[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Beyond the Call [Closed]
Jul 2, 2022 2:59:32 GMT -5
Post by Flatline on Jul 2, 2022 2:59:32 GMT -5
Episode 3 | Week 4 | Day 1
Cold rock walls...
Dusted over and dirty floors...
The clunks and whirring of machinery that were muddled by distance...
Despite the outpost being an active mine system that was being worked on day and night for the Decepticon cause, their captive would be rather isolated and abandoned. Settled deep within a gutted-out tunnel, so far underground that contact with companions up upon the surface world, or even contact with others down the corridor, was borderline impossible. Any screams would muddle out before they got to any workers, a desperate call unheard beneath machinery and yelled communications. About the only one who could be spoken to, was whatever Vehicon was stationed outside the impromptu prison, a guard that may simply choose to ignore her outright as one extra layer of isolation.
Yet, there was one other.
Sitting upon a stool a few paces from the shackled femme was a black and red clad mech who was busying himself with basic cleaning of tools while watching a portable monitoring system lazily. Two trays were before him on a simple table, one holding a variety of devices that were speckled with Energon and dirt, the other likely holding the sterilized counterparts that had a towel gently draped over it to keep them clean from ambient dust.
Gently, curved claws would rub softly at a long-handled forceps, digging a solvent-soaked rag into the seams and groves of its gripping end. The mech seemed distracted by this motion and the monitors readouts, a couple conduits draped from it over to the young captive's chest and side of helm to actively track what was going on within her frame.
Patch had been grotesquely damaged. A missile used against her that should have obliterated her from this world to send her to the All-Spark. It was only by the grace of luck and fate that an Eradicon had been between her and the devastating weapon, taking on the brunt of the damage to then throw shrapnel from its own frame into hers. Just because its force had been muddled, did not mean the dampened strike was not devastating however.
Deep coring wounds... major lines sliced in half as panels of metal were ripped asunder... Despite her guardian soldier, it was a miracle she survived. Though, the medic assigned to her case was a large factor as well, determined to keep her from slipping away.
Cables were spliced back in place. Silicone lines removed and replaced by ones that were not damaged. Larger electrical conduits were re-attached and soldered, an industrial grade heat shrink bound about them to shield them from moisture and further lock them together under motion and transformation. Metal protoform flesh was re-attached back to its matching side. Outer armor plates welded firmly together and smoothed some by a grinder to level it mostly off with the surrounding material.
While Patch was not in visibly good shape, paint ripped off around damages from the repairing process, she was very much... patched... and was functional within reason. It would not be good for her to try to thrash or run with her freshly mended injuries, but she would be on track to be back to full health if given enough time for the changes to settle and self-repair to take hold. As well as followup checks if they were in the equation. Perhaps it was more work to stabilize her than necessary... she should have simply been made functional enough to survive and abandon the more 'luxury' elements such as making her leg able to move again with its fuel re-established... but her acting medic seemed to have some kind of pride in their work, or a guilt in leaving her in disrepair, enough to mend more than was likely desired from their ruling Seeker.
Flatline was not looking upon Patch directly, having finished his efforts to cobble her together a couple hours back. The tarp and bloodied mess of major tools that were used to save her life had already been taken away, her frame re-shackled once the welds settled enough to make such a thing possible. He simply was busying himself with the more mundane small tasks, keeping occupied until his patient would wake up on their own accord. He could forcibly push her to the realm of the living, use a stimulant or code to wrench her systems online... but he figured she had undergone enough trauma as is, and that she deserved at least some form of rest.
Red optics drifted across the digital readouts, occasionally sliding up to glare at the soldier that stood watch, before looking back down at the forceps that were gently moved under the towel on the clean side. Long fingers would then pick up an Energon crusted crossing file, continuing with his lazy work to now scrape a solvent soaked rasp brush to peel flecks of metal from between its grooves.
Cold rock walls...
Dusted over and dirty floors...
The clunks and whirring of machinery that were muddled by distance...
Despite the outpost being an active mine system that was being worked on day and night for the Decepticon cause, their captive would be rather isolated and abandoned. Settled deep within a gutted-out tunnel, so far underground that contact with companions up upon the surface world, or even contact with others down the corridor, was borderline impossible. Any screams would muddle out before they got to any workers, a desperate call unheard beneath machinery and yelled communications. About the only one who could be spoken to, was whatever Vehicon was stationed outside the impromptu prison, a guard that may simply choose to ignore her outright as one extra layer of isolation.
Yet, there was one other.
Sitting upon a stool a few paces from the shackled femme was a black and red clad mech who was busying himself with basic cleaning of tools while watching a portable monitoring system lazily. Two trays were before him on a simple table, one holding a variety of devices that were speckled with Energon and dirt, the other likely holding the sterilized counterparts that had a towel gently draped over it to keep them clean from ambient dust.
Gently, curved claws would rub softly at a long-handled forceps, digging a solvent-soaked rag into the seams and groves of its gripping end. The mech seemed distracted by this motion and the monitors readouts, a couple conduits draped from it over to the young captive's chest and side of helm to actively track what was going on within her frame.
Patch had been grotesquely damaged. A missile used against her that should have obliterated her from this world to send her to the All-Spark. It was only by the grace of luck and fate that an Eradicon had been between her and the devastating weapon, taking on the brunt of the damage to then throw shrapnel from its own frame into hers. Just because its force had been muddled, did not mean the dampened strike was not devastating however.
Deep coring wounds... major lines sliced in half as panels of metal were ripped asunder... Despite her guardian soldier, it was a miracle she survived. Though, the medic assigned to her case was a large factor as well, determined to keep her from slipping away.
Cables were spliced back in place. Silicone lines removed and replaced by ones that were not damaged. Larger electrical conduits were re-attached and soldered, an industrial grade heat shrink bound about them to shield them from moisture and further lock them together under motion and transformation. Metal protoform flesh was re-attached back to its matching side. Outer armor plates welded firmly together and smoothed some by a grinder to level it mostly off with the surrounding material.
While Patch was not in visibly good shape, paint ripped off around damages from the repairing process, she was very much... patched... and was functional within reason. It would not be good for her to try to thrash or run with her freshly mended injuries, but she would be on track to be back to full health if given enough time for the changes to settle and self-repair to take hold. As well as followup checks if they were in the equation. Perhaps it was more work to stabilize her than necessary... she should have simply been made functional enough to survive and abandon the more 'luxury' elements such as making her leg able to move again with its fuel re-established... but her acting medic seemed to have some kind of pride in their work, or a guilt in leaving her in disrepair, enough to mend more than was likely desired from their ruling Seeker.
Flatline was not looking upon Patch directly, having finished his efforts to cobble her together a couple hours back. The tarp and bloodied mess of major tools that were used to save her life had already been taken away, her frame re-shackled once the welds settled enough to make such a thing possible. He simply was busying himself with the more mundane small tasks, keeping occupied until his patient would wake up on their own accord. He could forcibly push her to the realm of the living, use a stimulant or code to wrench her systems online... but he figured she had undergone enough trauma as is, and that she deserved at least some form of rest.
Red optics drifted across the digital readouts, occasionally sliding up to glare at the soldier that stood watch, before looking back down at the forceps that were gently moved under the towel on the clean side. Long fingers would then pick up an Energon crusted crossing file, continuing with his lazy work to now scrape a solvent soaked rasp brush to peel flecks of metal from between its grooves.