Ep. 1 - Transition - [Closed]
Jun 13, 2014 15:56:11 GMT -5
Post by Flatline on Jun 13, 2014 15:56:11 GMT -5
Basic maintenance was something everyone should do on a regular basis. It was obnoxious, and bothersome, often taking a decent chunk of time out of one's routine, but in the end? It helps to prevent many mental processor issues or other things from swinging up and compounding problems. However, slap atop this exceptional neglect, and general disarray due to the way his stases pod was deteriorating? And you had a heap of a mess that could take days to fix it all.
Really Flatline had to be a bit impressed with himself that he even survived the ordeal. It was almost as if there was a tiny breach in the stases pod, which had permitted his frame to degrade over the many vorns it was trapped underwater. It would certainly explain things well, since he rightfully should have come out of stases feeling just as he had when he went into it, although covered in the suspension gel. The details of the how did not really matter though, as it all came down to the aftermath and what was to come.
The Medic had a hard time just letting himself get worked on and repaired without snapping his own input. He cognitively could not handle repairing himself at the time, his addled processors and recovering dexterity meaning he was more likely to rip out a vital pipe than cut off a rusted spot. But this did not mean his vocals didn't work, and for the times he was conscious? When his torso panels weren't pulled open to replace the stripped gear or rotted wires? For all of the moments it was things he could see himself like his legs and arms? He and Knockout butted heads with verbal lashings at one another with so much sarcasm laced within each line it was almost toxic.
"Are you kidding me!? You can't use a NM-b cable there! Use a SER!"
"Oh FORGIVE ME, my medical training must have been mistaken when they informed me this connector was compatible with both types!"
"Oh I am sorry to CHALLENGE your diagnostic DOCTOR-"
Knock Out Scoffed
"-But you ARE aware that is attached to a SUBPANEL."
"This isn't my first repair, and this isn't a Romex to Service Entrance Cable!"
"Yes it is! I am looking right at it!"
"You aren’t seeing what I see!"
"You calling me untrained!?"
"Well if the boot clamp fits!"
"Oh ho ho, so funny-"
"I try my best-"
"Yeah well get the SER!"
"No need."
"AURGH!"
Needless to say, it was a very loud and angry series of repairs. It was to an extreme that some guards down the hall likely heard, not needing to get nearer to hear the entire conversation. But soon, Flatline was well off he no longer needed the others help. With his cognitive capabilities fully booted back online from the Energon infusions, he had a new situational awareness and clarity of mind that permitted him to absorb the environment for what it was.
He had been so hazy in thought, so clouded in judgments, he never really had a moment to absorb the quality of the infrastructure before, and the variety of tools and machinery in the Med Bay. With it lacked a couple non essential things that he was familiar with and accustomed to, it had so much more in means of prototypes and one of a kind machinery. Some of the stuff? He did not even recognize! It whirled his curiosity to no end, and he wanted to explore and tamper with them to see just what it was. But despite this longing, he had to hold back, he still had smaller calibrations to finish.
Flatline sat upon one of the metal slab tables that had been lowered back from its angled position, to a flat surface that he would not slide off of while resting. His thin digitigrade legs hung off of the edge, the joints lightly folded as the repaired hydraulics in one made a light hiss with subtle movements. His left forearm was draped down across his lap, where the long panel of metal had been opened and carefully removed to gain full access to the internal workings. With the armor plate gone, one could see the mass array of wires and cables.
Multiple small pistons were twined with wires, while further up the limb there were metal 'boxes' that sunk into the framework, each one currently empty, but capable of storing objects within the frame. Flatline's left hand gradually flexed, all of the tiny mechanics moving and twisting visibly with small clicks and whirs of the new oil pumping through the cylinder barrels. His right hand, held a minute calibrating device, the tool almost like a thick pen with a long needle branching off of its end. The needle sparked as a charge ran through it, Flatline running it alongside wires and sensory clusters. One by one he folded his fingertip to his palm, tapping the tool when the finger was fully closed, and when the digit was fully extended.
Flatline repeated this motion multiple times with each joint, reminding and refreshing the processor memory of just how far his fingers closed, and how far they could open. It was not a truly VITAL piece of maintenance, but it was somewhat needed for at least medics or engineers. If he did not? There was a capability he could get 'clumsy' with things and not grip a wire as tight as he should to drop and lose it inside a patient, or he could clutch it too tight and sheer the protective plastic coating. It was because of this, the Medic was very focused on his task.
When he worked, he tended to tunnel vision in on the subject at hand, not too aware of other individuals, or objects, unless there were multiple patients which could become distressing. But while he only had one subject to look after, himself, the silence of the area was getting a bit unnerving. He would hate to admit it, but if Knock Out came back, he would have enjoyed another of their spats, just to not be in the haunting silence of the Med Bay by himself. It reminded him of when he was on his ship for so many vorns. The isolation, the distress. Scavenging for survival, worrying where to go, not knowing where Energon could be found other than the bodies of those that were felled...
His form visibly shuddered a moment, the metal on his shoulders clinking as the gyros within whirled as if trying to shake off a bad feeling. He had to keep reminding himself he was not trapped here, that he could probably walk the halls right?... but what if he was not? He never got told he could go as he wished, just to report to the Med Bay. Was he trapped here by rules? Alone? His hand that had been working, slowly lowered, no longer pushing the needle into the clusters of machinery, while red optics blankly stared ahead in inner thought.
He was oblivious to things around him while his mind whirred.
Really Flatline had to be a bit impressed with himself that he even survived the ordeal. It was almost as if there was a tiny breach in the stases pod, which had permitted his frame to degrade over the many vorns it was trapped underwater. It would certainly explain things well, since he rightfully should have come out of stases feeling just as he had when he went into it, although covered in the suspension gel. The details of the how did not really matter though, as it all came down to the aftermath and what was to come.
The Medic had a hard time just letting himself get worked on and repaired without snapping his own input. He cognitively could not handle repairing himself at the time, his addled processors and recovering dexterity meaning he was more likely to rip out a vital pipe than cut off a rusted spot. But this did not mean his vocals didn't work, and for the times he was conscious? When his torso panels weren't pulled open to replace the stripped gear or rotted wires? For all of the moments it was things he could see himself like his legs and arms? He and Knockout butted heads with verbal lashings at one another with so much sarcasm laced within each line it was almost toxic.
"Are you kidding me!? You can't use a NM-b cable there! Use a SER!"
"Oh FORGIVE ME, my medical training must have been mistaken when they informed me this connector was compatible with both types!"
"Oh I am sorry to CHALLENGE your diagnostic DOCTOR-"
Knock Out Scoffed
"-But you ARE aware that is attached to a SUBPANEL."
"This isn't my first repair, and this isn't a Romex to Service Entrance Cable!"
"Yes it is! I am looking right at it!"
"You aren’t seeing what I see!"
"You calling me untrained!?"
"Well if the boot clamp fits!"
"Oh ho ho, so funny-"
"I try my best-"
"Yeah well get the SER!"
"No need."
"AURGH!"
Needless to say, it was a very loud and angry series of repairs. It was to an extreme that some guards down the hall likely heard, not needing to get nearer to hear the entire conversation. But soon, Flatline was well off he no longer needed the others help. With his cognitive capabilities fully booted back online from the Energon infusions, he had a new situational awareness and clarity of mind that permitted him to absorb the environment for what it was.
He had been so hazy in thought, so clouded in judgments, he never really had a moment to absorb the quality of the infrastructure before, and the variety of tools and machinery in the Med Bay. With it lacked a couple non essential things that he was familiar with and accustomed to, it had so much more in means of prototypes and one of a kind machinery. Some of the stuff? He did not even recognize! It whirled his curiosity to no end, and he wanted to explore and tamper with them to see just what it was. But despite this longing, he had to hold back, he still had smaller calibrations to finish.
Flatline sat upon one of the metal slab tables that had been lowered back from its angled position, to a flat surface that he would not slide off of while resting. His thin digitigrade legs hung off of the edge, the joints lightly folded as the repaired hydraulics in one made a light hiss with subtle movements. His left forearm was draped down across his lap, where the long panel of metal had been opened and carefully removed to gain full access to the internal workings. With the armor plate gone, one could see the mass array of wires and cables.
Multiple small pistons were twined with wires, while further up the limb there were metal 'boxes' that sunk into the framework, each one currently empty, but capable of storing objects within the frame. Flatline's left hand gradually flexed, all of the tiny mechanics moving and twisting visibly with small clicks and whirs of the new oil pumping through the cylinder barrels. His right hand, held a minute calibrating device, the tool almost like a thick pen with a long needle branching off of its end. The needle sparked as a charge ran through it, Flatline running it alongside wires and sensory clusters. One by one he folded his fingertip to his palm, tapping the tool when the finger was fully closed, and when the digit was fully extended.
Flatline repeated this motion multiple times with each joint, reminding and refreshing the processor memory of just how far his fingers closed, and how far they could open. It was not a truly VITAL piece of maintenance, but it was somewhat needed for at least medics or engineers. If he did not? There was a capability he could get 'clumsy' with things and not grip a wire as tight as he should to drop and lose it inside a patient, or he could clutch it too tight and sheer the protective plastic coating. It was because of this, the Medic was very focused on his task.
When he worked, he tended to tunnel vision in on the subject at hand, not too aware of other individuals, or objects, unless there were multiple patients which could become distressing. But while he only had one subject to look after, himself, the silence of the area was getting a bit unnerving. He would hate to admit it, but if Knock Out came back, he would have enjoyed another of their spats, just to not be in the haunting silence of the Med Bay by himself. It reminded him of when he was on his ship for so many vorns. The isolation, the distress. Scavenging for survival, worrying where to go, not knowing where Energon could be found other than the bodies of those that were felled...
His form visibly shuddered a moment, the metal on his shoulders clinking as the gyros within whirled as if trying to shake off a bad feeling. He had to keep reminding himself he was not trapped here, that he could probably walk the halls right?... but what if he was not? He never got told he could go as he wished, just to report to the Med Bay. Was he trapped here by rules? Alone? His hand that had been working, slowly lowered, no longer pushing the needle into the clusters of machinery, while red optics blankly stared ahead in inner thought.
He was oblivious to things around him while his mind whirred.