[ti]Ep 3.5[/ti]The Price of Progress [Closed]

[Starscream]

Episode 3.5 | Week 1 | Day 3
Early Morning
-

The day had barely begun for most at Blackridge Hold, but Starscream had been awake for a few hours now. With the return of Megatron, he’d made a point of keeping himself far busier than normal, maintaining an active presence among the dreary, amber-lit corridors - but for now, he remained within the comfort of his quarters.

The small assembly yesterday with the Warlord and Spymaster had gone about as well as expected, and while it’d ended far better than his first meeting upon Megatron’s return, it’d left the silver Seeker particularly on edge - then again, they usually did.

Sitting at the small desk in his room, his optics drifted over a datapad that he held with one servo. Every so often he would scroll down absently with his thumb, though no motions were made to make any sort of notes of his own. One of the subjects of the meeting had been why the other members of his Trine had been absent from the mandatory gathering just days prior - and how he needed to ‘rein Thundercracker in’.

That hadn’t sat well with him, though he found himself going over the logs uploaded by Thundercracker both for that day, and any patrols since his arrival to this planet, almost as if looking for answers. Everything had been standard, with records filled out meticulously - which only brought with it more questions. There had been no overriding order nor emergency permitting their absence from the meeting, and nothing of note had been found during their time away.

Or at least, that was what had been written.

With a sigh, he would turn the datapad off, carefully setting it down onto his desk - his optics settling on something else that’d been spoken of, and something that’d been at the back of his processor for a while now. A pair of small, secondary arms. While he had been ordered to effectively keep tabs on Thundercracker, his Trinemate was not yet aware of this new arrangement, and as long as logs continued to be uploaded, there was no reason to follow his every move or even speak to him at all - at least for now.

Flatline, on the other hand, was now their only remaining Medic, and permission had been granted to return the arms to him at last.

Given he had been the one to remove said arms, the request for authorization to give them back had been a formality at best to remain in Megatron’s good graces.

Reaching over, he carefully picked up the delicate limbs. Knock Out had seemingly done a good job of repairing them from what he could tell, especially given the limited resources available here at Blackridge Hold, and the fact it’d been done in secrecy. The one that’d been slightly mangled during the altercation with Thundercracker seemed to be in working order, and at a glance he wouldn’t have been able to tell there had been anything broken at all.

Pushing into a stand, he would quickly make his way from his room - closing the door behind himself. He held the secondary arms carefully with one servo, making a point of keeping that arm tucked against his back as he made his way through the corridors of Blackridge Hold.

It was early enough in the day that he wasn’t even sure Flatline would be in the Medical Bay yet, however that was where he would head - gently pushing open the door upon his arrival.

[Flatline]

The Medical Bay that Starscream walked into, was not the same as the one he had exited his last visit.

The room looked as though a controlled tornado had decided to pass through it, tumbling everything in a way that was jarringly different from a couple of days prior. Larger diagnostic and support systems were pushed aside towards the walls to clear the floor, while smaller supplies were sat on the counter's surfaces on the far wall of storage. Entire screwdriver sets, ratchets, and hammers. Scribes, files, and grinders. Workshop boxes of wires and conduits, another of line tubes and splice connectors... In front of the cabinets on the ground were the larger supply boxes, such as Cybertronian metals, both raw, flat sheets, and scraps, and the forging tools that went hand in hand with them. This was but some of what was around, all of it tightly organized and clean, similar objects around one another so that finding what was needed was easy, able to be utilized in an emergency, but simply... visible.

The chaos did not end on basic organizational elements however, the medical light assembly above the main work table was half destroyed by who knows what kind of assault, a rough effort having been made to try to patch it from whatever had occurred. The main disk was thankfully still in place, its light clusters intact and functional, yet its twin was completely missing, long electrical cables where it had once been looped and pinned up onto the mounting post with their ends capped off for safety reasons. The missing disk was neatly sat aside on Knock Out's desk, which wasn't spared by whatever had happened.

While most of the topmost belongings were still present, simply holding a new addition with the light component, a chunk on its front was completely ripped out, its glides hanging at a disjointed angle. This missing drawer could easily be seen on Knock Out's chair, its inside walls splattered in a hazed blue tone from something that had long since lost its glow and turned matte. A tiny glint of raw metal shone at its corner, where a tip had been cut off.

This same splotching seemed to be tucked in small corners around the room, points where cleaning was not done with as neurotically meticulous degrees that traditionally suited Flatline's standards. This included the sharp grooved seam connecting the medical slab to the floor, as well as a couple of minute specks on one of the far walls and at the edge base of cabinets. If someone were to truly squint their eyes, some of this haze could even be picked up on the flooring where natural stone absorbed liquid, though it was but a ghost. So very faint.

Every other area was spotless, the tables working surface smooth and sterilized from whatever may have happened to it, leaving it clear for any sort of emergency that may be thrown in their direction. The same could not be said for the second one across the room however that was currently occupied, where a Vehicon was lying offline in a medical shutdown. The soldier looked to have had a rough day, though the injury was not immediately apparent due to the fact its entire central mass was covered in a tarp to keep dirt out from whatever lay below, tucked down just enough for monitoring cables to lay attached to his chest in three points. A fourth conduit ran to the side of his processor.

It seemed he was on idle standby until greater repairs of some sort could be accomplished.

In the furthest point of all of this was Flatline.

The black and red medic was tucked in his little modest work area, almost pressed into the corner among a pile of high-detail tools and what appeared to be some kind of internal fuel pump. The organ had certainly seen better days, a chunk of it torn out of its side which was sitting on the same tray open-end down. The two pieces were propped up on gauze to protect them from scratching against the metal surface below, almost cradling them.

Starscream's presence had been instantly seen, and it appeared to have shaken Flatline on a deep core level, a sort of fear apparent in his sunken features that looked as though he had gone a week without recharge, yet had enough makeshift adrenaline coursing through him that he could stay up a week more. The small pinpricks of lens plates danced across the Air Commander's expression, trying to pick out if he looked angry, or annoyed, or even if it was some sort of smug amusement like what Megatron had before everything got turned upside down.

It was hard to even process it, however, barely even SEEING Starscream at this point.

After a couple of shocked beats, Flatline pushed up abruptly into a stand, his chair scooting out behind him with a rattle as he snatched his datapad, trying to quickly thumb through it with haste.

"I-I didn't realize you were due to come in. I don't... I don't have any of the records lined up yet, I..."

Flatline seemed distracted and confused, his right hand rising to smear over the side of his helm, ending with gripping one of the flares on the back of it in an anxious clutch while he looked at the data pad.

[Starscream]

Any possible words that would’ve been spoken to announce his arrival were quickly tapered into nothing more than a confused hum-like noise as the Seeker moved into the room, letting the door gently thud behind himself as it closed. He’d only been here but a few days prior, yet between then and now something had evidently happened.

And he wasn’t quite sure what.

Still holding the arms behind his back, his optics would slowly scan this way and that, taking in the details of the room itself. The first thing that noticed, given it was front and center almost, was the medical light that’d taken the brunt of some sort of aggression. An attempt to repair had been done, however it was missing one of the lights - with cables in its place. Had a Vehicon snapped and trashed the place? Was that rage-inducing virus back? No, surely not…

Breakdown losing his temper over the fact the CMO was missing? Perhaps, though that would’ve been noted in some sort of report, he was sure.

There was a sort of controlled chaos to it all. Knock Out’s desk had been ransacked, with a chunk taken out of the front. His drawer sat atop a chair - with traces of blue that could only be Energon - still caked to the inner walls.

This same blue was splattered throughout the room itself, indicating that a far larger mess had been present at one point. Attempts to clean were noted. However, it seemed like a rush job, almost.

Over on one of the medical berths was a Vehicon that’d clearly seen better days. While he couldn’t see whatever injury had been inflicted, it was more than obvious that the drone lay in medical shutdown. Again, his processor wandered back to that virus, wondering if this resting trooper had somehow brought it back.

His mouth hung open as he took in all the details, a stunned silence almost. Just what had happened here? Megatron had mentioned something about Flatline at the meeting just yesterday. How the sorry state was somehow partly his fault - however those words, and the state of the room itself? Offered very little clue as to just what’d gone on.

There was no smug amusement on his faceplate, simply confusion - a feeling that was expressed via his wings, as they sagged ever so slightly from their more neutral state. His optics narrowed into a gentle frown of concern as he finally pulled his gaze over to the other mech and what he was doing. The sudden movement as Flatline pushed into a stand as their optics met cut through the quiet, and the stammered words only added another piece to this puzzle.

“I’m… not.” he sounded just as confused as Flatline for a moment there, almost as if caught off guard - though was quick to clear his throat as he finally took further steps into the room, before continuing.

“I am simply here to return something that belongs to you. However, that can wait for a moment. What happened here?”

[Flatline]

Starscream's confusion bounced off Flatline's confusion, which absolutely decimated any slight grasp of coherency on what was going on that he had managed to cobble together. He had only just started to pick up the dropped pieces, only for the shards to be knocked out of his hands with a sideways slap, leaving him metaphorically grabbing at the air with no comprehension of what the right answer was. This startled disorientation was made even worse when the Seeker continued to speak about... returning something? Though, that flickered thought alone fell between the gaps with everything else, as a more pressing question was dropped onto him.

Flatline froze, wide eyes dancing across Starscream's features.

Was the question a trick question? He had to have been aware of things. He HAD to have been. He was the second in command, and a transfer of power in the chain would undoubtedly have been reported to him. While it was assumed Flatline would play such a role when Knock Out was missing, to have it officially be put down on the records rather than it being a placeholder job? That had to be known, it simply had to... and so Starscream's question brought forth more concern and confusion, trying to see what the gimmick was and how many ways he could answer wrong to end up at the open end of a weapon.

"I..."

His words snagged a second.

"I-I had to contend with a critical case, without access to some tools."

An understatement to extreme levels, Flatline’s words pitching odd.

On surface values this could seem legitimate to an extent, quickly explaining why everything had been dismantled as it was. It could be an act to clear house to expose every object they had from every dark corner of the Medical Bay, trying to lay out what they possessed and put it back together in a more manageable formation so that such an issue did not happen again in the future. Only, the way Flatline spoke made it more than apparent there was a great deal more than such a relatively trivial thing, his gaze refusing to make eye contact any longer, let alone even look above the other mech's collar paneling at all.

Passive, fearful. Flatline had been apprehensive and wary of Starscream since his arms were taken, a sort of constant paranoia in play whenever they crossed one another's paths... however, this was on a new level. The black and red mech almost seemed terrified as he moved with more stiff and twitched actions, thumbing through the datapad a couple more swipes despite the fact that the Sky Commander had said he wasn't here regarding anything medical to begin with. It was while he did this that his words continued, a more stilted shell clutching around it all that made them awkwardly abrupt.

"Everything is fine though. I have things handled. I'll get things put away as soon as possible Com- Lor- Commander Starscream."

Flatline fumbled badly about what title to use, which only seemed to make him more unsettled and off kilter.

[Starscream]

Starscream’s gaze shifted from Flatline after a moment, optics drawing over the room as he made his way around. He was trying to work out what’d happened here, processor trying to recall any reports that would’ve been brought to his attention regarding emergencies and the like.

Nothing stood out, though.

He was purposefully careful with his footing. Not for a fear of stepping in something he shouldn’t, however Flatline was obviously fearful about something - and so he kept his movements gradual and slow, and for now would keep his distance, making a point to keep one arm tucked behind himself at all times.

Not sparing the other mech a glance as he offered a response to his question, he made his way over to the Vehicon that lay under a tarp. He wouldn’t lift the material, though took a moment to look at the myriad of cables that ran from his frame, optics narrowing in thought.

It was a lot of effort for a single Vehicon.

A quiet hum escaped him, things piecing together bit by bit, however not quite to the point of being able to yet make sense of just what’d happened here. Flatline’s answer added more questions than resolutions, and it was then that his gaze would shift to the other mech.

“What? Without access to tools?” he repeated, wanting to make sure he’d heard correctly, hoping that Flatline would elaborate further.

How did that even happen? While Blackridge Hold wasn’t on level with the Nemesis by any means in terms of equipment, they at least had enough supplies and apparatus to get through most things without issue.

No, there was more to this.

Narrowing his optics slightly in concern, he would shake his helm.

“Things obviously are not fine. I mean look at the state of you-” his free arm would raise, gesturing to the other mech as if pointing out the obvious. Flatline had been overly skittish ever since the day his arms had been removed, however, this was far worse than anything surrounding that moment. The only difference - and it was something that his thoughts clung to, especially after the meeting just days earlier - was Megatron had returned.

“Now I ask you again, what happened here?”

[Flatline]

Flatline watched Starscream intently as the Seeker started to maneuver around the room and look over the calculative destruction that had taken place, his focus as absolute as it was hazed to a point that he didn't even see the other mech's arm being tucked behind him. It seemed to make his unease grow that much further at every second's tick, his hand splaying atop of his workstation before he walked around more into the open. This did not mean he was growing emboldened and more secure as time passed, no, far from it. There was no settling down to be had, however, he thought that cowering would instill wrath of some kind by looking pathetic. It was as he stood out more in the open, that what happened to his leg became abundantly apparent.

His left knee had a severe brace like tool strapped around it that made his gait even more dipped and stilted than it was previously. It was a series of external bands that were welded together on a post, a heavy clasp wrapped around his thigh that was repurposed from a medical bed strap that would have been used on a difficult patient. There was even a sort of expanding foam encasing part of the joint, to further immobilize and effectively lock it down as if there was no hinge to begin with. It looked temporary, there being no weld lines or truly permanent alterations that touched the mesh, but in the meantime, it did not permit any bend at all.

With his hock and the adaptability of his hoof-like peds, he was still able to maneuver to an extent, but everything looked that much more ragged and slow.

"I-I"

Starscream didn't know what had happened? This confused Flatline a good deal, unsure just what this meant. It could be a trick looking to see if he would snitch, though that in itself didn't make sense. What would the issue be if he told what Megatron had done? Then again, if the Commander DIDN'T know, then that meant it wasn't meant to be passed on? Yet he hadn't been told to shut his mouth and move on... yet a promotion would be known...

"I... had to prove my worth."

This dropped out of Flatline's mouth awkwardly, a sort of plunk to it as the truth was thrown with ragged uncertainty. To pair with it his hand rose to smear on the side of his helm again, grasping once more onto the fin like paneling there, while the opposite lifted to point in the direction of the Vehicon. He would continue to not make eye contact, not even glancing at Starscream at this point.

"Megatron's blade-"

This part he stumbled past even more. Flatline had seen injuries far worse than the one the soldier had undergone, even before the war when there was a large incident such as a crash of some kind. The wound itself did not traumatize him, however, the method in which it occurred did. A sword ramming from spine to front, an assault not to attack and kill for war against an enemy soldier, but to one of their own for the sole purpose of starting a nightmarish trial that would decide his very fate. Trying to save a life despite horrible odds, looking over at the monster who watched like a vulture that planned to exploit any weakness. As such, Flatline skipped past that bit, though enough was said to make it apparent.

"Keep him alive with only what manual tools may be found out in the field -"

No diagnostic machines, no life support, no mechanical tools, no transfusions, and barely enough painkillers to treat the soldier and his own leg. The last thought caused his immobile knee to ache horribly, a tingled pain creeping along the joint up his thigh to the spot in which it terminated and transitioned to his wheel. The sharp prongs of his ped almost pulled apart slightly at this, trying to grasp the ground further for stability to hold the limb as steady as possible upon the three points of contact.

"- or the room."

Flatline's hand rose once more at this, a long bladed finger then pointing up at the light that’s value was now effectively hacked in half, temporarily destroying an asset that would have been quite beneficial during even mundane medical treatments. After this gesture, his arms would loop back close to his center mass, crossing over to grasp the opposite wheel of each side of his bicep. The wheels that made his upper arms were absolutely destroyed, it more than apparent they were now worth nothing more than a ragged shadow of aesthetics at this point. Slices and cuts raked across their fronts, sharp v shaped grooves lashing in differing angles to a point that even a triangle was chunked out of the outermost edge of the left one. Any ability to hold air for an alternative form was entirely out the window at this point, it was only a stiff cage of rubber filling out the shape to mask the fact the true mechanisms of his arms were much narrower.

Acting as a stress relief to grapple with.

"I was promoted... I-I don't want..."

A dream soured into a living hell.

"Has anything been learned about Knock Out?"

It was a sudden shift, red eyes remaining cast towards the ground as his grip on his wheels tightened.

[Starscream]

Lowering his arm carefully, Starscream would rest his servo on the edge of the berth where the Vehicon currently lay. No motions were made in that moment to lift the tarp that covered the trooper, his attention, instead, fully on Flatline.

He listened, and would not speak. He did not want to rush the other mech into revealing things, nor did he want to push him into talking. The medic was a fearful mess to begin with, and the last thing he wanted was to make things worse.

Prove his worth?

He knew what that meant.

But-

Why?

His optics narrowed at the following words, gaze drifting momentarily to the Vehicon. Megatron had done this? Ah, but then it got worse. It’d been a test.

The gentle scraping of metal could be heard as the servo that rested on the berth would tighten somewhat, claws digging ever so slightly against cold steel as his attention shifted back to the other mech. His optics followed the motion made, peering at the light that’d been destroyed.

His gaze didn’t linger long on the broken equipment, shifting back to Flatline as he seemed to absently grasp at one of the wheels on his arms. A stress response, one he knew well in his own fidgeting. Though… he’d only seen the other mech just days prior and he’d been in no such state.

Megatron seemed to have that effect on people.

Despite the narrowed optics, there was no anger or annoyance on display. His look was one of pure concern for what he had seen before him. Knock Out was missing, and yet Megatron had thought it best to put their only remaining medic through an absurdity - and for what? A promotion? Flatline had more than earned his place already. His skills in keeping the Autobot prisoner alive despite her sorry state were evident enough that he had what it took to keep the Medical Bay functional and could step up without issue should something happen to their CMO.

And yet-

Snapping back into the moment at the question that was asked, Starscream would shake his helm, relaxing his grip on the berth - however, it was not by much.

“No. No word of him.”

He knew there were efforts underway to look for their CMO, and that Soundwave had found evidence of some sort of altercation nearby to the area he had possibly been last seen. However, these details were purposefully omitted as they were not confirmed to belong to the cherry-red mech - and he knew better than to risk distressing an already shattered Flatline further with bad news.

“Back to the here and now, however…” he started.

How to even go about this? To apologize for what’d happened seemed… almost right, however it was not his place to do so. He did not agree at all with what the Warlord had done, nor why he had done it, especially given the circumstance.

“For what it’s worth, I do not agree with what was done, nor did I know of it happening. The fact you are still alive and in one piece is a welcome sight indeed.” a gentle twitch at his lip, a weak smile that faded almost as quickly as it appeared.

Glancing down to the Vehicon, it was then that his free servo would move to lift the tarp ever so slightly to see just what’d happened. A long, vented sigh escaped him as he shook his helm. Not only did Megatron put the life of their only remaining medic at risk with an unnecessary trial, he’d put a Vehicon on the line as well. While they were seen as cannon fodder by most, their numbers had dwindled since Cybertron - and even further since the Nemesis.

“You did well, considering.” looking up then, he seemed to hesitate a moment.

“I wanted to give you these back under better circumstances, and want to stress that this is in no way related to whatever test you have been put through in this room. However, I think it is about time I returned these to you.”

At that, the arm that’d been held behind his back would uncurl, and while he wouldn’t move closer to the other mech, he would offer out the secondary arms at a distance, wanting to see how the other mech responded before he chose how to proceed.

[Flatline]

"No. No word of him."

This caused Flatline to pull inward further, his helm dipping as his eyes closed. He didn't expect grandiose good news, as he imagined that would have likely been thrown his way, or... at least casually mentioned by a Vehicon that was cycling through... yet to have nothing? It was concerning, as it either meant that the red mech had simply vanished into the void, taken by an opposing force that was likely ripping into him, or there could be the idea that Starscream had details and it was a pathetic act of mercy to not tell him. He knew he was a destroyed shell, and he knew if they found a body that he would be devastated... so, perhaps it was trying to keep their one medic at least moderately functional even at these low levels by hiding the truth from him.

"I see..."

Somber.

It was amazing how much had changed since they first crossed paths. A vicious rivalry turned and twisted around until he felt crushed the other mech wasn’t there. Alas, the topic was forced back to him, calm words drawing his helm to angle more in his direction once more. While he was looking at Starscream now, he still resisted peering up at his face which meant that he missed the small flash of a smile that had been offered in an attempt to put him at ease. Not that it would have done much. While he avoided eye contact with the Commander, when the tarp was tampered with his gaze did pull up fully to lock down on what was happening.

Red eyes flicked over the shape of the Vehicon, looking to see what would be done to the soldier that he was meant to keep alive. While he didn't expect the other mech to add another injury, nor to unplug and say he is a lost cause and to put his efforts elsewhere, there was still tension at a patient being messed with. That soldier was as much a life support for him, as the machine was at their side that kept them alive. A chain of survival in which one broken link caused them both to perish. It made his ventilations stall a moment, before seeing that nothing negative was about to happen, his head then crooking some to the side once again as Starscream offered a compliment on his work.

That felt good, though it was one small glimmer within an otherwise dark environment.

Letting a slow shift of airflow through him, Flatline listened intently to every word that was then spoken, not wanting to miss any detail as Starscream HAD come in here for a reason, and he would serve as best he could. Yet, instead of directions, something he never thought he would see again was being held out for him. The sight alone seemed to catch him off guard, a lingering pause made as if making certain there were no stipulations or mockery before he eased forward.

The first step Flatline took was ragged and uncertain, still in a form of shock at the sight of the limbs, before he moved further to try to cross the distance. With his knee locked down and immobilized, his gait was profoundly broken and stilted, though he didn’t seem to need to rely on his cane as aggressively with all the weight pressed into the brace. It left his arms free, cautiously reaching his hands out once in range to retrieve the long-missing body part.

Flatline looked down at the objects in his hands as though they were a hallucination and he hadn't even been offered anything. He was so convinced... SO convinced that they would have been destroyed and cast aside, internals harvested and their shells smelted down to the valuable metals they were made of to make a point. Yet they hadn't. They had been kept, hidden away out of sight, repaired with care to then lay in wait to be gifted back when it was believed a lesson was learned. Yet, the timing could not have been worse. What may have been seen as a blessing, a true gift of mercy in these dark times in which everything was trying to drown him, was twisted and poisoned into a putrid mockery of what it was.

Just as the title of CMO had been.

With a shaky motion, Flatline pulled the two arms closer to his chest, pressing their sides against where they were meant to be, the holes long since capped off and sealed to a point it would never have been apparent that they ever had a home there. This was joined by his red eyes looking out to the side at the far wall, peering upon the stone there without seeing it at all, trying to process this new cruel game.

He had been given his secondary arms back which would fill a void within him that had lingered since they were taken. Hands that would have been priceless and would have helped so much in Megatron's trial that nearly killed him. A trial manifested by the fact his friend had gone missing and it wasn’t even known if he was alive... with said friend being the best in the current Decepticon roster to even help him re-attach the arms to begin with. This created a sequence of events that were strung together in the worst possible orientation, leaving Flatline alone, shaken, and now gifted something he dreamed for that could not be enjoyed on any meaningful level, not knowing how he could even attach them all on his own.

Who would he even turn to? He didn't have anyone he really trusted.

"Thank you..."

Uncertain, the statement was somewhat hollow to betray the broken nature of where his thoughts were running. As distant and uncaring as the two words could be translated, they were paired with his arms tightening around the secondary limbs, almost an act to confirm they were still there and to keep them protected and close to his spark. Almost desperate. This motion was so encapsulating, they were nearly invisible behind his grasp.

One modest little good thing that was HIS, even if they were so incredibly worthless.

[Starscream]

Watching Flatline quietly, Starscream would gently frown at his reaction to the news - or lack thereof. A few short months earlier, he was certain the other mech would’ve been overjoyed to hear of Knock Out’s unexpected absence and his own subsequent promotion - after all, wasn’t that what many of them wanted? To clamber through the ranks into positions of power, no matter the cost? The medic before him was no different - the venomous rivalry between he and the absent CMO was no secret. Yet somewhere along the way, they had seemingly put aside whatever differences they held, working together in keeping this sad little medical bay functional.

Yet it was more than that, and the fact that the other mech was still standing was proof enough. Knock Out had been keeping pedantic notes on Flatline for some time now, and while it’d seemed the cherry-red mech had been forcing the other medic to do more than his fair share of work, at least according to the logs on just who’d done what, it was almost as if to prove how truly useful he was to the Decepticons. A long-term plan, should something ever happen upon Megatron’s return. While he wasn’t sure if the CMO’s words had helped, given he had been cruelly tested regardless, it had certainly stopped the Warlord from killing him outright.

He wondered if Flatline even knew.

He wouldn’t move as the other mech slowly made his way over, keeping his servo outstretched. His gaze drifted, albeit briefly, to the brace on Flatline’s knee, taking note of the gait that’d seemingly worsened. Was that part of the trial as well, or had something else happened?

There were no motions of pulling away as the other mech got closer, no jabbing taunts or words to mock in revealing this as some sort of twisted game - and once Flatline had retrieved what was rightfully his, the Seeker’s arm would slowly move to rest at his back once more.

Gently bobbing his helm in acknowledgment of the thanks - as uncertain sounding as they were - he would speak.

“I wish I were returning them under better terms.” there was a hint of remorse to his tone. Megatron truly had gone too far with things, especially as Flatline had already been punished for his part in what’d happened to the Nemesis.

But at least he was still alive.

“What happened to your knee? To worsen it further, I mean. Did Megatron do that too?”

The last time he’d seen Flatline had been just a few days prior when he’d been getting his wing repaired after the altercation with Optimus, and while the other mech still made use of his cane that day, it was nowhere near as bad as his current state.

[Flatline]

Flatline tucked down into himself further at the question that was asked, his gaze casting aside.

"I... er..."

What HASN'T happened to his knee? So much had gone wrong every step along the way on this forsaken planet.

"I didn't want it to impair me in the trial, so I numbed it and ignored the sounds and snagging."

That was so incredibly bad. SO incredibly bad. Such a tactic went against everything Flatline believed in as a medic, his proactive approach pushed aside to cause additional harm for the sake of convenience. In the scrabbled trial for survival, one could argue it was a necessity since he likely would not have gotten as far as he did with its agony plastered atop all else, yet his negligence was continuing. Once the harrowing day had passed, he opted to remove the issue as a whole rather than address it as he would have otherwise done.

"I haven't looked at it yet, and instead immobilized to not hurt myself further."

As far as his body was concerned, he no longer had a knee at all. It put a strain on his hock, the joint not really built to twist in ways not parallel to his thigh, but it had to do for now, since there were no other options unless he wanted to slowly deplete their painkillers and destroy the hinge entirely in the process. That, or pretend the leg was missing and try to get a more adaptive cane that hooked under his arm rather than just clutched in his hand.

"My priority is to start getting everything in order... somewhat... should be..."

As if that plan was making any progress.

While the room was in a form of controlled chaos, it was chaos nonetheless, and he hadn't done much to really rectify the situation. Whenever he made any attempt to do so, physical discomfort could take him down, and psychological discomfort rose to higher levels. If that was even possible. He knew how he would want to organize the Medical Bay, how he wished it had been from the onset, yet he had been overruled by what Knock Out found the most comfortable to use for his own flow of work. It annoyed him so much in the past that he brought it up numerous times to bicker, and yet, now it left a painful situation rather than a surge of victory. Whether he was going to finally stand his ground and finally do what HE wanted, or if he would put it all back the way it had been in an assumption that the missing medic would come back.

He didn't want to make that choice. He COULDN'T make that choice. If he was going to be the sole medic, he really would like it configured differently, and doing it now would be so much easier than pulling it all apart later on... Yet to do so was cementing the lack of hope.

"I've been working more on the soldier when I possibly shouldn't. Their kind perish often enough, I could poach the broken parts instead of repairing them, or let him go if the drain is too much, I don't know... I don't..."

Detaching suddenly from the topic, Flatline turned and started to walk away across the room, his gait broken and stilted with a hard dip every time his weight rocked over to the impaired leg. Despite this he crossed the distance soon enough, shakily placing the secondary limbs down across Knock Out's desk, looking at them a second before taking a couple of strides back and away. His eyes dimmed some, arms raising to cross his chest and grip the upper wheels once more.

"Give me an order..."

He couldn’t make a choice.

[Starscream]

The Seeker’s gaze wouldn’t leave the other mech as he explained things, and while there was a sense of relief in that Megatron hadn’t been the one to inflict needless injury to their remaining medic, the fact Flatline had felt it necessary to do it at all was troublesome.

They needed him more than ever, especially with the loss of Knock Out, and while it seemed he could still walk, how long until his injury crippled him to the point he could no longer move? To numb and ignore the pain as it no doubt got significantly worse throughout the ordeal - who even knew what further damage had been done in that moment of desperation.

The fact he’d immobilized it was good, however that did not remedy the problem.

Frowning, he would nod as he listened - and for a moment his attention would shift to the room itself. While medical bays were often scenes of chaos, of frantic moments of stress that danced the line between life and death for a patient, in those lulls where there was nothing going on? They were ominously serene. This room, however, was cluttered. A mess, and a reflection of Flatline’s mindset, no doubt. Boxes of supplies that probably should’ve been put away were left out, along with tools and other things of use.

It was a controlled chaos that simply should not be.

Shifting his focus to the soldier as he was mentioned, an almost inaudible hum was given. While Flatline was technically correct, in that perhaps this one was too far gone to consider working on further, there was probably some sort of psychological element involved. Flatline had to keep him alive in order to save his own spark, and while he had passed said test, it may feel like only a half-success should he give up now.

Or a deep seeded fear that Megatron would come back and change the rules.

His gaze lingered some on the tarp, having only allowed himself a glimpse of what lay underneath, he knew the damage was undoubtedly catastrophic. Though with work, and time - probably both of more than the Vehicon was worth - he would recover.

At the next words - unexpected as they were - he would look back at Flatline, wings twitching some behind his back.

“...What?” he seemed almost taken aback by the request, gently clearing his vocalizer. He hadn’t come here to give orders, he hadn’t even realized the state of things until he’d made his way through the door. This entire situation shouldn’t have even happened, especially with the absence of their CMO - and it only added to the resentment he felt for their Warlord.

“Mm.” his thoughts caught up to him then, and he took a step away from the medical berth, before making his way a little closer to Flatline. Nowhere to the point of encroaching on his personal space, however, he simply did not feel like speaking across the room.

“Sorting the Medical Bay is as good a place as any to start, given the state of things - followed by assessing your knee.” his optics narrowed as he looked down to the joint in question.

“While I cannot aid with the latter, I can assist with helping you find some sort of order in here. I assume you know where everything belongs?”

Busy work such as this was not beneath him, at least, not in moments such as these. An opportunity had presented itself, and while he was not looking for any sort of favor from the other mech - and did genuinely want to assist - he would take whatever small victories when and where he could.

[Flatline]

Sorting the Medical Bay.

Okay.

Flatline now had a singular point that he had to channel all of his focus onto. He couldn’t work more on the damaged fuel pump, he didn’t need to try to work on re-wiring conduits and splicing in new silicone tubing inside the soldier, he wasn't given the option to work on his knee, nor even take a second look at the gifted limbs to see what could be done to try to amend them. No. He now had a sharp goal that couldn’t be blurred and drifted away from, as it was an order by the other mech. This would be good, taking choice away from him so he would stop floundering and could make actual progress, only... what Starscream said next gave him pause and Flatline didn't know how to translate it.

Starscream wanted to help organize and put everything away? No... no that wasn't right. The Commander wasn't going to do petty organizational work that he could order any Vehicon with half a processor to do on his behalf. It was so beneath him that it could almost seem demeaning in its own way, and Flatline could never imagine putting him to task on such things. Then again, he couldn't imagine putting Starscream to task doing anything whatsoever unless it was some kind of doctor's order in regards to an injury he had obtained.

Even though the shackle of fear had been loosened slightly by the gift of his secondary arms, it didn't mean Flatline was no longer worried at all about the Seeker, and in a way, it could only make him seem that much more dangerous. With Megatron, violence and aggression were to be expected. You do as you're told and if you can't keep up you are weak and disposable, yet, what was Starscream’s current goal? Perhaps looking for ulterior motives wasn't the right way to address a gift of mercy, yet paranoia and fear didn't exactly care about such pleasantries, nor did they care about the self-damage he was causing as his claws raked over the rubber of his wheels again.

"Ah, I am... certain you must have far more important things to deal with."

Once more too nervous to look Starscream in the eyes, Flatline would limp over to the side, peeling his hands off of his own arms so that he could pick up a rag and one of the wrapped tack cloths. The latter held his gaze for a moment, as though it was a priceless thing he didn't want to sully, despite it being made specifically for cleaning. After this moment of hesitation, he pulled them closer to his mass while he then moved a couple of dipped strides to the closest upper cabinet.

"I-I have this under control."

Control was such an overly generous term to use. It would take time, and he would likely need to take breaks to sit and let his leg rest between 'sprints', though eventually, he could likely do most of it on his own, only needing help for things that could be awkward to move solo without risk of breaking it in the process. Though, he was likely also in denial, telling himself he could do it, simply because he believed he HAD to do it.

Whatever the case, Flatline set the wrapped tack cloth down after opening the cabinet, reaching up to use the normal rag along the top shelf to try to wipe it off. It was already technically clean, though it was almost a neurotic approach now that being clean wasn't simply good practice, it was what meant the underside of that table had been clear enough to be used as a drip pan.

This motion was perhaps a form of stalling as well, as he still didn't know what would be put where and he didn't want to face such a choice at this exact second. If Starscream left he would still eventually do as he was told, though he would have stopped to think and try to come to some sort of conclusion on what he wanted to do. Think through it all, really balance if he would regret one choice over the other... all while silently wishing Knock Out would just burst in saying he got lost or something else equally as moronic as it was plausible from his personality type.

[Starscream]

The lack of optic contact from Flatline was noted once more, and something that, unfortunately, Starscream understood well. However, it was the way that the other mech continued to bleed out the tension that was something of a concern. The rubber on his wheels had been clawed and sliced, and while he wasn’t sure if it could be felt in terms of pain - it was certainly doing some damage. Flatline would be unable to move in his altmode should he need to transform, the wheels effectively flat and useless.

He watched, brow furrowed in gentle concern as the other mech moved. Watching how he limped and seemed to hesitate with even basic movements, almost as if he was putting far more thought into it than what was needed.

“At this hour? Hardly.”

While there were always patrols and various rosters to see to, it was early enough in the day that it wouldn’t hurt things should he start behind schedule. Most everything in his work was up to date, and even if it wasn’t? He found himself worried by the state of things here in this room to the point it was now the priority.

Flatline was not his official charge, he had no real influence as to what went on in the Medical Bay in the grand scheme of things - yet with Knock Out missing and Breakdown… well, he wasn’t sure where he was, either - it was all the more important for the black and red mech to find some sort of order here. What Megatron had done, and the timing of it… well, it was almost unforgivable, however they couldn’t afford to put things on pause to recover - even if it was so direly needed.

No, they - or Flatline, at least - had to keep going. It was a sort of reflection of himself, he realized. The want to give up, the struggle to start moving when all felt lost. Perhaps that was why he felt so much concern. He, too, had been tested by Megatron more times than he could count, fearing for his very spark to the point he kept his defenses up, and so he found himself sympathizing with the other mech more than he realized.

Should the other mech give up? He would not last long. Megatron would see to that.

He wouldn’t move as Flatline did, remaining where he stood - simply watching the other mech as he made his way to the upper cabinet. A gentle scoff was the only response to the medic’s words, his gaze lingering on the damage to Flatline’s arms. Keeping him focused on something would be beneficial, if only to stop him from harming himself further.

“Do you, though?”

It was only then that he moved, making his way toward one of the larger supply boxes. While there were things strewn across the various surfaces, they were smaller tools. They weren’t in the way, even if they did add a sense of clutter - and could be put away as they worked.

Carefully, he would open the box in front of him, glancing at its contents before he turned to look at Flatline.

“Given everything that has happened, I insist on at least helping get you back on track to the point of a functional Medical Bay. Should Megatron return and see the state of things, well…” he shook his helm. “Where do these go? It appears to be some sort of scrap metal. Or would you rather have me do something else, cleaning perhaps?”

There was no underlying malice to his tone, nor an indication that he was doing this to simply gain something. While there initially may have been a goal of even inadvertently recouping some favor by returning Flatline’s arms, everything had changed upon his entry to the room.

[Flatline]

Thankfully Flatline could not feel his wheels, the rubber there and on his upper legs simply utility to be used when he transformed into his alternate state. The base frame the material was wrapped around was a different story, however, his raking clawing did not get close enough to even skim this surface, primarily focused on the outer arch and the texture there. It was this inert state that meant there was nothing preventing him from continuing the damaging movement, and over time the cleaned floor would likely have tiny pieces of tire falling down in his wake as he moved around his new cage anxiously. It couldn't be helped however, and would likely only stall when he was faced with a situation in which he needed to use his hands for something else.

"Do you, though?"

Flatline seemed to dip at this question, taking the soft query perhaps too accusatory, the panels on his back flattening out after a nervous bristle. His red optics would then shift over as the Commander continued to speak, a more wide-eyed edge behind them at the anxiousness he was experiencing. It was a sort of mental hurdle he was trying to work with, feeling downright WRONG to even try to direct Starscream, though it almost seemed as though he would cause more problems resisting the assistance than he would to just accept it. As such, his mouth would open slightly, choking on what to say before he relented.

"T-thank you. That can go in the lower, over to the far right."

A sharp-edged finger would raise with these words, pointing at the indicated area across the Medical Bay. It was right beside his modest little desk space in the far corner, almost tucked behind it since it wasn't a resource that was often required in an emergency setting. It was more for after-crisis manufacturing of what portions needed to be replaced and re-tooled, which was a task he often worked on. Replicating and making replacement bits and pieces was something he had down to a form of art at this point, especially for the Vehicon and Eradicon soldiers that were all alike.

After this instruction, Flatline's hand pulled back close to his frame again, letting out a low indecisive noise.

"Clearing and stocking from the top down will keep things cleanest..."

No use putting things on a lower shelf, only to wipe dirt off the one above it to sully what lay below.

"I... hmm..."

He didn't want to give up hope, but if he truly was forced to make a decision on how the Medical Bay was to be organized, now was the time to finally make his choice.

"Do you think we will find Knock Out?"

The question was almost asked with fear, wider eyes watching Starscream head on now so he could try to see what body language or expressions could be in play. After being so avoidant from before, the direct eye contact could almost catch off guard and seem unnerving, the thin white lens plates contracted in with the fierce focus that was almost trying to bore through the Air Commander in its intensity. What was to come next would depend entirely upon what the other mech said, once more taking the choice away from him since he didn't trust himself at all since the trial, that wound running deep.

Would Starscream seem confident? Or did he truly know something?

Not that it mattered...

Flatline knew he would put it back how Knock Out had it... he already knew it...

[Starscream]

Bobbing his helm at the stammered thanks, Starscream would ease down - resting both servos on the box as he awaited direction as to where it belonged. He took note of where the other mech gestured, before shifting his attention to the box itself. Given its contents, he knew it would be heavy - and a gentle grunt escaped him as he moved to hoist it up.

Staggering just slightly to catch his footing as he adjusted for the weight, the scrap metal would jostle as the box was lifted and held carefully to his chassis. There were no noises of complaint, nor requests for Flatline to stop standing there and help him - and dutifully he would move to the area that’d been pointed out.

Only for Flatline to speak again.

“...Mm, you may have a point.”

Blackridge Hold was dusty - something they unfortunately couldn’t really help, given the location of the base itself. Earth being filled with all matter of organics meant it was filthy and unavoidable - and while the two medics kept on top of cleaning to keep the area as sterile as they could, it was an ongoing, almost impossible task.

He wouldn’t stop despite the other mech’s words, the box was clunky and awkward now that he was actually holding it, though instead of setting it into place, he would carefully set it down nearby. While Flatline had made efforts to clean the Energon that’d spilled in his needless trial, it seemed even this far corner had been tainted - dapples of blue standing out against rock.

Easing back into a stand once the box had been placed, he would turn - making a mental note of the area that needed cleaning, looking at Flatline to see if he had any instruction as to which boxes contained things that would go higher up, only for a question - and a stare - to catch him off guard.

Narrowing his optics just slightly, he would hum quietly in thought. He wouldn’t break optic contact, nor did he display any signs of nervousness. His wings remained level, though one servo would curl and flex absentmindedly as if stretching the limb, as he replied.

“I think that depends entirely on who has taken him.” his words were honest, genuine - and paired with a gentle shake of his helm. Should it be MECH, Knock Out was probably as good as dead. A medic with information on their species as a whole wouldn’t last long - barbaric torture methods used to gather information both on where his fellow Decepticons were, as well as how they worked - before he was no doubt taken apart both to make sure he was telling the truth, and to also be used as parts for whatever monstrosity they had thought up.

The Autobots were the other option, and the one that he found himself hoping for, even if Megatron had made apparent that he did not share these thoughts. While the cherry-red mech could divulge information regarding the Decepticons - including the location of Blackridge Hold - what they knew of the other faction as a whole meant he wasn’t particularly worried.

Though, what was concerning was that another had gone missing in recent weeks - a grounder that he couldn’t quite recall the name of. The recent unfortunate meeting with Optimus hadn’t yielded any information regarding him, but then again he hadn’t asked.

Surely if Optimus had their other missing soldier he would’ve been brought up, no doubt as a bargaining chip to get Patch back.

Which meant…

Were MECH truly picking them off one by one?

Gently, his wings would twitch - thoughts drifting some before he seemed to catch himself and moved into a walk once more. Moving toward another box, this time one that was on Knock Out’s desk, he would turn to look at Flatline. He made no motions of picking this box up, nor opening it to see what was inside.

Instead, he asked a question of his own.

“Why do you ask? I thought you’d relish your new role as CMO - there was a time that you wanted it, after all.” his tone wasn’t accusatory, though there was a certain truth behind it.

The rivalry between Knock Out and Flatline had been well known. Petty bickering, thievery, and even a report of the black and red mech biting Breakdown for something. While they had proven themselves able to work together in recent weeks, surely a part of the medic before him still wanted the prestigious rank - and all that came with it.