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

[Knock Out]

It was the second grumble from Flatline that drew Knock Out's attention away from what he was doing, and his optics would narrow some as his gaze fell onto Flatline's leg – watching it with quiet interest. Had he injured himself somehow and was too prideful to go to Knock Out to get it looked at? He couldn't actually recall anytime in the recent past where Flatline had been to see him. Sure, he'd been to the Medical Bay in recent times – but only to 'borrow' things.

“You what?!” Knock Out sounded rather taken aback as Flatline explained what'd happened. A small injury, Flatline could no doubt fix up himself and it would be no issue. But having a ped torn off?! “And you didn't come to see me about that why?” Pride or not, there were protocols that needed to be followed. Paperwork to be filled out for injuries like that, logs of what materials had been used to fix up said injuries. Medical leave of absence. Stuff like that. All very boring parts of the job, but still parts that needed to be done.

“Should that happen again, I implore you to come see me about it, rather than fixing it yourself.” He left it there, resisting the urge to tack on that he would've no doubt done a much better job of things.

Granted he couldn't really talk – the rivalry between the pair was less than friendly at times, and if he'd been in a similar situation, he would've sooner rather strapped himself to a medical berth and walked Breakdown through what to do. Not that he'd done that this time, but that was only because Megatron had been involved, and the last thing he wanted was a lecture.

He tsk'd softly as Flatline turned, shaking his helm slowly and going back to what he was doing – trying to get the wheel looking spotless. He wasn't paying attention to the other mechs movements or actions, wanting to get as much of this done before it was no doubt snatched away.

The question made him pause, although he didn't look up.

“Before the war?” He hummed lightly in thought. “Nothing spectacular. Well, no... It was. At least, my work was,” He smiled. “I did Body and Paint repair – simple work, although I had lucrative and rather extravagant clients with ludicrous and... Expensive requests and tastes.” He chuckled at that, thinking back on those days. He missed them sometimes. “Engravings, modifications – some legal and some not so much. It's what branched me out into weapon design.” He wasn't sure how much Flatline even wanted to know, but Knock Out did love talking about himself. “The medical part came later – and completely by chance. Seemed I had a knack for it.” There was a smug tone to his voice as he continued to polish the scuffs out of the wheel. “What about you?”

[Flatline]

As much as Flatline disliked Knock Out, he knew there was merit to what he said, and he knew he dodged a lot of proper channels and record keeping by doing what he had done. The more professional side to the black and red mech would be appalled if something like that was skirted around his own control, not even being told so that notes could be made even if he couldn't help with it directly. He knew it was wrong, KNEW it, but the ire he felt was a very persistent motivator, and curbed his nitpicky adherence to rules when he knew he could handle it on his own.

It made him question why he even brought it up. Was it to brag? Was it to show Knock Out he wasn't NEEDED for him? That didn't really make sense if he was injured horrifically. If some of his internal systems were damaged, there was not much he could do to himself while conscious under the influence of medicines and numbing agents. There was also an issue if the damage was in a place he couldn't access himself, like along his spine or the back of his shoulder.

"I designed and modified much of my frame. It is easier to fix it myself, than it is to force someone to reverse engineer."

It was a dull reply, one that leaned on fact more so than arguing for the sake of arguing. He wouldn't say how he didn’t trust Knock Out then, and how it was questionable if he would trust him now or not. He instead tried to let the topic drop so that they wouldn't get into a screaming contest this late. At this point he had wasted enough time that he wanted the job completed, and if Knock Out stormed out in a tissy, he would be displeased.

Flatline worked quietly while the other mech spoke of the past, mapping out some of his previous jobs and expertise. The vindictive part of him was morbidly amused that the mech had started off in cosmetic instead of medical fields. It further cementing him down at the bottom of the barrel as far as Flatline was concerned, and further made him feel he was not qualified for the task.

It was an art form, that was true. It was something that took skill to accomplish, to paint with such precision and engrave without it looking like hacked work of a fool with a grinder. But surface details and eventually weaponry... they were so different from medicine. So very separate. As such, Flatline let out a low sound for a moment, a sort of short hum while he considered what was said, finishing securing the plates of metal and sealing it temporarily to the table itself.

"After formed, I was trained and then placed into a medical assistant role, where I served under others until I earned my own place."

For a good while that was all he knew, that was all he was, pointed in the direction of medicine from the caste system, where his diligence and stubbornness made schooling consume him. He did not venture out from such areas, did not really pay heed to what lay beyond the walls he trapped himself within. From learning, straight to the job, he never deviated from the path until he found a niche.

"From there, I produced sparklings for those who held so much money above the norm they could try to play Primus with design and life."

He stated this offhandedly, sounding almost disgusted, but there was an awkward crackle shifted within. He knew the practice could be seen as crass to some, to make life and not grant it a true functional frame, but to throttle it to try to make it grow and evolve like an organic did. It was a lot of upgrades, a lot of new builds, and a lot of work just so that Towerlings could say that they COULD, and flaunt their creations.

Flatline enjoyed the job a good deal.

It was a challenge, it was a chore. To make something that evolved constantly as a never ending project as its processor gradually grasped on to reality. He missed that, to be able to watch and recognize when something went from borderline drone, to sentience, because he WILLED it to. There was a fair bit of power that made one feel, and he missed it. Making drones or manufacturing husks with no Well of All-Sparks to present it to... it wasn't the same.

"I did that until the war started, and there were more important things for individuals to be worried about- -One moment..."

He added humor into this, to dodge around his bitterness, a twisted grin peeling back to expose gnarled dental plates. After he said this, he reached up and picked up a bit of metal rod. Holding the rod firmly in his left hand, his right folded back with a clicking snap to reveal the saw once again. The saw screamed to life with a loud roar that filled the area, cutting off conversation a moment while he cut the metal into small chunks of varied sizes before he let the blade power down with a dull whirl.

[Knock Out]

Flatline was lucky in that Knock Out needed his assistance, or he would've no doubt nagged him further about the ped incident. Flatline was also unlucky in that Knock Out would remember it – and therefore would probably bring it up at a future date. Be it to scold him formally, as was his right and duty as Chief Medical Officer, or to get him into trouble for not following the rules should Knock Out need a diversion from himself for if he ever got busted doing something he shouldn't. It would of course depend on the day, circumstance, and Knock Out's mood at the time.

Well that's not a surprise... was his first thought to Flatline's comment about designing and modifying his frame. Knock Out was judging him. Quietly, of course. But oh, how he judged. It did mean that Flatline had not only made himself look the way he did, but rather than modifying himself to look... Well, more attractive? He'd further modified himself to look...Like that.

Not that Knock Out knew what Flatline had looked like before his self modifications. Maybe it was even worse than what it was now. If he cared enough, he could snoop through Flatline's file and probably find out. He'd make a mental note to do that later, and was silently questioning himself as to why he hadn't snooped on that particular file before now.

The point was, Flatline had made a conscious decision to look like that. Something that not many had the privilege, tools, or know-how to do. He'd had a choice. Why? Although... Maybe he'd done that to himself to match his awful attitude.

“Aw, but reverse engineering is all part of the fun!” He chuckled, although his tone showed no hint of joking. Knock Out loved tinkering with things, trying to work out how things worked. It was one way to sate his curiosity and boredom in an otherwise mundane job here on the Nemesis. It was very rare these days he had anything really complex to work on, unless some poor Vehicon ended up blowing themselves up or came in half dead with missing limbs and various holes torn through them. Not that he'd ever complain about it – what he had here was good. Boring and repetitive, but good. He wasn't stupid enough to whine and complain – the outcome to that would not be a good one.

He would listen as Flatline told his tale, while he adjusted the wheel on his lap so he could work on another side. So Flatline had gone straight into the medical field? He had a feeling that'd been rubbed in his face before now, but he couldn't recall as to when. Explained a lot, though. Well, mostly the bitterness. Knock Out had had no training and yet threw himself into the medical field during the war. It'd been a means of staying off the front lines, and something he hadn't expected to actually work. But... Natural talent was a beautiful thing.

He couldn't help but chuckle as Flatline continued on. They'd both served the rich – but in totally different fields. Knock Out with his high class painting and engraving on snobby Towerlings who had more money than sense, and Flatline with his... Well, making life.

He was a little jealous, in a way. Not that he'd ever change anything about his past if given the choice – dealing with rich clientele had introduced Knock Out to a rather lavish lifestyle that he'd come to enjoy. Or at least, the access to funds so he get what he wanted. He'd had quite the life before the war began – and would go back to those days in an instant if he could. But still, Flatline had an interesting job back then, too. Challenging and stimulating work. Something Knock Out – and probably Flatline - certainly lacked here on the Nemesis most days.

“Hm?” He'd turn as Flatline paused, glancing over his shoulder incase something was wrong. He noticed Flatline's dental plates, and while he'd seen them before many a time, this time he took particular note of them, mostly because Flatline had probably chosen that design for himself, too. With a soft shudder, which could be passed off as a reaction to the shrill scream of the saw, he'd turn back to what he was doing until the noise died down.

“I wonder if we ever had the same clientele.” He mused aloud. It was so very doubtful, given the size of their home planet. He was mostly just making conversation, though. Granted, even if they didn't share the same clientele, he would bet money that at least some of their clients would've known each other somehow.

“Do you ever miss it? I mean, compared to what you're doing now?” He asked, although his gaze and attention was fully on the wheel once more. It was a trick question in a way. He had no damn idea what projects Flatline was working on these days – it wasn't his field and so wasn't his business, and he wasn't about to go and ask him or Shockwave what it was they did all day, so maybe this would offer some insight, depending on how Flatline replied.

[Flatline]

"Who knows, but for the sake of sanity I do hope you did not."

A snorted noise, a sort of joke, Flatline knew Knock Out likely had all sorts of shoddy clients that demanded and changed their minds on the fly, but it was fun to imagine that his own were worse. Honestly, both of them had to work with looks and appearances on different levels, so they likely faced the same issues time and time again. 'Can that be a different color?' 'Can you re-do that to be 'flashier'' ((whatever that meant)) 'can you put it back how it was?' ((After countless hours of work to change it to their specifications)).

He was amused with this, a good natured smirk pulled back while he focused down on his work, organizing the cut off bits of metal with care. The smile however faltered a bit with the red medic's question, and he let out a low hum of thought for a moment. Did he miss it?... The question was far deeper than he was willing to go with this other individual. He could offer a superficial reply though, numbing down to surface values. While true, it didn't touch on it all.

"My previous position was almost an art form, and the challenges were immense. I couldn't just make a functional frame; I had to make them while also meeting aesthetic limitations set by the commissioner."

This in itself could be frustrating, but it kept him busy and challenged.

"You never find yourself forced to be as creative with calculating transformation sequences, as you do when someone demands they have a certain attribute that would otherwise impede function."

So many times people would want a decorative flaring or other element to be accented further, with little consideration given to if it was even possible. Flatline had needed to re-code and re organize countless tiny hinges and pivots, all to accommodate aesthetic choices that were futile in the long run. A joint angled a bit different, wings mounted a tad higher, the neck flaring that was hiding important parts needing to be removed... ah... insanity... May explain why Flatline was so nitpicky and high strung.

"Here, hand me that..."

Flatline reached over then, and carefully pulled the wheel out of Knock Out's grasp, being mindful to not touch its outer surface and mar the medic's work. He would place the metal on its rim against the table, and spin it around to be looking at its backside, making notes about the high and low points on its surface. Holding this in place with a secondary, Flatline reached over and collected the cut off pieces of metal, and the sealer.

As with the frame he had temporarily glued together a moment prior, he started to attach the differing lengths of bar to the back surface of the piece of metal. Carefully placed, yet appearing random, Flatline was moving slowly so he did it right and there was very little excess glue spilling over between the seam. It wasn’t perfect, it could have been done nicer, but they were in a time crunch all things considered, so try as he might he couldn't be TOO careful without adding to the clock.

"I am well challenged with my current work..."

He started again while carefully placing the posts.

"...but there is little that beats the security of environment pre-war offered. Able to not question what the future holds past political changes and new sciences to research."

Once he finished securing all the vents, he applied a sloppy dab of glue to the end of each post, and flopped the wheel around to set it down in the center of the box he framed out earlier. He nudged it a bit, making sure it was secure in place. Knock Out would notice that the differing length of bars on the other side, meant the entire wheel was canted at an angle. It was subtle, but there, making high and low points of note. It was then Flatline grasped a tiny bit of flexible tube, and started to connect the lower rim with the upper rim at the highest point with the sealer.

"I was not affected by the turmoil of the caste system; though understand how unfair it was. I was amicable to change and giving others a choice, but... I never thought it would end with this..."

[Knock Out]

“If you say so.”

His lips would curve into a smirk of his own as he quietly continued on with his task. Flatline's clients were probably worse if they were to go into horror stories and compare them, but Knock Out's were pretty awful. One good thing about them, though, was that every time his clients suggested something that Knock Out knew wouldn't work and he'd do it anyway because 'customer knows best'? He was the one they came to all upset, begging him to paint over and fix their foolish choice because they looked ridiculous, thus garnering him extra tips and more business through word of mouth – both of which were more than welcome. There were, of course, those that had absolutely no sense of style and asked for the most impossible and yet so totally ridiculous things, but most trusted his judgment.

He'd tilt the wheel in his lap, going over a part that he'd missed as he listened quietly to Flatline as he spoke.

This was strangely nice, in a way. They were... Well, sort of getting along. For once. Normally, Knock Out and Flatline fought like cats and dogs or whatever that saying was – with Breakdown having to act as mediator or having to do his best to keep them apart. Breakdown had been sent to Flatline's lab more than once to retrieve some item that'd been borrowed from the Medical Bay – because if Knock Out went on his own? It wouldn't end well. Yet here they were, sitting in the mostly silence and having a conversation. Breakdown would never have believed it.

“Sounds like a fun challenge.” He hummed in thought “Granted, I'm sure there were some rather ludicrous requests, hm?” He was definitely a little jealous. While he had the opportunity to work on other peoples frames, the canvas already being there? Making something from scratch sounded way more entertaining and rewarding. Sure he had to stick to what the commissioner wanted, but to be able to give it his own flair was something he wouldn't have passed up on. Not that Flatline seemed the type to think outside the box, he probably stuck to whatever the client wanted, and only that.

“Hm? Oh.” He'd been lost in his thoughts and hadn't noticed Flatline lean over until his servos had the wheel, which he'd carefully hand over as not to ruin his work. His optics would squint just slightly as he watched how Flatline handled it, and was glad to see that he was being just as careful with it.

There was another pang of jealousy as Flatline said he continued to be challenged even now. Knock Out was bored out of his processor most days, hence why he made so many excursions off the ship to do his own thing. Sure, he had rank. He had it good – really good. But when you stepped back and away to see what it was he actually did? It was all very boring, and so mind-numbingly repetitive. It was considered a good day when someone hurt themselves really badly as it gave Knock Out something to actually do.

Not that he'd whine about it in front of Flatline, though.

“Isn't that the truth.” He vented out a sigh, “Although, I did stay ahead of the game once things began collapsing – the weapon design came in very handy in preventing me from becoming mere cannon fodder.” It felt a little cruel to think about, but those he worked with didn't show the same initiative, and hadn't lasted long once actual fighting began – or at least, he assumed as much.

Oh well.

His attention would linger on Flatline and what he was doing – he was curious by this entire process, and while he could probably work out how to do it on his own if he so chose? The time constraint that he'd put upon Flatline was borderline impossible – and there was no way he could've done that on his own. At least not with the current equipment in the Medical Bay, anyway.

“I don't think anyone thought it would.” He replied nonchalantly as he idly picked at his thumb. “I suppose the fighting part, yes... Rather inevitable, really. But Cybertron becoming unstable and following the Autobots here?” He snorted quietly. “Least the fleshbags planet-side have a few things to do for entertainment, so it isn't all bad.”

[Flatline]

Ludicrous requests? Oh boy. Really, all of them could be annoying, but that statement caused one particular event to jump to the front of his processor. It was one of the last jobs he had in that practice, and this, plus the events that occurred, made it particularly memorable to him. He could still hear their voice as clear as day in his memory, a sharp hollow edge of superiority, constantly dissatisfied. They were probably someone that could find fault in the finest Energon to be manufactured and filtered on planet, labeling it 'over processed' or 'artificial' somehow. He was willing to bet that if they were ever given something absolutely perfect to their impossible standards, that they would have a tantrum and drop it or damage it to blame Primus for having a cruel sense of humor.

The memory that flooded back caused Flatline to pause momentarily, a faint twitch formed at the underside of one of his eyes as Knock Out's words were almost lost when he took the wheel from him.

"The worst?"

He started, his eyes partly closing as if he was internally dying just recalling.

"Someone wanted to have the frame become a flyer in its final rendition, but not have the, as they claimed... 'gaudy' look of wings on their back."

A flippant tone, showing he didn't really agree with that statement. Wings were wings; they had function, and could have style if done right. They could be canvases to depict other things, though etching or rim colors, and could be mounted and varied angles to deviate. They could hold some of the engine components, or be left barren. They could have thrusters or turbines... a lot of options.

"That was probably the most frustrating. Wing planes broken up into multiple pieces to hide can be really easy to damage and make nonfunctional. Can do what Soundwave does and make it limbs, but that was 'malformed' in their eyes. Can make the Alt have stockier wing planes like Megatron, but the torso was 'too large'."

He shrugged.

"Always an excuse... always a fault... I half questioned if they realized the final cost of my labor and never wanted me to finish... or to get so frustrated I would drop their contract..."

Flatline paused in his work a moment.

"I never did get paid for that..."

After the grumbled comment, he went back to what he was doing, glancing back over at Knock Out while he nudged the connectors under the wheel to see if the sealant was set yet and secure. His talon clicked against the bubbled matter, a soft tapping that caused tiny bits of the material to flake and chip off.

"I never got into weaponry. Was never my skill set. I know how to mount something with enough recoil points to not have it rip off their arm, but I can't make a weapon..."

He grumbled with a bit of a half smirk, flipping his hand in the air as if to brush the idea aside entirely. This entire situation was bizarre, they indeed WERE getting along and it didn’t seem to have an end in immediate sight. Flatline would need to question if this were any other situation, if Knock Out would be saying more or not. Was he acting this way simply because he needed something from him? Or was this how the red mech was once you got past a petty scratching contest?

Reaching forward, Flatline picked up the jars of chemicals and larger empty container, setting them down in front of himself. While he spoke, he did not look up from what he was doing again, his gaze settled in front of himself while he started to pour a few components into the larger container, measuring it out carefully.

"I would not know, I do not go earthside often."

After he said this, he moved quickly, adding some filler media, and then mixing the larger container with a scrap of extra pipe. The chemical started to froth and bubble instantly, and Flatline turned it to start to pour into the bottom of the large frame and wheel. The compound was thick, and almost chunky at points, large bubbles pushing up as the entire mixture expanded and bloated as the filler saturated.

While this started to fill the container and flow over the lower portions of the wheel, Flatline focused on swiftly mixing up some more. It was the same ingredients again, the same fillers, just more of the material. This time after the almost sloppy mixing, he poured it directly over what bit of the gold remained visible.

"Hit the table"

He said dryly, as if it was a totally sane and reasonable demand to throw out there. After he gave the directive, he balled his primary hands into fists, and he slammed his forearms down with a heavy bang on the medical table right beside the mold. When he did so, a bubble of air burped out from the expanding matter.

[Knock Out]

Knock Out hadn't been expecting an actual example of what the other mech considered to be an annoying client, figuring they weren't close enough to share such fond memories with each other - and so as Flatline started to divulge the horrors? Knock Out would tilt his helm as he listened.

“Sounds like someone had more money than sense.” He smirked, shaking his helm as if in disbelief. That smirk would only fade as Flatline continued. That sounded borderline cruel, more than anything. The clients vanity – and Knock Out sure knew a thing or two about that – was affecting someone other than themselves, and all because they considered wings to be 'gaudy'? Not only did they seemingly have no sense, they also had no concept of style! There were many ways to make wings look amazing. Not that Flatline was really artistic in that sense and so probably couldn't try to sell them on the idea – which is what Knock Out would've done.

“You didn't even get paid?” He tsk'd softly after that. “I had the occasional dodgy client who refused to pay – at least with money.” He hummed smugly, leaving it at that. When he meant dodgy, he meant really dodgy. Of course, those transactions were mostly involving the more... Less legal weapons he made, so it was only natural that he received rather questionable things in return, namely circuit boosters and the like. He didn't mind so much, after all? He was all the more fun at parties – and word of mouth was a valuable thing when it came to his line of work. Especially that side of it, anyway.

He'd spaced out for a second, thinking back on what he considered to be the good old days. The soft tapping from Flatline's digit snapping his attention back to the present.

“I only really dabble these days. Don't have the time or space for it... Although Breakdown is using one of my creations.” There was a proud hum that followed, as his gaze lingered on Flatline and what he was doing. This was probably the longest, and most genuine conversation that he'd ever had with Flatline, and it didn't even feel that weird. At first it had been forced, and was mostly because he hadn't wanted to rile up the other medic while he was working, not wanting him to act out of spite – after all, Knock Out did have his vanity as well as his reputation to uphold, and Flatline could ruin all of that in an instant by doing a less than perfect job on his wheel.

“I should introduce you to the world of human horror movies sometime. You'd probably enjoy them.” His tone calm and courteous. Okay so that part might not've been completely genuine – almost like he'd been inviting Flatline with the hopes he'd turn him down or reject the offer. He couldn't imagine driving around planet-side with him, honestly. It'd be awkward and he didn't really want to be seen with him outside the ship. Still, if he did take him up on it, it'd be an experience. Flatline did need to loosen up a little, maybe it'd be good for him.

He continued to watch as Flatline added the filler and mixed it, then would balk as Flatline asked something of him.

“Hit th-- What? Flatline, I know we're getting along, but please – oh.” He cut himself off as Flatline slammed his own fists onto the table. Ah. Okay. That's what he meant.

With a chuckle, he'd curl his servos into fists – then would daintily 'punch' the table with the side of his hand.

Just once.

Hey it was the thought that counts, but he wasn't about to risk hurting himself! He needed his servos in proper working order!

[Flatline]

Flatline kept quiet on the fact that the reason he didn't get paid, was probably because of the war ramping up and everyone's focus shifting to different directions. Frivolous boasts of power, useless in combat, his workshop went down rather quickly with no interested individuals, and it wasn't like Flatline's attention and heart would have been in the job anymore at that point with bombings crashing down around them. He had to move on with his life, and find a new path to follow, turning his back on what was.

What did catch his attention though momentarily, was Knock Out implying that he got paid in other means. This could mean a number of different things, but in the end, he didn't care. It could be illegal parts, price cuts on paints, drugs, or other services, all of which further outlined the red mech as anything but professional. Which fit his personal thoughts well.

Things rolled from one conversation to the next rather quickly then, and it was difficult for Flatline to keep up. His attention was split momentarily, seeming distant, seeming focused, working with the chemicals with swift jerking movements to try to mix and measure within a slim time frame. It is because of this he only offered a sort of half thought out noise of recognition at the comment about weaponry and the human horror films, showing he wasn't really grasping what was said and was more making noise to just sate the other and not leave total silence in place.

A slam of his fists, a simple request... and in one fel swoop Knock Out reminded him that the red mech was trashy and catty all at the same time.

Slowly, Flatline's gaze shifted over to Knock Out, his eyes narrowing marginally with a wordless 'really!?' that practically screamed out both from the comment, and the lackluster punch.

"And all at once, all complacency and respect that may have been formed, crashed away into a level of disgust that is hard to quantify."

He scoffed this in reply, a low grumbled rumble that rasped through gritty vocals. Flatline didn't have time to really judge or comment further though, for the other medic offered nothing with his punch, and a job still needed to be done. Because of that, he rasped out a hollow 'move' before he wrenched both his arms up above his head once more, and rammed them down on either side of the box.

The impacts were jarring and loud, sending a tremor through the table to vibrate the expanding mold and further jostle any air pockets loose to make the mold a tight fit. Flatline then took a step back, hooked both his primaries back down at his side, before swinging them forward to ram underneath the table just under the mold. There were a few follow up strikes, but at that point no more seemed to loosen, and the mold appeared to be settling.

The filler had saturated, giving a chunky bubbled surface at the top that was giving off some harmless fumes into the laboratory. There were small craters, pockets and divots, all settling and gaining a satin finish as it started to cure, the glossy surface vanishing. Once it reached this point, Flatline took another step back, and pulled his hands up towards his chest, rubbing over the digits with care.

Small flecks of silver were exposed now on the side of his hand, at the highest point of the arch that curved out from his pinky connector. He didn't seem bothered though, his frame covered in small scuffs and marks, working hard for his craft and not always relying on tools to do what was needed for the moment.

"Now we wait."

[Knock Out]

There was a moment of awkward silence after Knock Out gave his attempt of hitting the table, and the look that Flatline gave him made him shrug his shoulders. The comment made him gawk some and he'd shake his helm.

“Unlike you, I need these to do delicate surgeries!” He squawked in his defense of his rather lackluster punch, and he'd wiggle his digits as if to show just how dainty and fragile his servos were. Of course, Flatline also had long, delicate fingers but it wasn't like he had to do any real medical work on the masses. Knock Out's servos were his life, and without them? He'd be rendered useless, as would the Decepticon forces!

“As for the comment, learn to take a joke! Lighten up, would you?” He smirked playfully, trying to get things back to the way they had been moments earlier. He wouldn't outwardly admit it, but the conversation had been refreshing – talking with another intellectual, even if it had just been small talk, was nice. Not that Breakdown couldn't hold a conversation, but he knew all about his past and so it was nothing new – their talks these days were mostly about work and wasn't very stimulating. Moments that he and Flatline got along were few and far between and while it probably wouldn't happen again any time soon, he'd enjoy this moment of being civil.

He'd scoot over as he was told to move, and watched as Flatline slammed his fists down onto the table. Yeah, there was no way that Knock Out was going to hit something that hard – especially when Flatline was perfectly capable of doing it himself!

He'd lean over to try and look at the outcome of things, not that there was really a whole lot to look at. His gaze shifted to Flatline as he took a step backward, and he took note of how he rubbed his digits. The exposed silver wasn't lost on Knock Out, and he'd quirk a brow as if expecting Flatline to say something about it – but there was nothing.

“So that's it? We just wait?” He frowned. “Anything that needs to be done while we... wait?” He asked, hesitantly. He could think of a million things to do, like reorganize half this room, for example. But he couldn't suggest that or even really offer as then that'd clue Flatline in to the fact he'd been snooping around earlier to know that things weren't to his impeccably high standards. He didn't really want to sit here in silence though, as it would not be a comfortable one.

[Flatline]

Unlike him!?

Ok no...

Don’t start an argument...

Don't start a fight...

Flatline wanted nothing more than to slap that smug look right off Knock Outs face, imagining tearing his claws through that 'perfect' finish and give him something to actually complain about. It made slender fingertips twitch slightly, thinking about it, WANTING it, but knowing not to. Not only would such a response be uncivilized and animalistic, it would make all the time he already spent a waste, and lose him the boons he would gain after this favor. Because of this, he bit his tongue, feeling like he was nearly chewing through it. He transferred his frustration into slamming into the table to get all the air pockets out, stepping back and away to glance over at the red mech when he asked about what more could be done in the meantime.

"I could start making the alloy."

He grumbled this, glancing over at all the metals that had been brought for him.

Flatline liked working in stages, so that each portion was done properly. Focus on one attribute at a time, don’t jump between processes so you don't lose your place and forget important information. He would typically use this time to get his rations, or to lay out tools for the next portion, or just clean and work on some organization and inventory checks. If he worked on another project, it was a completely different project that stood on its own, so they could keep things linear on the previous thing. Alas, this called for him to play efficient, and accept that he was skilled enough to not need to keep to this line.

Walking over to the far wall with the portioned metals in hand to the crucible that had started to heat earlier, Flatline's fingers curled around the latch, and he pulled it open with a heave. Instantly hot air flooded out into the laboratory, the copper coils blazing as electricity curled through them, and the chamber below was sheathed in a ring of white hot energy. He shied back initially at the flow of heat, his eyes squinting some, before he took the first portion of metal that had been weighed out.

With care, he slid it down between the metal coils, and it started to warm instantly within the magnetic vortex in its center. He let go a moment later, the metal bobbing and clipping inside the rings. It didn’t take long for the Cybertronian compound to change shape from a sharp edged cube, to a rounder blob, before he flicked a switch and it dropped down into the crucible, liquefied.

"You should come over, maybe you'll learn something."

He said sassily, unable to hold his tongue fully.

[Knock Out]

Luckily for Flatline, Knock Out didn't seem to notice the annoyance that'd been betrayed by the ever so slight twitch of his fingertips. His gaze had drifted elsewhere, looking around the room at the various cabinets that he'd been snooping through not too long ago. Ah, how he wished he could get another chance like he'd had – and would silently chastise himself for not looking further when he'd had the opportunity to do so.

Of course, these thoughts did not last long as Flatline slamming the table again snapped his attention back – making him flinch, and he'd tense his shoulders in both surprise and defense, frowning as he looked back at what Flatline was doing. So much for 'now we wait'... Ah well, Flatline knew what he was doing, surely.

“Might as well, if there's nothing else to do.” He gave a gentle shrug, relaxing his tense posture. Part of him wished that he could trust Flatline to just get on with it unsupervised – that way he could return to his own Medical Bay and catch up on the paperwork he'd fallen behind on while trying to repair this himself. But alas, he wanted to stay in the room with Flatline as he worked, mostly to make sure that this was done correctly.

Although, he wouldn't watch Flatline as he moved away. It wasn't like Flatline would dare risk messing up the alloy itself – not with how precious and valuable those metals were that he'd be using. His gaze fell forward again, zoning out briefly as Flatline worked – although it would not last, as Flatline spoke up again.

“Ooh, careful, now.” He purred. “Watching and learning was one of the first steps in my long road to becoming the Chief Medical Officer. Wouldn't want me catching on to this too quick and putting you out of a job now, would we?” He gave a chuckle, making his way over toward the crucible so he could watch.

[Flatline]

"Creating an alloy of this nature... you should already know, but if you don’t? I consider it a service to our people so that you aren’t completely inept."

A catty tone, a wicked grin, he smirked while he said this, before he flicked the switch again and dropped the next chunk of metal in to the crucible. Just like the first chunk, this one warped shapes within the magnetic field, before plunking down to join the other in the small basin below to mix with the previously melted metal. He would place a few cubes of the Cybertronian metal in, before he started to place aluminum in next. This metal liquefied extremely quickly compared to the others, and started to mix cleanly into the previously melted materials, some discoloration and choppy plates seeming to form on its top edge where it touched the air.

Flatline would continue this process until all the chunks of metal were gone, letting them mix in the lower basin. After he no longer needed to flash melt the larger pieces, he turned off the switch a final time, and grabbed the side handle to pull the coiled apparatus back and away, exposing the basin below where the molten metal was churning and mixing.

Heat billowed out from the molten metal, to a point Flatline was squinting to try to shy away from it, and his secondarys were tucked close to his chest to try to keep them safe in the unlikely chance a drop of metal would go flying and happen to land on him. The mixing process wasn’t that fast however, so it should all theoretically remain contained. With this processing, he reached to a small storage directly beside the furnace, and pulled out a canister of compressed gasses.

"So tell me, why DO I add argon gas?"

He purred this out tauntingly; knowing damn well that Knock Out would more likely than not know it removes the air bubbles from the aluminum to help it be more uniform in structure. After he said this, he snapped the canister onto the side of the crucible, where it injected the gas while the metal mixed. With this in place, he would then retrieve some jars of powdered metal from the same storage, and start to measure out portions of titanium, magnesium, and a few less rare Cybertronian compounds that should help this alloy patch together plenty strong later on.

As Flatline had warned, this mix... it wouldn’t be as lightweight as a normal wheel rim, but Knock Out was in such a rush that didn’t seem to be a concern. It would be apparent though due to the mix that was being made, that some of the fillers and add-ins not really lightweight components.

[Knock Out]

“Oh please, anyone can make an alloy – it's the forging of basically an entire wheel in the time allocated that I'm interested about.” He smirked. There was a compliment in there somewhere depending on how Flatline took it, then again time was ticking away and they still had a lot to do - so Flatline hadn't warranted any respect or praise just yet, and wouldn't until Knock Out saw some results.

He wouldn't offer any assistance, simply standing to the side and observing. He didn't really have to, he trusted Flatline was at least able to do this part right – especially with the precious materials he was working with - but he didn't trust Flatline not to do something sneaky and underhanded somewhere in this process.

Given the heat that was radiating, he'd stand a ways back – not far enough that he couldn't see what was going on, but far enough that the warmth wasn't enough to affect him any. He didn't want it to ruin his finish or the wax that coated him, that stuff was expensive and very hard to come by!

“Oooh, questions!” He feigned some excitement, amusement flooded his field. “Do I get extra credit if I'm correct?” He purred, splaying his fingertips to his chassis. Sadly for Flatline, he did know the answer to this question. “The answer is to remove air bubbles from the metal.” He stated matter-of-factly. Okay so he didn't know the rest of the answer, but that was the main reason, the uniform of structure was just a minor detail.

He'd watch as Flatline moved to gather more supplies, and his brow would furrow into a frown.

“Ah, are all those really necessary? I mean I know you said it wouldn't exactly be lightweight but...” He'd gesture to the materials in a 'really?' motion, his voice tapering off. It wouldn't be a big deal in the grand scheme of things and he really had no grounds to be picky considering what a huge favor this was, but it'd take a little getting used to – especially if he was going to be racing. Which he totally was.

[Flatline]

Oh Flatline was just the right amount of egotistical to pick up on that little comment, his smirk still in full play. He completely intended to weasel out more compliments from Knock Out by this project's end, as he figured he would damn well deserve it. With this bit of confidence and arrogance fueling him, he continued to work while the medic spoke, his gaze flicking back momentarily.

"Oh look, it does know things."

He teased with a healthy dose of mockery on top of an overly kind tone of voice. Flatline would chuckle at the end of this, before turning back to the mixture to measure out the next powdered metals to add into the slowly churning mass that was forming. While Knock Out asked his question, the black and red mech hummed softly in thought for a brief moment, before he found words he approved of.

"Well, since you cannot fathom going through the twelve or more hours needed to properly heat treat the material and strengthen it... you are going to be stuck with a heavier wheel. But hey, silver lining, if you decide to heat treat this thing in your spare damn time, your wheel will be able to take more damage than any other in this ship."

He scoffed. This mix of metals was... horribly over the top. The materials that were needed to be strong enough to take hard landings after transformation, and travel well on the road over bumps and other obstacles, WITHOUT going through heat treatment... were expensive and just... way too much. Honestly, Flatline could use this mixture to make a shield if he wanted to at this point. Something that could deflect medium ammunition and protect its user with ease, maybe even against harder blasts. But nooo... instead he was giving a flashy bitch the means to not face consequences and have to walk to the mines after ticking off Megatron.

Finally, Flatline added in some flux once satisfied with the alloy, the surface of the metal clumping with aluminum oxide and small pebble like pieces of excess from the Cybertronian materials. He would typically skim this, but for now he left it as a shield or a cap for the liquid, so he could turn and work on the mold and keep the mixture nice.

Without a word, Flatline returned back to the previous table, stepping around Knock Out in the process. He seemed calm, almost taking his time at this point despite the rush, though... that was mostly because some things just simply couldn't be rushed. With this in mind, he reached a hand up, tapping the bubbled mess with the tip of a curved claw. It seemed solid, the material clicking at the contact and making a sort of hollow sound.

[Knock Out]

Knock Out scoffed quietly with a chuckle, rolling his optics at Flatline's response to his correct answer. Thankfully, he wasn't easily offended and ah, he was having so much fun with this conversation even despite the sarcastic undertone that didn't seem to leave. That was just how they were, even when being civil to one another. It was refreshing in a way!

“Well, obviously - I didn't get the position of Chief Medical Officer by sleeping my way to the top.” He flashed a wink, picking at his digits with a soft vent of a sigh. “Probably would've gone a lot faster if I had. Not to mention it would've been way more fun than doing it the old fashioned way.” He chuckled, just to show that he was joking. He knew Flatline was a prude and so was mostly just saying things that'd make him cringe and squirm. That, and he loved any excuse to yet again remind Flatline that a lot of his rise up through the ranks had been due to talent and skill – something that Flatline seemed to assume he lacked.

“And it's not that I cannot fathom waiting, I do know how to be patient you know... but I do have a schedule to keep to, and my presence has been summoned to assist in the new mines. I've already angered Megatron once, I'd rather not do it two days in a row.” He grumbled before pausing, as if mulling over the rest of what Flatline had said. “And oh? Mm – maybe I will then, simply so the materials don't go to complete waste. Full potential and all that.” That comment certainly piqued his interest, and while it would be weird having one wheel so much stronger than the others, maybe he could use that to his advantage while out racing.

He'd simply watch quietly after that, not moving any closer due to the potential of the heat ruining his polish, but he could see just fine from over where he was stood. Another lull in conversation, his optics narrowing some as he thought back to what he'd seen in the moments when Flatline had left the room. While he didn't think the other mech would divulge what exactly it was he was working on, maybe Knock Out could angle his questions in such a way that he could possibly work it out through subtle clues and snippets of conversation. 

“So.. Tell me, is this task the most exciting job you've had for a while? Can't say I ever really hear of the Science Wing really doing much...” There was probably good reason for that, but ah, he could feign naivety on the off-chance it made Flatline talk about things he was doing.