much. Unable to tell from where he was standing that the other mech’s grip had tightened somewhat on Patch’s throat, he could only wonder just what this particular Vehicon had done to warrant such a fierce scowl as a reply.
It did not last long, and soon the Medic was back at work. Starscream was quiet, save for the occasional hum of seeming approval. He had picked Flatline in particular for this task for a multitude of reasons, and while the black and red mech was lamenting the loss of his secondary arms? Starscream was contemplating the option of offering them back.
Well, depending on how things went today, anyway.
For now, he would turn his attention - briefly - to the Vehicon. The look Flatline had given the drone was a peculiar response, one that may need looking into further.
QLC-972 had expected some sort of response to his offer. A vocal word of confirmation followed by an order to either hold something up or fetch something else, or maybe a polite decline for the time being.
What he got was a fierce scowl. Narrowed optics. A look of aggression, almost. One that confused him, though only for a second.
Ohhh- he must still be mad about that one time in the corridor with the… singing and the… stick thingy. Okay so he’d failed horribly at assisting Flatline then, but with Starscream here? He totally wouldn’t mess up again! Plus he knew this patient, and maybe if she worked out who he was, it could calm her down and make the whole situation a little calmer.
Not that it was really chaotic in here right now, but he could at least calm her nerves - having a friend somewhere scary always helped, right?
As Flatline stared at him with the glare that felt like it was lasting far too long, a swift salute was thrown up in the Medic’s direction, as if giving more genuineness to the offered words. This salute was not dropped as the black and red mech went back to his task, if only because Starscream had asked a question that made him pause.
Oh. Right.
Swiveling quickly to face the Seeker, Q held the salute for a moment longer before lowering his arm to his side.
“QLC-972, Sir.”
He’d given Flatline a different name, Patch as well - but lying to Starscream? Well, he wasn’t that stupid.
Maybe, he hoped, that Patch would at least recognize his voice.
This added new importance to the identity of the medic, and so, as her optics opened once again from the initial wave of relief, there was a moment Patch’s gaze bobbed up to meet the red glow of the scary looking stranger, helm rested in his servo.
There was a wild sort of something behind her tainted azure glow. Open and vulnerable, yet as challenging and tight as she could physically pull herself through the weighted miasma of whatever drug he’d given her. Patch wanted to trust this person- Desperately (She was dangerously close to not having any choice, simply by the fickle nature of consciousness) but the soldier was scared...
Grievously, wretchedly scared.
As she felt his grip tighten, her optics merely closed, as her helm was tilted back with the strain on reflex. A harsher staggered invent taken as she very obviously attempted to force herself into relaxing. There wasn’t anything she could do to fight him now. Hopefully he wouldn’t kill her like this- but if he did... she no longer wished to watch…
She didn’t even open them again as she was released. Merely slumped back against the wall, and continued the staggered, broken breathing she hadn’t meant to stop, too tired to fully acknowledge even the relief, let alone the fear a moment prior…
She heard him. She heard the words. A small stone of relief dropped upon her gut at the words “I am here to keep you alive, nottorture”
As she heard her Name however, from the vehicon beside her… Optics opened and flicked to him, frame shifting beneath the weight of her ventilations. A slight sort of squirming as she fought for air, and relief.
Did she… recognize this person?
No time to consider, as now the strange, large, lanky, insectoid medic was leaning into her. Patch’s helm bobbed up and away instinctively as their chassis grew closer. A frightened squirm, a small “Nngh-” as she felt a touch on the more vulnerable spot.
As Flatline went around to pull out the filter he would have to work beneath, and around the larger object latched to the femme somewhat. As he was beside her, he would likely see that the bag was not in fact a part of her frame, but a removable -now damaged- object.
Flatline would feel- where her neck had been warm, even just the outer edges of her vent were HOT. Perhaps not painfully so to their kind- though the heat being expelled wavered the stale air of their dusty surroundings with each pained whuff.
The vent went to snap shut over his digits on reflex- before being wrenched open and outward... Of course it didn’t hurt, but it surprised her. Vents were a more direct line to one’s vitals- Even numbed it was an odd feeling to have the protective components pulled out and away.
The filter he removed… Was an older one. The object itself in decent condition- but the brand (yes, Brand) was one of Pre-war Cybertron. It had Not been manufactured by either army, it had been either scavenged or stollen.
It was a particularly hardy one as well- it was medical grade. One which might stop arasoled infective fluids besides the usual dust and particulate. The cybertronian script of said aforementioned brand settled along one of the edges bright and bold. That of a prominent medical supplier which Flatline may have recognized.
Once it seemed Patch realized what he was DOING… Again her frame deflated.
This one was more subtle, as she was already very much hindered on Many different planes, but as he reached around to repeat the process- Patch no longer shied away. In fact, she leaned up slightly, attempting to make as much space -albeit the gesture more than slightly minimal- as she could.
At the time, Flatline may have been disoriented and blind with pain, his world spinning up and down and onto its back... but he recognized this Vehicon's voice as if it had been branded into his processor. An everlasting stain of a tone that would enact seething ire and hate out of him. He could never forget it, but he had forgotten the name. Mostly. He remembered it started with an 'R', so to hear something entirely different? It confused him. Vehicons didn't seem to have batch build voices... they were all somewhat unique it appeared. This couldn't... no. It HAD to be him. He was lying to Starscream or himself, and signs pointed to him lying to him.
Which just pissed him off more.
The soldier KNEW he was messing around and tried to hide under a name that wasn't his!? Oh... if only he wasn't busy. If only he wasn't trying to save this Autobot's life. Flatline had to try to shed off his hate and shrug off the experience from his mind. Try to focus and tune out the possible discussion that may start behind him. He HAD to, so he didn't mess up here. Because of this, he focused in on Patch.
The varied shapes and forms of Cybertronians, the way they carried components for their alt modes and elements that turned into weaponry or who knows what else... Flatline recognized many of them, and this was no exception. What had been assumed to be a cargo container that was built into her mass at a glance, was now sidelined to the reality that it most certainly wasn't. Latched on, adapted to fit her frame no doubt... but it wasn't HER by the way it flexed out of the way and moved independently at pressure, its surface subjectively colder with a click of a different metal alloy no doubt. He would look into it after he had his current task done, the first filter wrenched out.
Oh, it had been a while since he had seen one of these. It was like looking back in time for a brief moment. The blue logo letters, made to be aesthetic to serve as advertising for a brand, instead of a stamped code for mass produced wartime components. It was surreal in a way, Flatline's brows crooking up some at the shock of it, before he quickly settled back into task, his wrist flicking the filter off to the side near the vent plate. It undoubtedly had to have been cleaned or the fibers replaced at some point... he assumed... so if needed they could do so again. Use the same cage to hold the fibers so it was guaranteed to fit. That was useless now though, which is why he simply cast it aside like trash, moving to wrench its matching pair out.
It seemed Patch was catching on that he was helping, moving accordingly to the best of her abilities to assist in his actions. Because of this, he was able to easily grab onto the vent panel to remove it like he had the other, plucking free the mesh filter so that it could be tossed to the side with the others with a clunk against the dirt and stone flooring. With these removed, hopefully air could cycle through at a substantially faster rate, trying to bleed out the buildup that burned at the metals.
Swinging his left hand down harshly to ram over his damaged knee to force the joint to line up, Flatline let out a strained growl as he pushed against it, hooking himself upright onto his feet into a full stand. The joint scraped some as he stood, the disk slipping back into alignment as he took a step to tower over Patch to evaluate what he suspected. From this heightened vantage, looking down at the cargo container on her back, he could see what kind of setup it had to be, his hands reaching over her to slide between back and container to feel for the twin connectors.
It burned, it was hot, the box creating a shield of layered panels that acted as insulation. While she may not have vents there, it was another stretch of surface area that wasn't able to disperse heat which was so incredibly needed at the moment. Flatline's upper lip flicked up at this, a grimace as he crooked his thumbs up and plunged them deep into the twin void sockets on her back where the container's latches attached, trying to figure out on the fly what style of mechanism it was, and if it was something that could be manually forced to unhook with the right pull or press.
Flatline thought he had it for a moment, thought he knew what model it was, and as such he would pull up with a firm motion after depressing the connector he felt. However, it seemed this was not a mechanical clip, but was deeper internalized, her torso being dragged up slightly before dropping back down as there was no way he could support her weight beyond the momentary heave. A heave that didn't even lift her off the ground in any way.
"Let GO of it."
A snarled statement, his hands starting to hurt some not only from the heat, but from now being crimped in the narrow space with his thumbs trying to unhook the toggle latch. The angered words had a bit of a double meaning. Let go of the backpack. Let go of his hands. If she refused to do this? He was ready to kick her in the damn face if it meant he got free, not even remotely wanting to play a game of chicken with his last set.
Starscream DID say he didn't have to be kind after all.
Another grunted pull was made at the locking mechanism that could rattle Patch's frame should she not let go, twisting at a different angle to see if it was the second style of hook he thought it could be. It was so hard without a scanned report of her model type and any alterations that may have been made, working blind off what he could feel with limited time at hand. Even if it was consciously incorporated and part of her biology though he WOULD find a way to get it off of her back so she could cool down better.
Post by Starscream on Oct 29, 2021 22:06:53 GMT -5
There was no reply from the silver Seeker once the Vehicon had stated his designation. A mental note made to look into things further once he was back at Blackridge Hold, no doubt - but for now his attention would remain on the patient and what Flatline was doing.
He watched as the filter was wrenched from her frame, and then tossed aside. That same, silent gaze followed the object as it flew, settling on it as it found a temporary resting place on the dusty floor. While he was not familiar with such things to the degree that a Medic would, he recognized it as being pre-war in make, the letters of the brand name standing out.
Had she kept those by choice? Or were the Autobots truly that hard done by that they didn’t have the means to replace such things? The thought made his lip twitch some in mild amusement, before he shifted his gaze back to the pair as Flatline snarled an order.
He couldn’t tell quite from here just what it was she was supposed to let go of, but he would not speak up to insist she listen. Flatline no doubt had this handled, and it would be interesting to see what he would do should she refuse.
QLC-972 took an awkward step to the side once he had given his name. He’d been called upon by Soundwave to help, or so he assumed, and so felt a little strange simply standing here doing nothing. Maybe they thought Patch would put up more of a fight than she was doing at present, or maybe he was here to simply stand guard once she had been fixed up to a point she wasn’t going to die.
Whatever the case, the Vehicon would remain ready. Watching from a safe distance as to what was going on, ready to rush in and help Flatline should he need an extra pair of hands.
He watched quietly as the filters for the vents were removed and then subsequently thrown. One servo raising with a single digit held up as if wanting to say that ‘hey, I could’ve got those for you’ - though would refrain from speaking.
The glance from Patch in his direction had him hopeful that she recognized him, though with Starscream here he didn’t really want to draw too much attention to this fact. So, keeping on task, he would carefully move to where the filters had been thrown, dutifully picking them up and setting them next to the crates he’d brought in earlier.
It was then he took a second to actually look at the filters, noting their current state. His visor would stare for what was probably a second too long, before he shifted into a stand once more, arms by his sides.
They were a mess - she was a mess. Her injuries looked painful, and he just wished he could do something to actually help.
He was helping… that was useful- kind even. He didn’t intend to kill her…
Patch was losing energon, she was losing sense. Her balance was gone, her limbs, her legs were growing numb. Between that, the lack of pain and the knowledge this medic was here to at least try and save her?
She was slipping…
As Patch leaned to the side a small ways, and allowed the other filter removed, the new relief of dull, stale, COLD air was like a rushing bleed of what more abstract discomfort remained through the drugs. Her optics, barely a light behind them bobbled nearly shut, unfocused behind the loosened shutters as she fought with what little willpower remained to stay awake. Should flatline have been close enough, Patch very well may have fallen forward upon his armor, the front of her crest resting a second on his shoulder, or chest plate.
The connection on her kit was a manual, deepwired lock, as flatline had no doubt discovered. The pack would never be lost by accident, or severed easily- yet could be quick released with nothing more than a thought if it became caught on something, or a hazard in some other way. Part of the lack of loss, however, meant it would stay attached if Patch lost consciousness. The release Mechanisms closed by default, and opened with intention.
Her helm bobbed up, as her whole body was shaken and plopped back down. This was about as effective as a small pat on the cheek in pulling her back to consciousness- but she checked back in just enough, it seemed, as suddenly the locks clicked open to release. The bag revealed its weight without her- not an un-hefty thing. The sound of loose plastic, metallic utensils and broken glass shifted inside as it was jostled.
As the bag was lifted, it struck the tops of the holes in her armor that allowed it to attach. With no support, -if not caught- the young femme's frame would slump down and back against the wall with a dull metallic smash, her airway collapsing as she fell forward over the damage down her front.
Her shoulder slammed into the ground as her inner mechanisms unwound as though stricken by something. Optics half lidded and entirely dark as bright blue spattered forward across the ground from her chest. Beneath where she’d been sitting, a rather sizable puddle was revealed yet farther, of newly bled energon. Her servos still bound up and behind her as the chain pulled taught.
Should she have been plugged into some sort of monitor, a scanner’s beam run over her chassis, the device would at this point start screeching instantly. Her vitals were still present but deteriorating FAST. Frighteningly so- quickly enough to see in real time as they weakened and slowed.
Who would have guessed a spark’s light would begin to dull without energon to burn...
There was relief felt when the backpack finally unhooked. Relief that he got it off her frame, and then relief that his hands were now no longer pinned between her back and the makeshift insulation, roasting away. Flatline didn't think about this small victory more than a brief second however, as Patch was cascading down and he didn't plan to let her hit the ground. Fiercly, his leg lifted, instantly snapping out hard towards the back wall. If he had been fully functional, his ped would have rammed into the stone underneath her shoulder, so that her mass would slump against his narrow leg instead of cascading down.
Only, he wasn’t functional.
Dipping because his bad leg couldn't catch onto his weight like he wanted, Flatline's limb didn’t extend out, and he instead clunked his foot in front of Patch, doing very little to stop her fall. This was unacceptable, and he suddenly got a real dose of just how broken he was since coming to Earth. Everything he could have done, everything he was able to do to help Patch... he was wrecked and it was showing in his work that he once took great pride in. It caused the panels on his back to bristle up in irritation, paired with a feeling of frustrated shame that slammed his battered pride... pride that had already been systematically chipped down every step of the way on Earth.
He clunked the box to the side roughly.
The removal of the container exposed an entirely new stretch of armor. Vented or not, it would help radiate heat away and disperse into the air. This, paired with the filter removal, would do enough for the issue for now so that he could focus on other things... namely, his first order to the bastard Vehicon at his side.
"Prepare an infusion, then, if the box is medical supplies, unpack and lay out everything that isn't broken."
Flatline had heard the rattle of shattered glass. Either an object broke and simply dusted the surrounding materials in shards, or worst-case scenario it had been a vessel holding something that was now all over. It would be quite detrimental if items of value were plastered in who knows what. While Flatline couldn't think of much off hand that would be truly disastrous in a general medical kit, just because it was a box attached to a medic didn't mean it housed only such tools. Weaponry or other supplies... who was to say just what was what in the mystery box. The only given was the noise of glass.
Not even casting the Vehicon a look, for he wasn't worth his time, Flatline moved quickly, a small sound of minor transformation heard as a panel on the side of his left forearm shifted back and the handle of a tool pushed out to be grabbed onto. He would grasp onto its side, the device ripped out then held aiming up while his left hand then swung around to grab one of the twin red canisters on the backside of the limb. With a sharp twist and pull, the opaque metal container was popped free and then slammed into the back of the tool.
A barrel of some kind, a trigger and a cylinder material being loaded into it... that was where the comparisons to the prior tool ended. This new one was a duller metal with well worn surfaces and a trigger. Clean, sealed away from debris and dirt in its holder, but well used over a lifetime of service in the Decepticons. The opening on the end didn't hold a removable needle, though it did have a tapered nozzle of sorts that extended from the mouth of the device.
With as much care that was able to be offered when moving with speed, trying to combat the next great issue on a sea of problems for Patch, Flatline's broad hand splayed across her collar and upper chest above the damage. He was cradling as much surface area as possible to not push the majority of her weight onto any one of his sharper fingers. The base of his thumb bearing the majority as he pushed to ease Patch back upright so the garish wounds up her front were now visible.
A flick of internals... the hidden connectors to now missing limbs... Flatline faltered a brief second, his eyes widening as he was smacked again by reality, before he twisted the tool down to be pinned to his palm, freeing his pointer, middle, and thumb enough that he gingerly grasped onto one of the larger pieces of shrapnel with only the sharpened points. He wanted to do this with his secondaries, manipulate it and observe while having the tool ready... but he had to make due.
With as much care that could be offered, the shrapnel was ever so gently pushed to the side, Flatline instantly comparing Patch's construction and build to others to judge where the most vital of lines lay beneath. He would slightly manipulate, easing back and feeling every vibration or tension that may move along the panel, doing this only enough to get a very safe guess that nothing was snagged and it wouldn’t be like pulling out a fish hook.
He knew she wouldn't feel real pain.
With a firm movement, Flatline removed the piece of Vehicon from the gaping wound to drop down to the ground, a choice that could seem disastrous as it instantly freed once blocked lines. A mostly obstructed leak to a full flow. If this were done out on a battlefield by those untrained, it would spell a quick demise. Only, this lasted only a second before quick actions were made, the resin gun flicked up and into his hand. Barely giving the major lines that drained from Patch's central core a chance to do much of anything, Flatline rammed the tool into the opening of the major line, depressing it to plug the channel instantly with a resin material. A hard block... one that would need to be pried or cut out later when lines were spliced back together and she was stable.
Once this major line would get sealed, he would quickly move to others that were broken from the same piece of metal, prioritizing any related to her upper mass or were Energon related, before doing any other from coolants to oils. The coating of blue that smeared across the inner walls of the wound created its own light source, the ambient illumination irrelevant. This fact paired with the sheen of moisture from the Energon itself, created a reflective surface that outlined every layer of metal, every hinge, every severed line and component... It showed where the fuel pooled to get an idea of if plating was dented in and closed enough to retain liquid, or if it had gaps to let it drain through and add to the look of gore down her front. It was an even playing field, nothing distracting by means of colors or surface textures.
Red optics that were intense in their focus, would finally look over at the bastard Vehicon, expecting to receive the proper tools to start to force fuel back into her system.
Last Edit: Nov 13, 2021 0:56:38 GMT -5 by Flatline
(Skip Starscream this round, he’s simply watching and has nothing to add.) -
Q hadn’t exactly been trained in anything related to medicine. Oh sure, he knew the most basic of things - applying mesh patches (he was good at that!) or pinching leaking lines to the point of stopping them from gushing everywhere. He had the most rudimentary knowledge when it came to anything like this. Yet even he could tell that Patch was fading fast.
He wasn’t sure why Flatline was removing her backpack, though could only assume it was to give him some sort of room to actually work - it wasn’t his place to question, and given the other mech had glared at him with a fury of a million billion suns (okay, a bit dramatic) - he was not about to ask.
An answer, or, well - an order came almost seconds later. If there were medical supplies in the backpack, they could be used to save her, he figured. Granted they had their own supplies, but extras were always helpful, and maybe she had something that was needed that hadn’t been brought along.
“Right!”
He wasted no time, pushing off into movement that was probably a little too eager, picking up the backpack and making his way to the crate he’d carried earlier into the room.
An infusion.
Uh… Well, he could only assume that was an Energon-related thing, given she’d lost so much of it - and with angry Medic and Starscream here? Again, not gonna ask for a clarification there. It was time to use some handy dandy initiative. He’d brought down what looked to be a few methods of achieving this task in the crate, namely an IV style bag or a more direct injection-y type syringe thing.
That one was probably faster, right? At least, that was his logic, and so after a moment of fumbling with the canister of Energon - while keeping his back to the group so they couldn’t see said fumbling - he successfully (somehow) filled the cylinder ready for injection.
With a posture full of confidence like he’d worked some sort of miracle, he would hold the cylinder out for Flatline. Once taken, it was then he would turn his attention to the backpack. Wow, it sure would suck if this was rigged to explode or something!
Pushing that thought to the very back of his processor, the Vehicon would ease into a crouch, moving to pry open whatever latches were on the backpack itself, pulling it open to view the contents.
Again, he wasn’t trained in anything like this - but thankfully had enough common sense to realize that yes, these things in Patch the Autobot Medic’s backpack were indeed medical related.
“Okaaay, let’s see…” talking mostly to himself as he ‘worked’, he would begin pulling the various items out of said backpack.
One medical scanner, some tools that he did not recognize at all, a marker, some tubes, mesh pads - now those he did recognize… tape, and some other things that he would probably file under ‘misc’. Regardless, he would lay everything out neatly and carefully - picking around the broken glass even if he knew it wouldn’t exactly hurt him any. He couldn’t tell at a glance exactly what it was that’d broken and leaked over everything, but thankfully it didn’t seem to have done too much damage to the things that remained intact.
- (I based the contents off Patch’s profile, if I need to change anything let me know!)
Patch's frame settled a bit, after the initial strike against the ground. The slightest flicker of light behind her optics as a huff of air mumed out. With her pack now gone, the femme’s relief was only worsened further- and now that she was no longer upright?
She was still breathing. Heavy sort of slow, sort of broken ventilations through a loosely open intake. She was still bleeding, drips pulling off from the cuts in her silver, darkened, slackened features.
That was about it.
With her shoulder pauldrons as wide as they were, her helm did not quite touch the ground, cocking instead at an odd, broken angle in the direction gravity pulled it. As Flatline’s long, thin digits began to manipulate one of the shards, Patch’s chest drew in slightly on reflex. The medic would feel a little touch of tension with this, it was clearly embedded quite deeply… Though there was still enough give that nothing could logically be hooked, or caught beyond what friction was caused by slightly jagged edges.
Energon did dribble out much faster as the shard was even just slightly moved- particularly as it was pressed to Patch’s left, Flatline’s right. As he pulled, no, she did not feel real pain, not anywhere NEAR so much as she would have fully fueled, or un-anesthetized…
But even still as the shard was dislodged -the wound exposed in a very much more violent way- light flickered back to the young femme’s optics. A twitch of her helm, as a hard ex-vent was expelled. A sort of whimpered grunt, if anything, a small rough hum of alarm, as her abdomen weakly engaged, and her ‘breaths’ grew even odder, for a second.
Either Patch was bleeding much faster than Flatline had estimated, or she was a bit denser internally… Or both.
At the injection of the resin, her helm lifted a little from it’s dangling state. Optics rolling slightly as a grunted mum babbled out at the abstract ache. It didn’t burn anywhere the same way it would have. It wasn’t a shocking stab of stinging as it more than likely could have been otherwise. It was very VERY likely Patch would not so much as remember this- even within the next matter of seconds.
But it was still foreign. It was still a chemical- it was still a pain within her chest, a very valuable, hence, rather sensitivespot beneath the armor of near any Cybertronian.
The backpack jangled slightly as Q carried it across the room- then gave a mildly unnerving crunch as it was opened. A bit more force was needed to get past the dent than what may have been otherwise required. Inside, it seemed a vial had shattered- though most of the other tools were relatively undamaged.
‘Undamaged’ in the immediate sense. Yet again, the state of the young medic’s instruments spoke volumes of the Autobot’s desperation. The aesthetic design of the objects vorns out of style. There was a sort of soft, angular quality to a lot of the items that relied on hex, and octagons. A popular trend in Iacon a few million years ago.
Nearly everything was battered to shreds and built back up again, it seemed.
The second the infusion tool was dropped in his waiting palm, Flatline's fingers wrapped around it and he would jab it harshly into one of Patch's major return lines, using it as a highway to instantly deliver the fuel where it needed to go. No need to process it through a tank, no need for fuel pumps to redirect to the vital internals themselves... No. It would instantly push into her system as a rejuvenating breath of fresh air, flowing over starving components with purified fuel that was not yet dirtied from flowing through torn lines from the explosion.
Flatline’s free arm folded gently across Patch’s frame at this, trying to hold her steady, not writing her off as being truly unconscious at this point. If anything, he half expected her to lurch and heave awake a second, the sort of pulse of adrenaline as if someone jumped into an icy lake. This was why he leaned his weight forward as he did, to keep her down and keep her from moving major gears and systems that could irritate her injuries further.
"Hold still..."
Steady words, trying to urge her to not wrench as she possibly came to the realization of where she was all over again. While Starscream had told him to not bother being gentle going forward, Flatline found no benefit in that, as trying to be more compassionate would actually help, while unfettered cruelty would be a detriment to the process. He was on a mission here, he wouldn't pull punches for her survival, but a sort of calmer tone slipped into his two-word directive. This would continue as he carefully spoke further, banking on her medical knowledge to understand the need to hold steady even through a hazed mind.
"I have more shrapnel to contend with."
Retracting the tool once it had fully drained of the loaded line-Energon, Flatline held it out to the Vehicon, his free hand supporting Patch a moment longer until she seemed to be settled.
"Fill this again."
Any soft edge in his prior words were no longer there, the biting anger and hate he felt towards the soldier showing plain as day. If he thought he could get away with it, and if he thought it wouldn't cause issues, he wanted to half THROW it at the morons helm. With his luck though, the device would break, the soldier may somehow miraculously get knocked unconscious, or if not, trigger them into an argument or physical fight. That was ignoring the fact Starscream was there, and Flatline would not act so childish in front of him. Because of this, he could only imagine the joy he would feel to hit the Vehicon, before focusing back on task when the soldier took the infusion device.
With it hopefully filled shortly, he would have it on hand in case she were to slip once more, though he hoped to have more lines plugged by then so the fuel wouldn't just loop around and freely bleed.
Easing forward, Flatline took hold of one of the other larger bits of shrapnel, this one sticking out of her upper leg, gingerly manipulating it as he had the other to feel for any snags or bent panels beneath. This one did have a bit of a catch, something pushing down upon it. With this in mind, he would slip the sharper end of his thumb alongside the metal, pushing up the offending internal panels with care so he could seamlessly pull the obstruction free. The piece of Vehicon panel had a sharper edge that scraped along the side of his thumb at this, a small wince formed, but he didn't offer it any more thought.
With this cleared, Flatline could barely see the half severed line that led down to her leg, a small edge of the rubber not cut through entirely. With this in mind, he would use the resin tool to seal around the line, creating a temporary 'cage' that patched the leak and permitted fuel to slip through, instead of plugging it up outright. It may not be as clean a passage, the resin likely encroaching into the line's normal pathway, but a slightly restricted flow was better than fully capping it off.
This process would continue. One by one severed lines were pressed back together with a ring of resin around it, or simply capped off if they were too difficult to work with in a timely manner and didn't lead back to vital sections. It seemed like Flatline found a rather structured flow through the passing seconds, his adaptation to his missing arms quickly stabilizing due to repetition. Swift, decisive, slowing only when it came time to extract a piece of metal so that it could be done with accuracy and care...
Should nothing obstruct his efficient approach, the major slashes and other wounds would have their temporary seals in line and he could focus on making sure she was truly stable, before starting to go back and do proper fixes that could last long term.
Starscream would continue to observe in silence, his posture considerably relaxed - a stark contrast to the situation that was happening before him. Red optics watched as the Vehicon moved and did what was asked of him, before he would take a few almost cautious steps of his own. He made a point of giving Flatline ample room, moving around to get a closer look at just what had been carried within that bag.
While he had no real background in medicine - his experience instead being with science - he was ever curious, grasping for knowledge wherever he could, even in small, seemingly insignificant moments such as this.
Choosing to remain at a distance, he looked down at the various instruments while listening to what was going on. He noted that the tools seemed well loved despite their age and odd aesthetic. Used, broken, and repaired - obvious care had gone into keeping them in working order, even though he was certain it’d no doubt be far easier to have them replaced entirely.
Then again, maybe she didn’t have a choice.
The only time he glanced in Flatline’s direction was when the order was snapped at the Vehicon. The prior softness in the medic’s voice shifted in an instant, and again he found himself wondering just what this specific trooper had done to invoke such ire.
Again he would move, this time retreating back to his prior position in the small room so he could take note of what was being done.
“Will she live?”
A simple question cut through the quiet. She certainly looked in a better state than she had upon her arrival - though that wasn’t saying much at all.
The instant that Flatline took hold of the offered tool, Q would quickly step backward a few paces - probably more than what was needed, but he certainly didn’t want to be in the way.
Here he would linger, safely out of the way. Sparing a glance to the Seeker as he moved, though kept himself ready to rush forward at a moment’s notice - even to the point of bopping ever so slightly from pede to pede so he could move instantly.
The order came quickly, and Q would move just as fast.
The tone that the medic spoke to him with when he’d been so nice to Patch the Autobot Medic wasn’t lost on the trooper, which only furthered this need to shut up and do what was asked without question.
“Yes Sir!”
Why was Flatline so annoyed at him? He’d helped him when he’d had his arms ripped out! Granted he’d been a bit distracted that day and forgot the word for a cane, but surely that was no reason to hold a grudge. Maybe it was because Starscream was here?
Whatever the case, it wasn’t the time to dwell. Maybe he could make it up to Flatline some other day, find another piece of metal that could be used as a cane, find some sort of LED lights and make it all fancy-like. That’d be a good apology, right?
Despite these thoughts, he moved quickly. Thankful that the mental image of a really cool stick-thingy with LED’s and cool patterns drawn on it hadn’t made him forget what he actually had to do. Lowering into a crouch, he would once again pick up the canister of Energon, using it to fill the cylinder - this time with far less floundering and at a far faster rate than before - what a pro!
Offering it out to Flatline once more, he would bob his helm. Job well done.