[ti]Ep 2[/ti]Walk of Shame [Closed]

[Flatline]

A few switches here or there, a couple safety locks disengaged. It didn’t take much for Flatline to turn on the device, it slowly rumbling for a moment as power rolled into it, and it began the slow heat up process. Some of the copper lines around the crucible started to radiate a soft red light, telling of the warmth that it was starting to produce from electrical currents leached off of the grand warship. Really, the power he was stealing was hardly a drop in a pool honestly, but it didn’t mean the machine wasn't coursing with electricity and whirring as it worked.

While that was starting to warm, which would take a good twenty minutes or so to reach the temperatures he desired, he brushed off his hands and turned to look back at Knock Out to consider what all he had said as the excuse while he had powered on the crucible.

Decepticons were almost instinctively skilled when it came to lying and picking out lies. They were, as their name implied, deceptive and manipulative as a rule. A few individuals stepped outside of this shell, but more than likely they had some form of it at varying levels coursing through their psyche. It is this that made this situation that was presented to them both far more difficult and finicky. Did his ability to pick out lies and see fibs, outweigh Knock Out's ability to weave a tale. It could go either way in any situation, depending on who was trying to cover up what, and Flatline regarded Knock Out for a good moment after his explanation was long settled, looking for subtle expressions or flicks in his field to feed off of.

Evidently satisfied, Flatline finally moved and stepped forward to retrieve a different socket wrench out from a drawer, tossing it momentarily in the air so that he could catch it properly on its handle facing the direction he needed. This wrench was different from the first, in the way its handle crooked sharply about mid way down at a forty five degree angle.

"I find it weird they would pull you out from your station to run such an errand, unless they were anticipating something particularly bad."

Finally grumbled, the repairs medic walked back over to where Knock Out was while he spoke, his voice calm and even. He moved around so he was behind him again.

"Somewhat offended they wouldn't send me so that you can continue serving; since I seem to be Shockwave's catch all errand runner."

Carefully he reached his hand up once more to grasp onto the post of the mangled wheel, gingerly pulling it down so that he could create a gap between it and the surrounding support. While he did this, he muttered a light 'pull against me' that was paired with a secondary placing on his back, encouraging him to lean forward and pull against the leverage he had. Once Knock Out did this, he pressed the socket wrench down into the gap, attaching it to a connection latch and cranking down a few times to loosen it.

"Would you believe he had sent me out earlier today to check a beacon? Any Vehicon could have done it..."

He snarled, making some small talk in an attempt to bridge the ground between them for now. If he had to be around this bastard for a few hours, he might as well make it worthwhile. It is then that he unlocked the last support, and roughly jerked back and wrenched down in one solid movement. Before Knock Out could protest at the rough treatment, despite all pain being numbed away, the entire post attachment of the broken wheel had ripped out of its socket.

The heavy chunk of mechanics landed solidly in his primaries, one secondary taking the socket wrench, and the other snaking through the cables and lines that fed from the internal channel into Knock Out's back and the now gaping opening where it all had once nestled. A few luminous lines of Energon, some green lines of coolant, a bundle of wiring... all the essentials of course, held spaced apart by thin fingers so that they didn't get tangled or pinched.

[Knock Out]

Relief.

Flatline had bought his idiotic story that he'd come up with on the fly. Then again, Knock Out had been nothing short of an expert conman back in the day, so he knew a thing or two about spinning tales and weaving them with lie after lie, all the while giving nothing away and acting innocent. It'd saved his aft more times than he could count, and helped pay for his rather exuberant lifestyle back on Cybertron before the war.

He would continue to lean on one servo as he awkwardly leant across the berth to try and watch whatever it was Flatline was doing over there. He could've gotten off the berth and gone over to get a closer look, but he had far too much pride and too big an ego to explain that he actually found this entire thing fascinating and wanted to possibly learn more about the process.

As Flatline moved back over to where Knock Out was sat, he'd shift quickly so he was sat up once more. Servos holding the edge of the berth gently. His field would remain level and calm, giving nothing away – even as he continued with the lie.

“It is weird, but... An order is an order,” He hummed, shrugging gently. “I suppose after the disaster that was the last mining expedition, they are just being overly careful – or like you said, anticipating something bad. I expect to be bored out of my processor, however.”

He would stare straight ahead as Flatline moved behind him. He'd do as instructed as the other mech muttered, pulling against him by leaning forwards. It took everything in him not to try and look over his shoulder and see what was actually going on, but he trusted Flatline enough to know that he was just doing his job, and so would comply with his instructions.

“Shockwave sent you out to check a beacon?” Oh that was glorious and he couldn't help but smirk with glee, finding some weird sense of joy in the news. But in a way he actually pitied Flatline. The other mech obviously had skills. If he could fabricate an entire wheel this fast, then who knows what else the spindly mech could do. He was worth more than doing menial peasant tasks such as checking beacons! Not that Knock Out would ever actually say that out loud. “I am sorry to hear. I would've thought that was beneath you, Flatline. Orders are orders though, right?” He vented out a gentle sigh.

At least Shockwave kept Flatline busy, even though Knock Out knew damn well that the other Medic would probably be better suited to the Medical Bay. Not that it'd ever happen.

His optics would widen some as he felt the post attachment torn from its socket. While he couldn't feel any of the pain, he had enough medical knowledge, and had done this enough times to others to know how gnarly his back probably looked right now (at least to someone as vain as Knock Out). He shuddered slightly at the thought. At least he was in good hands. Which was something he never thought would even cross his processor.

“So ah, everything look alright back there?”

There was the tiniest hint of worry in his voice. If Flatline wanted to be malicious and ruin Knock Out's finish or frame? His numbed back which he couldn't exactly see would be the perfect place to start.

[Flatline]

A dry hum of acknowledgment was formed, finding the order the other mech received to be bland and insulting. They could have and SHOULD HAVE sent him down, and that fact alone should have also tipped him off to it being a lie. Alas, Flatline was too focused on his job now to readily catch the issue, that is unless Knock Out messed up his own story later on, then the other Medic would be all over it in a fraction of a second.

"Yeah you aren’t sorry, you love the gossip, don't lie."

Calling Knock Out on his bullshittery, Flatline droned and rolled his eyes in an exaggerated motion. He knew what he offered would possibly be used against him, and he didn’t need hollow and false pity from an individual that was practically a rival to him ((which makes one question why he said it to begin with)). It isn't like he had a true rival on the Autobot base to contend with, unless you counted Red Alert who had slipped between his talons and got away alive... But that was a story for a different day.

Once the assembly was pulled away, Flatline moved back carefully with it still nestled in hand, being sure to use his secondaries to comb through the array of wires and keep them from betting pinched or tangled with the movement. The entire system wasn't really designed to be pulled away like this, but it worked well enough so that he could get a better angle on the mechanism. Besides, this was a rush job, and some experimental cut corners with a bit of creativity had to be taken into account.

For a moment Flatline considered cutting the connection, severing the entire thing so that he could accurately work with ease, but he new re-wiering and fusing everything once again, would be a right pain, time consuming, and he didn't want to go through that tonight. It is because of this, he stretched one of his digitigrade legs out, and used the prong hoof to snag the edge of a dolly nearby. It was meant to hold tools, and did so, some drawers underneath, but what Flatline really needed was the height it had, so he could set the assembly down on its upper surface. This was done so he didn’t unwind and pull the cables.

There was no way he could set it beside Knock Out without tearing something.

"Better than hoped. I thought the post would need to be replaced, but it just looks a bit battered. Surface issues, not structural... I will need to cut the rest off though. The wheel and attachments are... bad..."

Bad... such a technical term. So very professional. Not. But it was accurate, and he didn’t need to beat around the bush. No need to use hollow soft words to comfort a scared patient, for Knock Out did that lie enough to see it for what it truly was. Because of this, Flatline could speak openly. Alas, after he had said this, he moved his right primary out from beneath the wheel, and rose it up into the air.

A minor transformation, a whirling click of components, Flatline's hand had severed in half, and the armor over his forearm flared apart to momentarily expose the multitude of inner components and mechanisms. A flicker of a fraction later, and where there had once been a hand, was now a large rotary saw that instantly screamed to life.

The roar of the saw cut through the silence of the labs like a scream, it not a quiet tool in the slightest. If Flatline cared about soothing the patient, he would have used a laser scalpel to do what he intended, but this was faster, and for this request every moment of saved time was valuable. Because of this, unless Knock Out shrill screamed and interrupted him, his remaining hand would clutch the post of Knock Outs wheel to pin it atop the dolly, before he would draw the blade down to start dismantling large chunks of the absolutely decimated wheel to peel its components away from the salvageable parts.

[Knock Out]

Knock Out was good at a lot of things. Looking amazing, being the best Medic on the ship, being fabulous, being better than Flatline at everything...

He was also really good at lying, and keeping track of said lies.

There was a certain art form to telling a good lie, and a trick to not stumbling and getting caught out in some fabricated story that'd been woven and told to another. So while outwardly Knock Out would remain cool and collected, inwardly he was keeping mental notes of everything he'd said so far - just in case it came up in future and he'd have to cover his aft. Because while he was damn good at lying, he was sure Flatline was damn good at calling others out on their lies – just as he was. It was just how Decepticons were. Everyone was in it for themselves, and there was very little trust between comrades – even less so between the two Medics who never seemed to get along.

Knock Out seemed to be better at it than most, given his slightly shady past as a weapons engineer prior to the war. He had to remember faces, things he'd sold to said faces, and the guarantees he'd given that the slightly more illegal, and very costly weapons would actually work. He lied for a living almost, so of course he was going to be fantastic at it.

“Hey now,” He replied coolly, sounding slightly offended. “I am sorry. That's menial grunt work, which is below even yourself!”

He'd also perfected the art form of sounding like he genuinely cared. Because quite frankly he found the whole thing hilarious, plus he more than loved the gossip and possible chance to tease Flatline about this later. Plus, it further reinforced his thoughts that he was the best Medic here – given that Flatline was being sent out to check on beacons instead of doing anything exciting and more to do with his line of work. 

Not that the day in day out repetitive maintenance checks on the Vehicons that Knock Out had to do were particularly exciting. It was also so very far below Knock Out's pay-grade (not that he got paid...). At least if it got too boring? He could always make Breakdown do them while he went racing or sneaking off to watch a movie. The things Knock Out lived for were getting to do complicated surgeries, working things out, diagnosing things... Actually using his processor for complicated things – as there was a certain satisfaction on solving a complicated puzzle or task. The banausic day to day tasks were insulting to him and his intelligence almost – but at least it was some sort of medical work and he got to be of use while staying out of any possible fighting and front line action, or having to check on beacons like a certain someone.

Then again, if Flatline worked below Knock Out - he would've made him do the same, if not worse.

He'd not pay attention to Flatline's movements, choosing to remain sitting still on the berth and keeping his gaze firmly but begrudgingly straight ahead. He found it better that he didn't know what was going on behind him – mostly because he'd seen the state of his wheel before he came here, he'd seen this type of injury and repaired it on others before (although never in one night, but he totally could if he wanted to!) - so he knew just how gnarly it would've looked. And to a vain priss like Knock Out? It was better that he tried to just sit quiet and let Flatline get on with it – else he'd no doubt cause a fuss, letting his imagination run wild - and making this take much longer than what was actually needed.

Flatline's words, however, did not help his focus – or at least, the last word he said didn't. Knock Out was used to underplaying things when it came to talking to patients about injuries and how grievous their wounds were – softening the blow so there were no freak outs or tantrums in his Medical Bay. Knock Out didn't have the time or patience for them, nor could he bring himself to make any effort of showing any hint of sympathy – so again, he would lie!

It was okay for him to lie... But...

While he didn't expect Flatline to downplay things – as he probably knew full well that Knock Out would've chastised him and told him to tell the damn truth, since they were both Medics here after all - but the word that Flatline chose to describe things...? Well...

“Bad?”

He sputtered this almost – and it took everything in him to not strain himself turning to try and get a look at the damn thing. No, instead he would curl his servos tightly into fists as he glared straight ahead.

“At least the post doesn't need to be replaced, I suppose. Our Lord really did a number on me, mm? I told you he likes to play rough. Then again he's into strangling, so you're already more than aware.” He purred this – and probably would've added more if it weren't for the sound of a minor transformation catching him off guard.

The click of components made Knock Out tilt his helm just slightly. Oh. While he figured that Flatline had built in medical tools like he did, he hadn't expected him to actually use them – preferring a hand-held tool or something, considering he had four arms.

That made no sense. Maybe that was just a panicked thought. He suddenly didn't like this idea very much. Knock Out was skilled with his saw, a perfectionist even! He'd gotten a lot of use, and a lot of practice with it! But Flatline? What did he do with his? Nothing! He was going to mess this up! Probably on purpose!

It was a panicked thought indeed. One which was quickly drowned out by the scream of the saw coming to life. This was really happening.

Not wanting to bolt and run – as much as he wanted to, because there was something rather unnerving about Flatline standing behind him with a saw – Knock Out remained as still as he possibly could. The less he moved, the less chance the other Medic had of slipping 'accidentally' with his blade.

Because as someone who had 'accidentally' slipped with his blade on others? He didn't want it to happen to him!

[Flatline]

"Yes, BAD..."

Flatline repeated the stinging word, to make it clear he wasn’t just throwing around the descriptor for fun nor to get a rise out of Knock Out. No, the thing really was in bad shape, but a lot of it was external. But external or not, the word fit, and he didn't regret using it. There may even be a bit of joy in knowing the truth made Knock Out squirm though, the corner of Flatline's maw twitching back ever so slightly in a soft smile.

A smile which swiftly vanished at the other medic's following words.

A soft shudder flicked through Flatline's frame, the quills running down his back strut bristling up momentarily in distaste, before he focused in on his work again. He didn’t want to think about such things, and didn't want to think about their leader like that. Knock Out could go be a little freak far away from him and his lab and the little bubble of the world he called his own. Luckily, no more was said once he produced the circular saw, permitting him to get to work with relative silence for a few moments.

Flatline worked with speed and care, bringing down the saw to run along the outer edges of the wheel, and systematically cut away pieces in small chunks. Despite the time constraint, despite the rush, he seemed to be working with deliberate strokes of the blade, and not jumping ahead too far in one hack so he could re-evaluate as he went. A few pieces here, a strip of rubber peeled off there, the torn off glints of metal would be sat down on the medical berth to be out of the way from his movements.

With every piece that was sheered away, Flatline would use a secondary to reach forward and maneuver the lines running through the post, and make sure he was not cutting into any areas he would leave 'alive'. Like a surgeon severing the necrotic portions of a human's limb, he didn’t wish to injure the healthy points, and because of it he finished not exceptionally FAST, but cleanly... the wheel sliding off from with a soft scrape to finally free the intact portion.

Now that the post was no longer trapped within the cage of crushed metal, Flatline could see that it was only mildly dented, and would be able to be re-used entirely. He would set this down, and ease back, wiping a bit of Energon off of his hands that had leaked out from a couple small snags and tears left in the destroyed components.

"Ok so..."

He started while walking around to Knock Out's right, where the good tire was sat out beside him with the spokes up.

"Since we are in a time crunch, and you are such a capable medic... I need you to work on popping the dents out of your dorsal post while I fetch the metals."

With the post sitting on the dolly behind him, it would be a bit awkward to reach under his arm and try to work on it, but Flatline liked to think it wouldn't be IMPOSSIBLE, and it would keep Knock Out busy. The last thing he needed was the medic snooping around while he was gone, and he hoped struggling to fix the post would keep him busy. Would Knock Out REALLY want to show 'incompetency' to not have it done by the time he got back?... Could he get the metals and return before KO finished and had time to be nosy?...

Unless the red mech spoke in protest, Flatline would turn and began to depart.

[Knock Out]

Knock Out wouldn't reply to Flatline's repetition of the word 'bad'. At least it was honest, he figured. He hadn't been able to repair the thing himself after all – although that wasn't for lack of skill, no... The angle of the thing was impossible to reach and repair without assistance, and he was far too prideful to ask Breakdown for help. Then again, the knock to his pride and ego in asking Flatline for help was amazing. If it wasn't for the fact he was so vain, had plans, and wanted it fixed in an almost impossibly short time? He would've struggled all night to repair it himself.

Where Flatline's smile faded? Knock Out's grew, a coy smirk as he heard the bristling of Flatline's quills. The comment that Flatline had reacted to wasn't even that bad compared to what Knock Out could've said – but it was still funny all the same knowing how easy it was to gross the other mech out.

He made sure to sit perfectly still as Flatline worked with the saw. While he couldn't feel any pain as Flatline worked, he knew what was happening – and could feel the occasional tug of discomfort. It was truly awful to be the one being cut into – especially by one that you did not trust. The fact he couldn't feel anything made it worse – what if Flatline was carving things into his back, or making things all mismatched and uneven?!

His optics would wander as Flatline worked – trying to distract himself in whatever way he could that wasn't his usual method of conversation, as he did not feel like yelling over the sound of the saw. He found his gaze lingering on the Vehicon arm that he'd first noticed when he came in here. He hadn't sanctioned the use of said arm, nor was he aware of any projects that Flatline could possibly be working on. Then again, there were many above Knock Out in rank – including Shockwave, and so he figured that it was he who'd given Flatline the right to... Experiment on it. Or whatever it was he was doing. He couldn't actually tell at a glance.

He looked to the cabinets that lined the far wall, wondering what was in them. All the while he judged Flatline on the cleanliness of his lab, equipment and surfaces. While it would be nowhere near to the ridiculously high standards or sterility of his own Medical Bay? It was... Pretty clean, actually.

Then again that was to be expected, it wasn't like Flatline had to clean up after the daily hustle and bustle of Vehicons coming and going for routine checkups.

Or did he?

He looked back to the arm.

Then it went quiet once more, the saw switched off, and Flatline started to speak. He'd turn his helm to the right, watching Flatline as he moved around the berth.

“Can, and will do.” He'd nod. It was going to be awkward – given that the post was behind him on the dolly. He hadn't been able to work on repairing himself properly due to the angle originally, but at least this positioning was a little more forgiving.

It was also going to be made more awkward by the fact that Knock Out had every intention of snooping around Flatline's lab the moment he left. He'd never had a chance like this before, and it was unlikely he'd get another in future, so he'd make the most of what little time he had. He hoped that Flatline had a horribly hard time of acquiring the metals needed – but given his luck on this day already? He couldn't count on that.

He wouldn't protest what Flatline had asked, and would twist himself just slightly to begin working on the task that'd been assigned. Occasionally glancing up to watch Flatline as he left the room.

The moment that the other mech had left? And Knock Out was sure that he was actually gone? He'd shimmy to the side, down, and off the berth, before stepping backward to be near the annoying dolly that held his dorsal post... And would begin rolling it across the room, moving with it so he could start snooping through Flatline's things. All the while he had one servo twisted behind him to pop out the dents. This was a contortion act! He felt ridiculous! But... He had to do what he could to finish the task at hand, snoop, and get back to his original position before Flatline returned. He had to work fast while making sure to return anything he touched to their original place.

He ignored the Vehicon arm for right now. He could make an excuse to come by and visit later when he wasn't so short of time and have a better look at it - but he'd make an awkward beeline for those cabinets, and would begin opening drawers.

[Flatline]

Flatline was hesitant to leave, but he knew if he hurried Knock Out probably wouldn't have enough time to get into any real trouble. It was this reason alone that permitted him the confidence to get out of there, though he did start into a jog once he departed, intending to hustle and cut as much time off as needed.

-----

Now that Knock Out had a moment to observe and look at things closer, he would see that there was a definitive difference between some of the setups in the lab.

The first area held a myriad of differing drawers and cabinets, all smaller, more modest sizes and numerous, housing a countertop in its center. The tabletop held a few larger tools that were too clunky and awkward to store properly, including a centrifuge, some processing mechanics, a supercritical drying chamber, and a filter that would strain out different sized particulates out of many types of liquids.

The handles for each bit of storage were simple bars that were easy to grasp onto and pull with no fuss or hassle. None were locked, and they swung or glided open smoothly with no resistance. The bottom drawers were detachable from their railings, able to be taken out completely and moved to a work area if the components were needed, without having to unload. One was already missing because of this, settled on the table beside the Vehicon arm.

Utility and tools, screwdrivers or saws, electric driven devices, or those that were manual. Rasps, files, one even held an assortment of stainless steel picks and hooks that glinted in the faint lighting. Some power tools and chargers for them were integrated into the storage. One of the bottom drawers on this section held an assortment of odds and ends, a sort of junk area. Some of the parts and pieces looked archaic or from when the place was first built in the nemesis, while some bits appeared newer and seemed to be weird contraband from Vehicons. It was all scrap stuff however.

The second chunk of storage held the same color of metal, but instead of a myriad of horizontal drawers, it held large cabinets that stretched up nearly to the ceiling panel. There was a good four of them, each swinging open into the room to reveal raw components and pieces. The first held long beams of metal and rods. Threaded, straight, differing diameters and metal types. Some were 'I' beams with structural support, others ridged only on one side to feed into a channel. Each beam was different heights, the top point sawed off cleanly for projects, giving an indicator of which types were utilized most often. Nestled beside these on a mini shelf inside, was a rolling mill that could be removed. The differing rollers were in a metal container beside it, with the diameter stenciled onto its end to see what size was needed at a glance. The shelves above it held smaller pieces, bits and chunks from leftover beams that weren't tall enough to stand with the others, but too useful to be cast aside at this point, even if it's just for melting down later for raw metal.

It was beside this all that metal tubes lay. They were separated from the rods, and varied just as much. Round, thick walled, thin walled, copper, steel, some were square channels, a couple even triangular in shape. They had their own subsection in regards to the tools on the shelves, including a bending vice to angle pipe without crimping it and making it useless.

The second cabinet was similar pieces of fabrication goods. Panels and sheets of metal layered up the back wall of the storage area, organized by thickness and metal types as to be expected. Some of the smaller pieces appeared to be recycled though, less ideal, streaks from a wire brush scraping its smooth surface rough and clean, some flecks of paint leftover that needed to be removed in full. Fleck of white, some purples, a clear enamel to protect from rust. The list goes on. The bottom of the storage was lifted up some, allowing a gap underneath where a small bench-press was located. On the inside of the door, hung a few sheer cutters, so he could strip off the pieces he needed, as well as a caliper that hadn't seen much use if the tiny bit of dust on it said anything.

The third cabinet deviated then from metals, diving into flexible medias. Like the other areas there were large sheets, tubes, and rods, but they were all a rubber compound of varying elasticity and density. Some of them held small tags hanging off, indicators of their properties. Some lined with chemical resistant materials, others able to withstand high temperatures. There were many small shelves on the left side of this one, a few organizers set out that held gaskets of varying sizes from mere millimeters, to large loops meant to seal off barrels or containers. A square bucket of sorts contained a lot of scrap bits as well, shards of this and pieces of that, for fiddly projects. Atop all this was a bit of an 'odd man out' that didn't match the theme. It was a few blocks of a semi translucent substance that was broken in a few corners, rough cut, ridged, it would feel of charcoal. Beside it were a few empty trays and odd tools.

The Fourth area was all electrical. Wires, wire strippers, spools straight channels, a myriad of different colors to differentiate once it is installed. There were small bins and organizers of circuits and electrical components. Heat sinks, surge protectors, soldering irons, some putty, a few gauges and monitors. Flatline evidently liked to keep his areas organized by a theme, so it was easy to understand what each section held at a glance.

After these tall narrow cabinets, there was one clunky one, and then a refrigeration unit with a freezer on its underside. The normal storage area upon being opened would reveal a large assortment of chemicals ranging from Ammonium Hydroxide, Tetramethyl Orthosilicate, Methanol, Liquid CO2, Boric Acid, Calcium Oxide, the list goes on and on, each one organized alphabetically. About thigh height the storage changed from filled glass and metal containers, to empty ones. Nested within one another, stacked, bundled by ties, it was a variety of beakers and measurement devices, some normal, some lined with a blue sheen of a film to repel acids. At the very bottom of all this were some larger jugs that were hard to lift and move, holding basic oils and antifreeze compounds.

The refrigerated united was much of the same, just things that needed to be chilled or frozen to remain stable.

Then everything shifted.

The following storage area was on the other side of the lab from the essentials, and stood tall with heavy doors and locks. It was impeccably clean, and the handles on its surface held latches that had to be pushed down in order to pull open, breaking a rubber seal that turned each area into a controlled environment. Atop the station were dehumidifiers, pulling out any trace of moisture in its contents out to be scrubbed away. Larger drawers lay here, branching wide where they would glide out slickly on smooth casters. This is there the gossip would lay, and this is where things took a twist. The first one Knock Out would open would reveal a slew of Cybertronian organs that were mapped and laid out in a spider web of wires and connectors.

It appeared to be a spark chamber, its surface marred and damaged, the spark long since snuffed out. The ship's medic would recognize it as coming from a stock Vehicon despite the fact a thin translucent sheet of plastic lay overtop to keep it sterile and free of debris. It likely belonged to one of many that were slain on the field of battle, its body ripped apart for parts for some reason. Beside it was a couple of the tank systems to hold and process fuel, as well as a ravaged pump that was missing part of its housing.

[Knock Out]

Knock Out had heard Flatline break into a jog down the corridor, which was why he knew he had to do this quickly because he had no clue how long it'd take for the other mech to return – and he had a lot of ground to cover here, and a lot of things to snoop through and pry into.

He'd pull open each drawer in turn, all the while trying to be as quick and efficient as possible. He wasn't looking for anything in particular, he just wanted to look. Nothing more. Sure, he might take something if he fancied, but to do that? He had to actually see what Flatline had to offer.

The first few drawers were boring. Basic tools – nothing unlike what Knock Out had in his own Medical Bay. He tsk'd out in disapproval, almost as if he was expecting to find something actually exciting hidden away. Surely there had to be something good and gossip-worthy, or even something worth stealing in this place, given that Flatline practically lived in here – he could hide all manner of things and would be always around to guard it like some kind of gargoyle, so nobody would be none the wiser.

Hence why Knock Out had to move fast. He'd pull drawers open, see the boring tools, slam the drawer shut and move onto the next one. One servo still awkwardly angled behind him as he half-attempted to pop out dents and drag this annoyingly awkward dolly with him. He could do this in half the time if that thing wasn't there, but... At least he was getting the time to do this to begin with.

There was a drawer missing, which he'd noted was next to the Vehicon arm when he entered the room. Probably more tools. He could look later. Another bottom drawer was full of really old-fashioned parts. Nothing more than junk, really. Although some of it did look rather fascinating, if only because of how old it was – Knock Out hadn't seen things like this in a while. He wondered why Flatline even kept half this stuff.

Not that he'd linger on those thoughts, as he swiftly moved to the next set of storage. Raw materials... Nothing special again. Although... That semi-translucent... Whatever that was, looked interesting. He'd pick it up to inspect it, scraping it with one of his long digits. Hm. Maybe something to look into, or possibly steal later. He'd set it back down, resisting the urge to subspace a portion of it – figuring that somehow Flatline would have some built in sensor as to something being taken. And he did still want to get fixed, after all.

At least Knock Out was getting a good mental map of where everything was stored in here, should Flatline ever leave the room on another day and Knock Out needed to 'borrow' something. A lot of the things he'd seen were things he already had, sadly He knew that was probably going to be the majority of what was in here – and yet had this urge to look through every possible cabinet and drawer, just incase.

Because obviously it'd be the drawer he didn't look in that would house the really weird things.

He may have disliked Flatline, but he could appreciate how neatly everything was arranged in here. Everything had their place, everything was grouped together depending on its function.

He hadn't been impressed by anything he'd seen yet, and would drag the dolly further along until he came to the refrigeration unit. Maybe this would contain the treasure he sought! He'd open the cabinet, and instantly be flooded with disappointment. Nope. Chemicals. Lots of them. He knew at a glance what each of them was, and nothing seemed out of the norm or even slightly suspicious. If he had more time, he would've rummaged more, or gone through the bottles a little closer – but he had no idea when Flatline would return, and so would move on.

The next storage area was across the room, and he'd wheel the dolly as quickly as he could – while popping out more dents in the process.

Now this. This looked to be something. He should've started over here, but there were far more drawers and cabinets at the other side, so the probability that something was over there was higher. Oh, how wrong he was. He pushed down the latch, before pulling open the drawers.

“Well, well...” He mused aloud.

Now this? This was something. Why did Flatline have these things...? Who sanctioned their usage? It certainly wasn't him, and it probably should've been run by him – given these were good spare parts that he could've used. While he had no clue what Shockwave had Flatline doing, he wondered if the Head of Science knew that Flatline was storing body parts when he had no real reason to. His gaze lingered on the spark chamber for a moment, optics narrowing into a frown.

Just what was he doing with these, anyway...?

Just as quickly as he opened up the cabinet, he would close it. Making doubly sure that everything had been returned to the state it was in before he'd looked. While he had been lucky in that Flatline hadn't returned yet? He didn't want to be greedy or push his luck any further than he already had – and would swiftly move back onto the berth he'd originally been sitting on. Or, well, as swiftly as one could when dragging a dolly behind – while trying to pop out dents on something he couldn't exactly see.

Here he would sit, popping out dents from the dorsal post – field level and calm despite what he'd seen. No sign nor trace that he'd been snooping. As far as Flatline was concerned? Knock Out hadn't moved an inch.

[Flatline]

The translucent compound Knock Out picked up would feel as light as air, almost nonexistent all things considered, Its surface feeling a bit crunchy to a point it actually caved in to leave a groove where his thumb scraped. It acted not unlike floral foam, where the small imprints of fingers would remain, and not spring back into shape like a softer material may do. Other than the larger scrape where his thumb ran, the smaller indents were minimal, but they were there, and Knock Out would be unable to remove them from its surface.

Despite this... flub... everything else would tuck back away nice and neat where it had once been, and it would be difficult to know the medic had been snooping around to begin with. Knock Out would find his way back to the seat just fine, and he seemed to be in the clear when it came to being caught while Flatline was out and about.

Time would pass, and then some more time... and additional... It would give the medic everything he needed to finish the work, and then some, and yet Flatline did not return. There was no scuttle of him running back down the hall, and no blip before the doors would slide aside. Knock Out may have underestimated just how long it took to get the materials, or Flatline had been hung up on something on the way...

A sharp slam and the door to the laboratory spiraled out of the way with an angry hiss, Flatline standing at its threshold with some raw blocks of varied metal blanks that would suffice for the task at hand. He seemed annoyed, his helm held high, and gaze held straight ahead, peering past where Knock Out was currently sitting at first, as if expecting to see him snooping around. Thankfully, he didn’t prematurely yell while the doors were opening, but he had been close to doing so! Tense, anger, the quills on his back bristled up, yet... the medic and focus of his ire was patiently sitting in place, and... that alone made Flatline even more untrusting.

If Knock Out had been standing by the Vehicon arm and was observing it? That would have been expected, entertaining himself, trying to do something to pass the longer time that had been spent, but he wasn’t. He was behaving of so very well like a little kid that had stole some candy, managed to finish it, and hide the wrapper underneath their bed before being called out on it. Flatline had nothing he could do though to prove his suspicion, other than bluntly speaking while he strolled into the room.

"So, snooping around where you?"

Call him out on it, call him out on what Flatline thought he KNEW as fact, and see if Knock Out would prove it for him with a 'how did you know' reply. He hoped that the red mech would take the bait, but whether he did or didn't, he would continue into the room at a slow stroll, intending to walk right up to him and set the blanks on the table with a dull thud.

[Knock Out]

Knock Out waited.

And... He waited.

He'd popped out all the dents from the dorsal post, and then found the time to double check that he'd popped them all out properly, even despite the weird angle he had to work with.

He had.

Then? He waited some more.

He swung his legs idly. Staring up at the ceiling, then across at the Vehicon arm. Then over at the walls of cabinets where he'd been moments prior. He'd glance to the door. Then to the other cabinets. Then he'd stare up at the ceiling once more and vent out a long, heavy sigh.

So this was what it was like for those poor Vehicons that he'd have wait around while he finished up with another patient. Except he'd never, ever leave anyone alone in his Medical Bay – well, except Breakdown anyway, and that was because he had as much right to be there as Knock Out did.

He waited some more. Humming quietly to himself just so there was some kind of background noise.

He could've gotten the metals needed ten times over by now. Maybe Megatron had backhanded Flatline through a wall for even daring to ask to use the precious materials. Could that be what was taking so long..? He wasn't overly concerned, but he was growing impatient – and so very, very bored.

He could've done a lot more snooping, that much he realized as he sat here wasting away from boredom and quiet. But something stopped him from getting off the medical berth a second time. He knew he'd already pushed his luck the first time – and while everything had been put back meticulously (aside from that weird translucent stuff, but Knock Out hadn't noticed the scrape and small indents) – he didn't want to touch things in here too much in case Flatline somehow knew what he'd been up to. There was also the knowledge that Flatline had been gone this long, and so, therefore, would probably be back any second – no doubt when Knock Out was elbow deep in some cabinet, given Knock Out's terrible luck today.

More waiting. This was actually getting ridiculous now. Had Flatline died? The idea of getting up to have another look around was becoming more and more tempting, and he'd cast another glance toward the door. There was no sound, nor any evidence that Flatline was on his way back... Maybe he could just beeline straight toward the more interesting cabinet filled with spare parts, the one filled with organs that'd been mapped out like some weird science experiment.

He was going to do it, he decided. He'd move both servos to rest on the edges of the berth beside him, ready to support himself as he hopped down.

When the door slammed open sharply, making Knock Out visibly jump. Good thing he hadn't moved earlier... He hadn't even heard Flatline coming back!

His gaze now on the other mech, he'd sit up a little straighter and noted the annoyance that Flatline seemed to portray. He saw the quills on his back were bristled, and he'd tilt his helm curiously.

“No?” He replied coolly. “I did exactly as was instructed of me. All the dents are popped out – aside from a few awkward ones I couldn't reach properly, anyway.” He'd watch as Flatline made his way over. “You know, it's awfully quiet in here when you're alone, you ever think of getting a radio or something to liven things up?” He had one, and he loved it. Humans had such an amazing variety of music, so even someone as boring as Flatline could probably find something he liked!

“What's with the quills? You have an issue getting the blanks..?”

He only assumed Flatline had become uptight and agitated over something that'd happened, not because he thought for a moment that Knock Out had been up to no good.

[Flatline]

"You with all your privilege cannot comprehend the hurdles it can take to get such things on short notice-"

Biting words, sarcasm, it was a pain but honestly not as big of a pain as he was making it out to be. The only reason the rather swift chore was bothering him as much as it had, was because he knew Knock Out was alone in his lab, an experience that could and may have gone wrong. Then again... it didn't really MATTER if Knock Out snooped too much. The truly valuable stuff was locked away, and his quarters were locked as well, or... so he thought. Sometimes when he was alone in this lab for so long, he left it open for ease of use, and... now he was second guessing himself.

Scrap.

Setting the blanks down, Flatline made sure to organize them by the different metal types. There was plenty here, barely more than enough to make what was needed. The bit of extra wasn’t notable enough to make a fuss over, it would accommodate any tweaks in the mixture that may need to be made, or fill voids if there was a flaw. Whatever was left? Well... Flatline intended to use for his own tasks, which would only really get him a small palm sized component all things considered.

"-but I got what is needed, we just need to make a duplicate now of your old wheel."

Everyone on the ship knew the shiny red mech was exceptionally vain and prided himself on appearances, it is this reason alone he slipped the term 'old' in instead of 'spare' as a totally innocent jab that Flatline could easily play off. If Knock Out tried to call him out on it? It would be a simple ploy to make the other mech look like the jerk and not him for taking things too seriously. Petty, but fun. Either way, after the blanks were plotted out, he reached over and moved the perfectly functional wheel over to an empty portion on the table where he then used a secondary to carefully unscrew the small valve to start to let the air out. He spoke while it deflated a bit.

"I actually do have a radio-"

He addressed casually, the secondary gesturing over to the work table. The radio in question, well... it was mostly under other things at the moment. Hardly visible, a smaller ragtag thing that peeked out underneath a corner from a sheet of plastic that was folded at its side.

"-I agree that silence needs to be cut into in some way."

Once the pressure was low enough to make it safe, and with very little warning, he lifted his hand, pressed his talons close together to make one large point, and slammed it into the rubber, to pierce the side of the tire. Instantly all of the remaining air snarled and burst out from it, and while it was a very messy method, and sent a small shock up his forearm that now tingled a bit, he knew it cut off a lot of time doing it this way, and to be honest... Knock Out would probably want two new treads instead of just one, so he could maneuver better and feel more balanced.

While Flatline tore the ribbons of rubber away, he spoke again, sounding annoyed and a bit frustrated to contradict the moment of agreement and lighter tones from before.

"You are making me cut a lot of corners with your deadline, be aware this isn't how I typically work."

[Knock Out]

“Oh please. I go through hurdles to acquire things too, Flatline. It isn't just you.” He scoffed indignantly. Didn't Flatline realize how hard it was for him to get his own personal buffer? He had to pull a lot of strings for that thing! Okay so maybe he had a bit of privilege when it came to certain things, and he knew damn well that he wouldn't have had to jump through hoops, or taken what felt like fifty thousand years to get a few tiny pieces of Ardite and Kreknorite. But the flip side to this coin was that Flatline did seem to have access to some things that Knock Out didn't – as evidenced by the things that Knock Out had found while snooping around this very room, and Primus only knew what things he had hidden away in here that were even weirder.

If Knock Out had as much privilege as Flatline thought he did, then the other mech would've had an easier time of getting said materials – given it was Knock Out that'd signed for the things to begin with. But he'd keep quiet about that, and everything else he'd seen. He didn't want to annoy Flatline when they were so close to being finished – he wouldn't have put it past Flatline to finish the job halfway through and leave Knock Out a mangled, ugly mess back there out of pure spite. He'd done that before to patients who'd pissed him off, and knew better than to piss off a medic.

The use of the word 'old' wasn't lost on him, and he'd furrow his brow into a rather nasty scowl. However, that would be the only real reaction he'd give, and he'd quickly lighten up and smile.

“I assumed that would be the next step, yes.”

He'd turn his gaze to watch Flatline as he worked. Mostly out of boredom than anything, but to also watch and silently judge how and what he did. He'd incline his helm some as Flatline spoke, and he'd blink – his attention shifting to where Flatline's secondary was gesturing.

“Oh really? And what kind of music do you listen to, mm? When you actually listen to the thing, anyway. Doesn't look like it gets much use!" He chuckled. He couldn't tell just by looking at Flatline what his music genre of choice would be – hell it was a surprise that Flatline even had a radio in here to begin with! Maybe he could recommend some things he liked to the other mech, but the idea of them actually agreeing on something like that was probably slim. 

The air bursting out from the tire made him flinch and he'd turn his gaze back to Flatline and the work he was doing.

“I understand and again, I appreciate you doing this on such short notice. I figured you'd enjoy the challenge, and it'll be interesting to see how you do.”

Was that a compliment? It might've been. It sounded sincere enough. Despite their rivalry, he did hold some degree of respect for the other mech – and would maybe hold him in some higher regard if and when he did manage to pull this almost impossible feat off.

“Is there anything you need me to do?”

[Flatline]

"To be honest I am not really that picky. As long as it is noise, as long as it cuts through the silence... I appreciate everything."

Flatline was an arrogant individual, often confident within his domain and around Knock Out, but as he spoke of this he seemed to get a bit more uneasy, as if they were nearing a subject he didn't really want to speak about in depth. Weakness of any kind was something that could be exploited and torn into, it was something to be used against him if the tides turn and Decepticons turned against one another for survival. While music preferences were nowhere even close to compromising, there was a subject that crept alongside it that he wanted to avoid.

Thankfully, he pierced the tire, and the subject could try to change abruptly to cut away.

"Manufacturing from scratch is an art just like medicine. Lots of steps, lots of details, things to consider..."

He peeled the last of the rubber off then, and snapped off the ring that remained, leaving just the metal wheel in its wake. Carefully, Flatline looked over the finish and edges to try to scout out any burrs or scratches that would need to be contended with, but he swiftly remembered who he was dealing with, and calmly held the wheel over to Knock Out.

"Actually, yes. Clean this as much as you can, the better the finish, the cleaner the mold, the more precise that the cast will be. If it has any smudges, it may show on the finished surface."

He gestured to the cleaning supplies he had been using before to wipe down his hands, though he figured Knock Out probably had his own stuff on him somewhere if he were to guess. Either way, after he gave this directive, he turned away and walked over to the cabinet that the other medic would know housed scrap metal sheets. A few panels here, a long band there, a hollow rod of metal, and then some small diameter solid rod. Flatline supported these carefully while he took a few steps to the side, stopping before the cabinet with chemicals.

It is here Flatline remained, snooping through the various containers he had to try to determine which would work best for their needs. While he did so however, his weight shifted and he lifted one of his hoof like peds up to press against the ground, trying to stretch the cables there with a soft grunt of discomfort.

[Knock Out]

What a boring answer.

Then again, it was Flatline, and he was so very dull - so it was to be expected. Still, he could've given a hint as to what genre that he preferred - that way Knock Out could judge him for his terrible music taste on top of judging him for most everything else. He noted the slight unease, and for once wouldn't push for further clarification - if only because they were at a crucial stage of this procedure and he didn't want to annoy - or distract - Flatline any.

While Knock Out himself never played his music during work hours, once it was just him doing the routine paperwork and finishing up the cleaning and other menial tasks at the end of the day? The sounds of Electro Swing, Dark Cabaret, and sometimes... Metal.. Could be heard playing from the Medical Bay. The latter for sure was Breakdown's personal choice in cleaning music, and was so very obviously played when the prissy Chief Medical Officer wasn't around.

He'd squint at Flatline, as if trying to decipher just what kind of music he would listen to just by looking at him. Maybe something with lots of drawn out organs and low humming, or maybe he was full of surprises and listened to that awful rap-music that Knock Out tuned in to once by accident and never again. It was all so uncouth. Or at least he thought so.

No, he couldn't tell just by looking at Flatline what he listened to – although he did make a small mental note to wander down here in future just to see if that poor radio did, in fact, get any use.

He doubted it.

“A few things we do here in our respective departments can be considered art, so you aren't wrong there.” He replied, turning his attention back to staring across the room to distract himself some. “Steps, details. It is a dance, in a way! One wrong move and you ruin the whole production! Of course, some of the explosions and creations that can come from the more... Mm - serious errors, can be quite fascinating, so it's not all bad.” He chuckled. Not that he'd know anything about errors or explosions – even when he tinkered with weapon design it was all very routine, despite him experimenting sometimes. Another mental note. Take more risks when it came to the weapon design thing. Well, risks that included him being behind a protective shield to avoid any damage from possible explosions, anyway.

As the wheel was handed over to him, he'd take it carefully with both servos and glanced down to look at it. What Flatline said was troubling and had become somewhat of a dilemma – in that if the mold had any smudges, they would show on the finished product. Knock Out was a perfectionist and there wasn't a 'con on this ship that didn't know that. He, of course, wanted this thing to be pristine and spotless – after all, he would be the one using it, and if it was marred or dinged up? It would look bad on him! While most others would not give two slags, he would know about the slight imperfection – and he wasn't about that!

But he didn't have time to get it perfect. Or at least, perfect by Knock Out's standards. Which were exceptionally high. Oh, if only he had his buffer. That would help immensely. Or Breakdown. He was good at- Damnit he was wasting time!

“Consider it done!”

He'd scoot along the berth a little, reaching across and over to the cleaning supplies that Flatline had been using. While he had his own fancy waxes, he didn't think they would be much use here, as this was just something to be used as a mold and was not the final product – and so would use the supplies given. The chemicals themselves were fine, he'd used much worse back in the day on Cybertron – but those cloths? Knock Out cringed. Those? Those would not do. And Flatline had wiped his servos down on some of those? Ew. No thank you.

Without a word, or much of a fuss, he'd reach up and under his front armor, near where one of his headlights was located, and would pull out a rather fancy looking folded chamois cloth, which he'd delicately unfold – revealing yet more folded cloths inside – one looked to be made of some kind of microfiber, while the others were various materials – all in varying sizes. This made him feel a little better about things, and while he didn't have his handheld buffer on him at present? He was no stranger to doing this by hand.

He didn't pay much mind to what Flatline was doing; the soft grunt drew his attention away if only for a moment, but he was focused now on getting the mold absolutely spotless in the short amount of time he had.

“You alright over there?” He murmured, keeping his attention down on the wheel.

He worked diligently, and as quickly as he could – as he wasn't sure when Flatline would demand the wheel back. The overly pedantic side of him wanted to try and get out every tiny little smudge, but he worked on the larger and more noticeable scuffs first – then would go over the smaller ones that he missed.

[Flatline]

Another annoyed grumble formed, Flatline lifting his leg again to flare the small prongs in annoyance. The limb was calibrated, the cables were the same diameter and strength capabilities of his old ones, but they were still stiff and new. Only time could really break them in, unless he wanted to snake them out of his leg again, and run them through some hinges a few thousand times to force break it in... But that was an annoying process and trying to weave the lines through their channels was a fiddly task with his limbs being structured as they would. They relied upon the cables a good deal, the right tension creating stability with limbs that did not lock straight for long moments of standing.

"My ped was torn off. Still trying to break in the new cables..."

He more muttered this than stated it loudly for Knock Out to hear, but it was still perfectly audible and the other Cybertronian would be able to catch what was said with ease. Flatline was still annoyed he got as damaged as he had, the incident not a fun one. He limped back to the Nemesis like a wounded animal, and slunk to his domain with some arrogant need to try to fix things on his own. He really should have went to Knock Out, he probably could have used the help when he was shooting Energon out of his side like a damn leaky faucet, but... he could handle it, and with an abundance of medications he managed to piece everything back together eventually.

Grabbing what he needed, the black and red medic turned around and started back towards Knock Out, setting down the last of the supplies on the part of the table that wasn't being used... which... was rather small. Not only was Knock Out now settled upon it, he had his wheel beside him, and the other materials scattered around. It was only then Flatline noticed that the other medic was using some fancy cloth things, and being perfectionist over getting the smudges out.

Maybe he should have given him that job earlier to keep him busy.

The siss.

Reaching forward, Flatline plunked the jars of chemicals over and behind Knock Out in the small space there, keeping them out of the way. They were small, and no threat of being knocked off unless Knock Out opted to do a dramatic movement or lay down on his back. Once this was settled, Flatline started to size out the strips of metal he had fished from the supplies, setting them upright to start to form a box shape.

This was where having extra sets of arms really helped things along. He didn’t need to get vices or clamps to help, and instead he simply used his primaries to hold the edges in place, while his secondary's started to apply a temporary sealer on the four corners. The compound would hold things plenty strong for what he needed it to do, and would not mar or damage the metal so that it could be used for other applications in the future.

While he waited for the sealer to cure and stick enough so that he could let go, Flatline spoke again, blindsiding Knock Out with a question from nowhere.

"What did you do before the war?"