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.
A sound somewhere but a grunt, an ex-vent and a laugh, and Cleaver shook her helm down at the opened Eradicon. "Pit no - not actively, anyway. Just being there with an open door is more than enough. Neutrals don't tend to congregate outside of those they know well enough to trust by default - makes you a bigger and more noticable target. And trying to get Neutrals to come would scare some off and make the rest deeply suspicious."
Mecha who hadn't made a living out of keeping out of both factions, either as a bullied-in recruit or a prisoner, couldn't truly understand the lives and habits of Neutrals. It was as foreign to them as living as part of the Decepticon or Autobot machines were to the unalligned. Cleaver was getting to know the Autobots through Ironhide and his cohort, and she still didn't get it.
The microparts removed, she began sorting them on one of the Eradicon's torn chassis plates as a clean-in-terms-of-organic-filth surface with the miniature tools in her hands. "Idea is just to have somewhere where Cybertronians can be Cybertronians again. No factions, no fighting. Just, a pocket of life like it used to be."
"I cannot claim that I recall much of what life before the war used to be. So I cannot give an accurate opinion. What I can say is that I wish you luck in finding neutrals who are willing to stay at your created paradise. As for myself, I am doubtful I will be able to join you in any degree," said Serotype.
She was certain she'd be in direct violation of the laws of the DMZ if she were to set foot there. She was a Decepticon fugitive. Harboring fugitives she was certain was prohibited. Even if she could, she was also equally certain that she wouldn't fit in. She was still far too angry with her former faction. That anger was taken out upon the the Eradicons she had attacked earlier. If any living Con were to cross her path at the DMZ, she was certain that it wouldn't end well. She wasn't sure if she could even call herself a true neutral.
Where did the days of her own inner peace go? Her mind and her inner balance was yet another casualty. It was all replaced with anger and regret.
"If there is no fighting in a DMZ zone, why the extra parts? Are there accidents?" asked Serotype.
It had been her call. It wasn't a standard practice or expectation that DMZs would offer medical aid to Bots and Cons. The site was simply a safe zone, a place of cease-fire where mecha of any allignment could just rest in the physical, psychological and emotional sense. But it didn't gel in Cleaver's spark not to offer that aid. She was, it seemed, in command of the base, and she was a medic. If injured warriors chose to come to the DMZ rather than return to their own faction's medics, then she sure as slag wasn't going to let them leave without doing her best for them.
And that meant being stocked up on a lot more parts than she had. But the mystery femme didn't need to know that.
"Yes, but mostly it's just plain maintainance. Not like there are many fabrication plants left in the 'verse, so everyone's been getting repaired with part-worn parts and making 'em last as long as they can." Sliding the sorted parts into a subcompartment of the crate, Cleaver shrugged at the obvious fact. "Throw in a hard lifestyle, not enough energon to auto-repair effectively and basic manufacturing quality, adds up to lots of small failures that can rapidly cascade into something serious."
Finished with this Eradicon, Cleaver cast a scan over the remaining bodies for the weaponized rust that the femme had warned about. Everything else was contaminated. She was done here in terms of salvage.
Subspacing the collection crate and the energon cannister, Cleaver braced a hand on her bent knee to push herself to her pedes. She nodded to the femme, indicating her wounds specifically. "If you still want. And it'd make it easier if you could tell me what happened."
"I landed on it badly and twisted it at an awkward angle. Sprained it. Just did a simple field patch on it so it will hold for the moment. That's all I have time for," said Serotype.
And that was just half the story. She skipped over the graze mark on her thigh. Unless it was important that she did mention the entire story, she just stuck to basics. She wasn't sure that Cleaver wasn't going to attempt to turn her back over to the Cons. It was a constant thought that ran through her mind.
"If you think you can do better in a shorter period of time, you're welcome to try," said Serotype.
"Trained medic," Cleaver snapped back, barely restraining from adding glitch or something equally scathing to the remark. From the looks of the repairs, she could do better with one hand and Cat's tools than the femme had managed on herself.
Kneeling again, she took the femme's pede without ceremony and placed it flat against her thigh, supporting the limb whilst exposing the wound. "Put your rotator cuff out of allignment, compressed two minro energon lines and snapped a transformation line. Can put it in a state for your autorepair to heal it naturally - though if you'd left it much longer like this, you'd be stuck with a structural deformity and a limp. Gonna take off the patch and get on with it, alright?"
Serotype instantly regretted not having any more pain killers in her system. It was that one quick ceremonious jerk that caused her to tense up and ball her hands in to fists.
She roughly knew what the damage was to that leg. But she also knew she took a risk the longer she stayed. She rushed that patch job and she knew that. This coming from someone who could help with Fairwind's door related injuries months earlier. But she wasn't going to say that. She would have rather taken the risk of a permanent structural deformity and gotten out alive than to be trapped in a Decepticon bombing run.
"Fine," she stated in a strained voice, "Go have a look. But I meant what I said about expediency. For once, I'm not saying it to chase you away. I'm saying it because I suspect that someone will be on their way to investigate the bodies and I'm doubtful that things will end well if we stay for too long."
"Thanks for the warning," she replied, her dry tone underscored with a measure of gratitude. Taking the field patch off, Cleaver blocked the neural feeds to the area and spread the plates open to allow her access. The femme was small, so she'd be doing this by scans and schematics rather than by optic.
Extending the microtools in her hands, Cleaver set about untangling the shredded transformation line to full extract it, intending to replace it before she closed with a spare she'd just taken from one of the Eradicons. Resetting and welding the 'cuff would be the biggest job, and as much as the femme was pushing for a quick job, welding and cooling took as long as it took. Forcing weight onto a weld that wasn't set enough to hold it usually caused more problems than it had solved in the first place.
Weeding out the destroyed line, Cleaver dropped it to the sand and produced one of the recently-recovered ones from subspace. She measured it up to the femme's thigh, trimmed it and set it back for use later. "Gonna pull hard here and here to pop the cuff back into place and weld it straight, okay? Won't hurt, but you'll feel it go."
Wrapping one hand around the slender thigh just above the knee joint, she took the femme's hip in the other and did a quick scan of the internals in between, adjust her fingers and thus the angle accordingly. "I take it it's not the Autobots you're expecting to come here."
She left it open, hoping that the femme would take the opportunity to talk to distract herself from the repairs. and give Cleaver some needed intel. in the process.
With the pain blocked, she could no longer feel what Cleaver was doing. It was always a strange sensation of being unable to feel any pain associated with work being done. It felt like something was being done. But there was no pain association.
"No. Far from it. See all those bodies laying around? Take a good look at what unfolded here. It's not your standard battle. All of the deceased share similar links in the way they were killed. In all likelyhood, once the Decepticons catch wind of this, we will probably see another squadron return to deal with the murderer," said Serotype.
The main jerk and pull did most of the work, but the medic needed more direct manipulation to do the fine-tuning. When Cleaver had the femme's femural strut in her hand, forcing the length of metal back into allignment, she felt she was in a good position to state: "Guessing that those wounds correspond to the dimensions and energy signatures of your blades."
A series of small twists and pulls, and she heard as much as felt the pop of the joint back into its proper place. Keeping her hand inside (because expanding the wound in the middle of the desert just to make it easier was not happening on her watch), Cleaver hosed the wound out with High-Grade standard cleanser before extending a micro-welding kit. The joint would stabilise in its own time with autorepair, but if the femme was going to be running around out here on her own, she wanted to give it the best possible chance.
Serotype looked Cleaver in the optics. That was right before her joint was popped back in to place. Although, she didn't feel pain she couldn't help a surprised wince at it.
"Smart femme. Now you understand why I am rushing to get out of here. Of course, I won't take kindly to anyone who sees it fit that I be handed back to Megatron," said Serotype.
Cleaver shook her head, optics dropping back to her work. "None of my business where you go or what you do. And I certainly wouldn't help the Decepticons find anyone they were torqued off with."
The welding was almost done, smoothed off as she went before the alloy had time to cool. She fidgeted on her knees, lines tightening in spasms of discomfort. "Few more minutes then you'll be good to go."
Torqued off could have been considered an understatement. Serotype could just imagine how upset Steve would have been at the news that she had brought down a few of his mechs and sent their leader screaming through a groundbridge.
"Then I suppose we can each be at a certain degree of peace with each other," said Serotype.
She paused thinking. If this femme was going to keep her word, then at least she could afford to have some sort of name beyond "mystery femme."
"My name is Serotype, by the way. I never mentioned it... for obvious reasons," said Serotype.
"Fair enough. Can't say I blame you for wanting to run annonymous," Cleaver replied, withdrawing her hands to take up the line she'd trimmed. Cleansing the strand off, she narrowed her optics to install it and bring the leg back into working order.
A few minutes later the repair was done, and Cleaver had put a mesh patch inside as well as a thick cover over the armor to provide extra support in the healing. If Serotype were likely to cross her path again in the near future she wouldn't have bothered, but as it seemed likely that they wouldn't meet again, nor that the femme would see another medic outside of coincidence, she wanted to give the injury the best possible chance.
Folding away her tools, Cleaver sank a blade into the sand and forced herself back up onto her pedes with a heavy ventilation. She left Serotype to test the limb, sending out the usual recommendation glyphs of take it easy/gently/build up as she returned to the reclaimation crate and energon cannister. When both were safely stored away in her subspace, the medic turned to face Serotype again with critical optics.
A pause, and then she sent a short data-burst to the femme. "My comm. channel, if you should need it."
Serotype tested her foot against the soft sand. She still couldn't put the same weight on it. But it was in better shape than the rush job she had done before. When she felt it was safe, she brought herself up and placed most of her weight on her healthy leg. Of course, she was going to be stuck with limping for part of her journey. But at the very least, it'll heal.
"Thank you. I do not know if we will cross paths in the future but if we do, I will repay the debt," said Serotype, "I do not leave debts unpaid."
She limped a few steps before a pause glancing over her shoulders.
"You should make haste before the Deceptions decide to make a return to this site. The longer anyone stays, the greater the risk," said Serotype.
In a few more steps she was back on her way. She had no more ties to the land except loss.