[ti]Ep 2.5[/ti]From the Wreckage [Closed]

[Flatline]

Why was his helm swimming so much? Everything felt like it had been a waterlogged dream he endured... but some of it had to be true right? Or maybe not... it was hard to really put two and two together, but Flatline was trying, and he was struggling so much while his processor tried to boot online that he didn’t really understand Knock Out's reply right away.

Oh right... he had asked about his leg...

Coming back to the conversation after a second, Flatline's pale red optics shifted down to attempt to look at his limb again, though as with the first time, it was blocked out by the mass of his upper torso entirely and the fact he couldn't sit upright to remedy this. This passing glance was met with a softer ex-vent of defeat, before he then looked back up at Knock Out and tried to take in what was said, grateful to hear his leg was still there, though... now he worried about what STATE the limb was in.

Flatline only then seemed to truly SEE Knock Out for the first time this day.

He had registered it was the red and gold mech a few moments prior, but he had not actually REGISTERED the information past his general frame and that he was nearby. Now however that his processor was slowly slugging up to speed, did he finally look at the mech's face, the white plates of metal etched across and damaged with a garish scratch. This caused Flatline's features to twist in confusion, trying to understand what had even happened, and possibly even looking a bit concerned beneath the grimace.

"What happened to you."

A question that was stated with so little inflection it bordered an odd statement. Knock Out was so pretentious, he was so pampered and took such good care of himself, that the idea he would allow his faceplate to be mutilated like that was some surreal abomination. That seemed to weird Flatline out more than anything else, his spinning thoughts skidding to a halt to lock down onto this new issue and try to push the square peg through the round hole of figuring out what happened.

Then Knock Out's question caught up.

Rolling his helm back against the berth, since it had lifted a bit to stare incredulously at the other mech, Flatline now peered up at the ceiling.

"Just, tired..."

A croaked statement, his voice falling down to a haggard grit while his eyes closed.

"...Helm spins... eyes itch... focus difficult..."

Lips parted then, air sucking in through gnarled dental plates that were ragged and sharp, small bits of blue flecked along the connecting points where the plates attached to his framework. He passed the air through his vents with a huff, before his eyes opened again and he furrowed his brows.

"I scratched you?..."

Some memories were there and catching up.

Patience would be powerful here, since Flatline was not firing on all cylinders.

[Soundwave]

Knock Out was uneased.

Flatline was slowly booting up, that much Soundwave could tell. Small flicks of electrical currents, tiny twitches that were borderline invisible... The smallest clues added up and were building as the mech started to become conscious, but at the same time Knock Out's own mind seemed to be racing. On what, it was impossible to say... but his posture, his intense stare, the lashing flinches of his mind churning and twisting in thrashes... Patience, patience is what was needed here, and Soundwave knew it would take time even if it was a bit problematic.

Something made abundantly clear once Flatline did rouse more.

A few questions followed by some information, all formed as a garbled response. The black and red scientist was indeed far from fully functioning just yet. His systems seemed to be labored and struggled, mind acting like an out of date computer lagging online while countless other programs battle for first place in the boot up process. It was borderline absurd and was unusual, though it was unclear if this was a result of the disease, the countless injuries and pain killers, or if it was simply Flatline or all of the above.

Soundwave could not relate with this sort of labored awakening, it clashing violently with his own boot-up process. Then again, other than when he was put down for surgery to remove the abnormality, and other such procedures, he didn't typically tend to fully go to sleep. Cautious alert, a thin tendril of consciousness flicked out to keep aware of movement around him that was not one of his cassettes. With his sort of rank, power, and status in the Decepticons, he was bound to make enemies, and anyone foolish enough to try anything during his resting hours would not make it very far. So this bit here with Flatline? Just seemed unnatural to him.

Taking a few ghosting steps forward, Soundwave eased into a better position, continuing to watch the two while the Vehicon remained nearby and ready.

[Knock Out]

While Flatline mulled over the question that'd been asked, Knock Out turned his attention back to the machine beside the other mech. Vitals were still good, and things seemed to be remaining in a normal state now he'd been awake and 'alert' for a few moments. There was no stress on Flatline's systems anywhere that he could tell - at least from the readouts.

So far so good.

He knew he had to be patient when it came to this – choosing any wording carefully in a way that wouldn't confuse or overwhelm Flatline. They needed more answers into the rogue coding that'd been found, and Flatline was, hopefully, the one able to provide them for now. The next few moments were crucial, but they couldn't wait forever. Who even knew how many others had been infected with this thing – who even knew how many others were on the brink of turning completely feral.

Flatline's words pulled Knock Out's gaze away from the glyphs and readouts, optics narrowed almost into a glare. What happened to you?

What happened to you?

Didn't he remember what he'd done?!

His faceplate remained neutral and calm, but his denta were grit together in irritation as he took a slow vent inward. Calm. Stay calm. There's a time and place for throttling Flatline for what he'd done, but definitely not here, and especially not now.

Not now.

To quell the urge to smack Flatline for the stupidity of his statement, and to even begin formulating an answer that wasn't laced in bitterness and snark, he slowly turned and made his way back to the console beside Soundwave. It wasn't evident at first what he was doing, but it soon became apparent that he was transferring an image onto one of the datapads – more specifically, a screengrab of the isolated Nanite and the mass of rogue coding that came with it.

He just had to remember that Flatline was unwell, and it was still very possible that none of this was actually his fault – just that he was unlucky enough to be the first to show actual symptoms. If it did turn out to be Flatline's fault and he knew, or could've prevented all of this, though? Well, he'd make sure Flatline would remember what he'd done for the rest of... oh, forever. 

Payback would be a bitch. 

It was with these thoughts keeping him strangely grounded that he'd swivel on his heel, making his way over to Flatline.

“You can rest again in a while – once you've answered the questions I need, anyway. So I need you to try and focus for me alright?”

He probably wouldn't put Flatline back into an induced stasis once all this was over and done with – he seemed stable enough to slip into stasis on his own now that he wasn't a screaming mess. Of course, that could still change - but for now, that was the plan.

He watched as Flatline's optics opened once more – silently thankful they hadn't gone fully white again. Trying to focus on the task at hand when the question asked made him frown – shifting his weight some. There was a slight hesitation before he answered. 

“You did, yes.”

He paused again, trying to think. He could ask Flatline if he remembered anything else of the incident, but he didn't really need to because he was unfortunately there in the moments prior to Flatline snapping, and the moments after. Which in hindsight was probably a good thing, he got to witness it all himself rather than have some useless Vehicon jabbering away about white optics and craziness. 

“We can discuss that later. For now, I need you to tell me-” it was then he held up the datapad for Flatline to look at. He held it in such a way the other mech wouldn't have to strain himself to read. “Do you know what this is? Your Nanites are... Well, you can see for yourself. There are parts of code that seem to be missing, and I was wondering if you could help me figure it out. If not, maybe you know how you came to even be in this state..?”

He knew one reason it'd got to this state, and it was completely due to the petty feud between the pair. If Flatline had just ONCE swallowed his damn pride and come for an actual checkup when he first noticed strange symptoms, maybe this could've been nipped in the bud a long, long time ago. 

Sigh.

Back to the current situation and he realized that maybe he was jumping the gun in this 'being patient' thing by shoving a mass of code at Flatline in his current state. In his defense though, he and Soundwave had picked it apart and made better sense of it all, making it easier to read at a glance – well, except that part that cut off, anyway.

[Flatline]

"Ok..."

A muttered word; almost spoken as just a soft exhale more so than any real force behind it to make it audible. No matter how faint and near silent the response was however, the intention was there, that Flatline was going to try to focus and try to figure out what had happened, even if his own processor was still trying to play catch-up. There was no place to be belligerent or let petty rivalries come into play over some kind of sense of pride when things have fallen so far.

Gunshots...

Pain...

He remembered limping down a hallway, barreling through agony that tore through his hip. But what he was running from and why wasn’t entirely clear to him at this time. Were they under attack? Some ghosting memories of the speakers overhead blaring with reports was there... did the truce break?

Shockwave. The single red optic staring down at him.

Fear.

He had failed somehow... or... maybe it was simply his time to be thrown to the chopping block. Everyone knew Shockwave's reputation and his blind pursuit of scientific advancements. The Vehicons that were put beneath the knife... Flatline's role as assistant evidently didn’t protect him any, if that was what was happening here. But... why tear into him when there was an Autobot attack? Wasn't the timing inopportune?

Tuning back in when Knock Out spoke again, Flatline's hazy gaze pulled back to reality to watch as a datapad was produced seemingly from nowhere to be held up in front of him. If he was going to have to evaluate this, he wanted to try to orient himself better, and as such there was an involuntary movement that formed the instant after the pad was held out fully.

A tug against a restraint, a sharp pull from the wrist, Flatline's long claws uncurled on his right hand, flexing with a futile sort of frustration that he could not reach up and actually grasp the datapad himself. This pulling tug was paired with a snorted grunt as he attempted to move more than just that, wanting to sit upright. As with his arm, this was futile, there a creak of restraints, a soft whirl of internals trying to spin into motion but failing to do so... It ended with Flatline's helm clunking back flush against the slab of metal, features twisting a bit in frustration, gnarled teeth bared to the open air in an all too familiar sneer.

Why was he strapped down like some CRIMINAL!?

Was Knock Out REALLY so petty about being scratched he felt the need to bind him to a medical table like an experiment!?

Angry thoughts surged through his processor suddenly, a momentary burst of aggression that was paired with a low growling noise.

No... no... he had to focus here, this information had something to do with him?

Pale red eyes slid back over then to look at the datapad, trying to read the torn apart information.

"That's too much code for a Nanite..."

Dumbfounded, a sort of blanket statement.

As disoriented as he may be, Flatline still knew his way around a Cybertronian's systems, and he knew roughly how much data could be shoved into the tiny bit of mechanics. Short answer?... not that much... He hadn't even tried to read the actual process itself yet though, before he glanced to the unedited raw and frankly confusing data that was on the side. It was only then Flatline seemed to truly focus up, and some real clarity began to form. His eyes narrowed and the focusing rings in his optics cycled a few times with a few twitching movements. He once again tried to sit up a bit, but this time, his secondary's reached up, the small hands clutching onto the bottom edge of the Datapad to try to guide Knock Out's hands closer so he could get a better look.

"This looks like that afts work..."

He grumbled, thinking back to his days before he had been flung into stasis.

"Obnoxious shorthand... Fiddly slag..."

A tired gaze then slid back to the edited version that made the coding actually more visible. As he processed this, or... more... he tried to, he started to get more frustrated, a hoof like ped pulling up then with a scrape of metal only to be halted by a restraint, and a soft muted clink of the quills down his back trying to go on end in irritation only to tap against the table. He wanted, no needed to be upright at this point. He wanted to orient himself and think properly. His next words growled out a bit in his irritation.

"Sit me up."

[Knock Out]

Knock Out was quiet as he held the datapad, trying to keep it still just on the off chance that Flatline's vision was spinning or fuzzier than normal due to whatever this whole thing was.

The tug on the restraints was noted, his optics darting to them almost like he was fearful they weren't going to hold. But they did. A good thing – considering a growl followed this failed attempt. A growl that made Knock Out tense, optics narrowing into a gentle frown.

He understood Flatline's frustration, especially if he was still piecing together everything that'd happened, but... Surely he had to know he was restrained for his own safety, not to mention everyone elses. If they couldn't work out what this thing was and Flatline was due to snap again? What good would he be? What use to the Decepticons? A weapon to throw at the Autobots – attacking them mindlessly until they offlined him? Even Knock Out thought that was cruel.

The growl seemed to be nothing more than a noise of frustration though, he hadn't snapped again. Optics weren't fully white. No snarled rasps... No, he was still normal.

He'd nod at the obviousness of Flatline's statement, resisting the urge to follow it with a sarcastic comment. He was watching Flatline's faceplate more than anything, watching as he studied the code – taking note of his reaction and response to it on a physical level even without words spoken.

At least he was focused – or at least, could focus. His secondaries reached out, and while Knock Out didn't want to hand him the datapad, he allowed himself to be eased closer – his arm extending some and holding the datapad closer so Flatline could see better.

“That aft? Who? Shockwave?”

He wasn't sure why Shockwave was the first to come to mind, he knew Flatline revered the purple scientist and would never in a million years call him such things – even with the knowledge that Shockwave had almost killed him.

Maybe it was because Shockwave was really the only one he thought was capable of doing something like this. An experiment gone awry – he knew damn well Shockwave wasn't above experimenting on their own troops, why would Flatline be any different?

Movement from Flatline then made Knock Out frown, and he eased his arm away – setting the datapad down on the small table beside the medical berth.

“Alright, but the restraints will have to remain in place. Safety reasons, I'm sure you understand.”

He didn't like the fact Flatline had growled and was seemingly irritated, he knew rage had something to do with this whole thing and he didn't want Flatline to somehow be pushed into the state he had been back on the Nemesis.

“Just give me a moment here...”

While he spoke, he moved to the other side of the berth, pulling a small lever that eased up the top half of the berth so that Flatline was now sitting. He adjusted the angle just a little so it would be mostly comfortable, then made his way back to retrieve the datapad – holding it up again at optic-level so Flatline could see it again.

[Flatline]

Shockwave?

No...

As much as Flatline was scared the scientist had experimented on him, the memories of that most recent encounter skewed and distorted, he still revered him. The Head of Science was so skilled, so talented. The advancements he had made in technology were unmatched, unthrottled by morals or ethics, shedding the chains that held so many others at bay. No... Flatline almost worshiped him, absolutely thrilled he was able to work beneath him, or... he did worship, that emotion now corrupted with a bit of fear that he was too blind to see before.

"No... not Shockwave..."

He grumbled, before he made his request to be sat upright so he could evaluate the datapad a bit more aggressively. This was thankfully granted, but it appeared to be given with a condition that he would remain strapped down. That somewhat took away a lot of the point behind his request, Flatline unable to really work or grab the datapad or rest into a more natural hunched posture... no... it seemed he was going to be stuck stretched out flat on the slab, which wasn't the most natural state for his spinal strut, it making him feel extra vulnerable with his stomach not protected by an angled frame. Color him surprised then when the slab he was on, was able to angle just his upper body up a bit, which was significantly better and quelled his frustration a bit.

Frowning, Flatline's form eked and shifted ever so slightly once he was pushed into the new position, light scrapes sounding out while his body settled and he became far more comfortable. The partial crook in the makeshift bed, made it so that the vulnerability he thought he would be stuck with was somewhat gone, even if he couldn't move his arms or legs. Or... at least not his primary arms. The small secondary's that wouldn’t really have the power behind them to be any kind of a threat ((it on par with Knock Out trying to arm wrestle Megatron)) then lifted up. The tiny pronged fingertips once more gripped onto the bottom edge of the Datapad, angling it so that he could view it best given the lighting that reflected off the slick surface.

"Back on Cybertron after the war, I focused on being a Trauma surgeon."

He spoke slowly, pale red eyes looking over the datapad absently. With Knock Out supporting the device, he would let go of the lower frame, raising a claw to gingerly push the screen with the back of a talon so that he could scroll down.

"Upon exodus, I was packed away with other scientist's and medics, to be shuttled to a new research base, but we were denied proper directions."

While he spoke, he seemed almost missing from the conversation, his thoughts drifting away some to pause occasionally between elaborations.

"I tried to take lead, while others grasped their own fate and took escape pods, but... there were not enough..."

Rolling his helm back, Flatline's small secondary palms splayed onto the Datapad, shoving it away from him with complete dismissal, his tired gaze peering across the room.

"Resources dwindled, and cannibalism became the norm. Allies and friends were now Energon drains, or a source for sustenance."

Flatline's voice faltered at this, not enjoying bringing it up, not liking talking about what brought him to Earth. It was at this point his mind seemed to meander a bit, and his eyes partly closed, thoughts drifting away from the subject at hand while his secondaries loosely curled as best as they could against his chest, despite being strapped together at the wrist.

[Soundwave]

Quiet. Still. Soundwave did nothing to draw attention to himself, his frame as stationary as a statue in his attempt to simply bleed into the surrounding environment. He did not wish for his presence to be an influence, he didn’t want to stress Flatline out more than he probably already was. For all they know any heightened emotion could start to push over his mind to aggression, or... that’s how it felt in his own frame.

Elevated emotions, tipping over to frustration, which toppled over into aggression... Aggression warping maliciously into a cynical lash out of destruction... no... Soundwave intended to remain as absent as possible, the only way Flatline really connecting and recognizing his presence, being if he looked directly at him again and put two and two together in his addled mind. Given he was having issues simply focusing? It didn’t seem that would be a problem.

Drifting, sliding... Flatline appeared to have some real issues keeping on task and narrowing to the point the more he spoke. While the story was linear, and made sense, its exact connection to the datapad and the disease like corruption was getting lost the further he went. Evidently this all had something to do with the other scientists of some sort on that ship, but... it was being lost behind what Flatline had endured.

Soundwave wanted a NAME. He wanted something he could directly sift through the database and try to hunt down. There were no records as far as he had on the ship Flatline had boarded, and so trying to find a list of its inhabitants to work off of was an almost impossible goal. He had to simply be patient, and it was starting to irritate a bit, which he completely understood as his own illness.

He had enough insight now to understand this fully.

Typically he would be extremely patient, letting the individual ramble, and allowing them to paint a broader picture. Their idle commentary and discussion could reveal more between the lines and give him details that could link up to other things in the future, and help give him a better grasp on what their Decepticons could do and were capable of. But no... he wanted a POINT, and he had to try to occupy himself so he did not become too restless, choosing to let Knock Out try to steer Flatline back on track.

Compiling a quick message, Soundwave fired a quick update to their current 'Lord'. It was brief, and to the point, as with any of his notifications. It informed that Flatline was conscious, and that he seemed to have a lead on the potential source of the disease. They were currently finding out more, and to expect an update shortly.

[Knock Out]

Not Shockwave?

Well there went his one and only idea.

Knock Out quirked a brow, humming quietly in absent thought. Eh, it made sense - the more he thought on it, the more he realized that with how brilliant the Head of Science was, if he were to do something like this, it probably would’ve been done a heck of a lot differently. For one, it’d be neater - he probably would’ve been able to contain it - or, at the very least? He wouldn’t have made it so obvious it was him if it did run rampant. He wouldn’t be foolish enough to have something that could harm the Decepticons as a whole, surely?

Flatline knew who’d done this, well - maybe not, but even despite the fact he’d just woken up he recognized the coding as being particular to someone, which was a start in sorting the whole mess out.

His processor wandered some, wondering just who it could’ve been. Nobody on the Nemesis that he was aware of - aside from Shockwave who’d already been confirmed as not the author of the code - could do something like this. Starscream had a background in science, had his obsessive desire to overthrow Megatron been the catalyst for this? No - he would’ve bragged. There were others - Sparkplug, but her knowledge was in weapons manufacture… Vega? No… Hm.. A genius Vehicon hiding among their ranks?

That’d be a first.

He’d lost himself in his thoughts and ponderings, allowing the Datapad to be gripped and eased into another position, not fighting back against it any if Flatline needed a different angle to read it better. His own grip on the Datapad was not so hard that Flatline couldn’t move it as needed, but was just enough he couldn’t yank it away from him.

Only when the words ‘Back on Cybertron’ were heard did Knock Out realize that whoever had done this might not be someone he knew, and he turned his gaze back to Flatline, venting out a sigh.

Mm. If Flatline was starting this story with ‘Back on Cybertron’ they’d be here all day, he realized - and he most certainly did not have the time for that. He’d listen for now though, hoping Flatline would cut to the chase with this - give a name early on or some other clue.

But it did not happen.

He’d let the other mech talk, though. To start the story behind the mess they were in now. A glance made to the vitals on the machine beside him, everything still normal as Flatline recalled memories from the past, before the cherry-red mech turned his attention back to his patient. Cannibalism? Yikes. It wasn’t unheard of - but still, inwardly he cringed.

“Flatline, I appreciate the backstory but we do have a slight time issue on our hands here - who wrote the code?”

Hopefully the ‘why’ would come with that answer, other than the obvious that whoever it was was an ‘aft’ according to Flatline - but then again, aaah, he probably thought that about most.

[Flatline]

"Hn?..."

Drifting thoughts, skewed consciousness... Flatline seemed to tune back in when Knock Out spoke, his paled optics settling on the other medic while he tried to catch up and realize what had gone wrong. He was telling a cohesive story! As far as he could tell he wasn't being confusing or going out of line, only... no... wait... he did stray from the topic a bit, getting latched down onto a separate train of thought. Seemingly realizing this, he let out a soft sigh.

"Ah... well..."

The small secondaries gently gripped the bottom edge of the Datapad again, the thumb claw sliding gently across the screen as if trying to clear dust off its surface that wasn't there. His half lidded eyes stared lazily at the mess of information.

"On that ship was Switchback. He specialized in finding workarounds and trying to make excising components do more than they were ever meant to do."

His jaw twisted a bit at this, the gnarled and chipped dental plates scraping in a sort of idle motion, essentially grinding them lightly and displaying just how they got as ragged as they were in the first place. While Flatline tended to not do this in front of others, finding it improper and a rather bad habit of his, he wasn't really in the mental space to realize what he was doing while he fought through the mental haze, his lower jaw sliding sideways and back.

"I remember he was trying to code Nanites to construct auxiliary organs to improve a soldier, without taking the time to go under the blade. Give an injection, and move on to next in line... but his work never got far. Always abominations... always issues..."

And boy... there were some MAJOR issues.

"Most had their systems clogged up with so many duplicates of the intended device, they tore their innards out when they transformed. Gutting themselves."

That was perhaps the most spectacular fail of a proof of concept Flatline had the displeasure to witness. Others gawking in horror, some laughing, it was meant to be a success, to show the added horsepower and initial OOMPH gifted from a simple injection the week prior. The only boon from it all really was the fact it was done to a drone, effectively an un-awakened Vehicon, and not to someone who was truly cognitive and conscious. The amount of pain that would have been endured would be something else entirely. Flatline would rather be ran through by a blade and killed that way, than go through what he witnessed that thing endure.

"I never worked on his projects, but he helped me shorthand some coding once... This reminds me of him."

There was the eventual point.

While it had been a bit of a trip to get here, it could have been substantially worse all things considered. He took a couple detours and added more detail than was necessary, but he managed to successfully share what he knew right off the tip of his processor, and was willing to divulge more if he could. That said, he would probably need to be prompted specifically to root anything else out, for he started to drift again, and seemed more focused with the fact he was still shackled down and not freed.

A lazy flex of the hand, a slow shift of his leg... Flatline fidgeted slowly in place, his helm rolling to the side to peer across the room, before he drifted back to looking at Knock Out, only to peer down. It was then he seemed to tune into the fact that now that he was sitting upright, he could actually SEE his legs. Sharply, the white pinpricks in his optics cycled a moment, before focusing down and staring at his limbs.

One looked fine! One looked normal! There was the red external cables, the flaring of the knee cap... the hock and small slope down to the peds which were asymmetrical hoof prongs... and then the other side?... the other side looked like it had been blended.

Oh sure, it had all the same things! But it was all twisted and different. There were the external cables that carried fuel down to the lower limb, but one had been replaced by a yellow tube, the other holding a coupling to re-attach it. The prongs of the hoofs had some scrapes marred onto the top, from being drug along the ground, while the hock and shin seemed to be canted at a slight angle. The most notable difference however, was the knee guard itself. It was a functional cap for the cables to connect to, but the spiked flaring and shape of it was blunted and replaced, while silver weld lines streaked over its surface in a wild spider web that trailed up his thigh a bit.

Flatline couldn't think of anything to say, so really he just let out a flat-

"Uhh..."

[Soundwave]

A name.

Instantly Soundwave plunged into his records, starting to pluck and pull any individual named 'Switchback' that he had heard even the briefest of mention of. It was not necessarily an uncommon name however, and there were a quite a few out there. Some laborers and a towerling who had since been marked as deactivated, an Autobot that’s current status was unknown, a few idle notes of individuals pre-war that never made it to join a cause nor had their names appear again, more likely than not the victims of bombings or initial attacks... But then there was one that was casually mentioned under Decepticon records, mashed into a slew of others who volunteered themselves into science roles and underwent additional training. It was apparent this must be the individual at even a cursory glance.

Records during the war, they could be exceptionally spotty. A few mentions here, a few bits of commentary there... spackled with long stretches of absence between official reports and log updates. Soundwave could make it appear as if he knew everything that happened in this war, he could fake it and trick individuals into thinking he was an omnipotent GOD who somehow seemed to magically acquire every ounce of data ever recorded under the Decepticon name, but the truth of the matter was he more had a rough approximation.

Major events, large scale missions or tasks, they were meticulously tracked and logged. But smaller independent outposts tended to get shuffled under the radar, and the reports they did send were minimal. They tended to be general updates on the larger, more successful projects, to try to garner favor for additional resources or personnel to be delivered to their location. Boast about the good, brag about accomplishments, while hiding the failures. This meant that despite now having a name, and seeing the crumb trail that joined Flatline and this individual's paths long ago, his efforts at that junction were one of the unreported incidents.

There had never been any mention of a drone tearing itself apart in transformation.

The project was an ambitious one however. A rather clever idea if it could have been perfected, but... the issue was every individual was so unique, that finding a cure-all to solve a specific task was more likely than not folly. If it worked, Switchback's name may have became a well known staple of sciences, and everyone would potentially be partaking of his inventions, but, as they see now, he was basically thrown away to have his legacy rot. His memory would’ve probably died with Flatline and any other stragglers who departed on those escape pods, if it were not for whatever they were dealing with now.

If he had made it intentionally into a weapon, he may have salvaged this reputation... was this his goal? Or was this simply a mistake? It was a question that they were probably not going to be able to find answer to, unless somehow Flatline knew more, or there were records somewhere in the abyss.

Silently, white text flickered up onto Soundwave's visor, a simple request that was directed at Knock Out to hopefully ask of Flatline. He considered using a word file to just ask himself, or to step forward and make his presence known, but once again he was choosing to remain stationary, to not overwhelm Flatline when he was trying to be open and talk to Knock Out. While Soundwave was fairly confident he already knew the answer to this, it would be beneficial to get a solid conclusion.

Switchback: Status?

[Knock Out]

Knock Out gave Flatline the second he needed to get back on track with his story. Normally he would’ve loved to take advantage of a moment like this, and would’ve done so gladly - using it to pry some into Flatline’s history - a firsthand account of things! He knew bits and pieces of what it was Flatline did back before and during the war, sure, but it was mainly only things he’d been told by Flatline himself, which... unfortunately wasn’t much.

Of course, he could go through records - or, well… could’ve. While he was sure Soundwave had backed up a lot of the records from the Nemesis, that wasn’t a guarantee in his current state. Either way, snooping through records was the easy way out - it wasn’t fun. It wasn’t the same as hearing the juicy details told to you in person!

Alas, though, he also had to keep on the task at hand - time was of the essence here and the more Flatline rambled about days past, the more time was lost to the rogue coding that was still very much in Flatline’s system probably corrupting his Nanites even now.

Something Knock Out was trying not to think about right at this second.

His grip on the Datapad was loose, but still enough that if Flatline tried to snatch it away he’d find himself unable. Even if he couldn’t do much damage with his secondaries, given the fact their home had just crashed into the ocean it wasn’t like Datapads would be quite the luxury they once were - well, that, and even with the fact his secondaries were weak, Knock Out didn’t exactly want to find himself getting smacked across the helm with a Datapad today.

Flatline had done enough damage already.

But, he was slowly redeeming himself by staying on topic this time. The name was given quickly, and Knock Out would quirk a brow. Unfortunately, before the war, he didn’t personally dabble in science or medicine, and even when he did? He didn’t care much for others and their work - and so the name rang no bells. If this was some famous scientist known for his methods and accomplishments that Flatline was speaking about now, Knock Out had no idea.

The grinding noise of Flatline’s denta made him frown gently in concern. As the CMO he should’ve probably scolded him for that bad habit, but he didn’t dare speak while Flatline recalled past events - not wanting to sidetrack him.

A shuddered grimace at the mention of his subjects effectively gutting themselves when they transformed. How absolutely barbaric - he could only wonder who sanctioned such things. Then again, desperate times and all… The Decepticons weren’t above experimenting, that much was certain. Knock Out had heard rumors, but it was one of those things that unless you were directly involved you didn’t question or comment. Or at least he didn't.

Flatline eventually tapered off with the details, going quiet once more. They’d gotten a name and a basic confirmation that the code belonged to this ‘Switchback’ person. Even in his current state, Flatline had recognized it near instant, so Knock Out didn’t really doubt his words. Another clue, another small answer to this overall puzzle.

He glanced to Soundwave then, to try and see what the Spymaster thought of it all. He was sure the navy mech was going through logs to try and find information on the culprit behind the code and pulling relevant details up with it. Any moment now his visor would light up with details, reasons why, maybe even the code or treatment needed to overwrite and undo all this mess!

But it did not happen.

The name flashed up, and a question… Soundwave didn’t know. He- he didn’t have the answers that Knock Out had hoped he would’ve.

Gah, they were so close!

The confused noise from Flatline drew his gaze back - and he took note of the fact the mech was staring dumbly at his leg. Oh, right, that.

“Ah, yes. Well - given I was taken against my will to repair you in the upside down whimsical world deathtrap of the Nemesis, I had to… make do and fix you up with what supplies I could find in Shockwave’s lab.” he droned, venting out a sigh.

“Don’t worry, it looks a lot worse than it actually is. The point is, you’re stable and I’m fairly certain you can probably still walk - it’s all cosmetic, and once we work out this mess with this coding I can see to fixing it up a little more. Primus only knows how ashamed I am of that welding job! But, well, it was that or you offline for good, so, lesser of two evils!”

Always look on the bright side, Flatline. At least he’d been fixed up. Knock Out was still sporting the rather unattractive scratch marks across his faceplate. Sure would love to get those fixed up some time this year, thank you very much!

Awkwardly he’d clear his throat then, optics shifting from the scary-looking-but-it’s-mostly-fixed leg back to Flatline’s faceplate.

“Speaking of the uh, rogue coding. Switchback - where is he now? What happened to him?” a pause, he straightened up some “Please keep it brief.”

[Flatline]

"Did... Breakdown do this to me?"

Flatline spoke in a rather flat tone of voice, some of his memories coming back. He thought he remembered Breakdown doing this, or was it Skywarp? The WHO exactly seemed a bit blurred, but he remembered both of the brutes being there, and how both had more than enough capability to do something like that to his leg. Really, if one of them had done the damage, he was probably pretty lucky he even still HAD a leg, and he wouldn’t be stuck with an awkward prosthetic like attachment for him to limp on until he could get back to his laboratory to slowly manufacture a new one over the course of a couple months.

Oh... wait... the lab was gone...

Features scrunching up a bit in dismay at this re-remembered revelation, Flatline flexed the pronged hooves on his damaged leg, the plates flaring apart before relaxing and clicking back together softly. He even went so far as to twist his leg at the thigh just below the wheel, angling his knee out, then in a bit as far as he was able in order to get a better view of the damage, and make sure things still worked. The limb functioned, which was great! It did truly seem to be cosmetic, though once the pain killers bled out of his system, such actions probably would not be as easy, the twangs and spears of discomfort muted away at the moment.

Oh... a new question.

Looking back over, pale red optics squinted at Knock Out, seemingly irritated. Keep it brief? Really? How rude. He was helping out here; he didn’t need to be nagged! Despite the fact he really did, but... it still irritated him, the quills along his back flicking out against with a rattled click against the metal slab while his bottom jaw jutted out, exposing more of his lower dental plates that had faint traces of Energon pooling near its bottom edge.

"He was one of the first to die."

Growled out, frustrated.

"I guess a rotary saw, or so, that’s what the Energon splatters led me to believe before they were scraped clean."

He didn't witness it. Once chaos erupted Flatline was quick to try to procure shelter and try to make an area he could be safe from others should they choose him to be the next fuel sacrifice. The ship wasn't terribly large, but it was just enough so that he could maneuver and climb out of the way, avoiding the general populace as they ripped themselves asunder in blind panic over survival.

"I want to be free now."

A growl.

Flatline pulled slightly at the restraints again, teeth bared.

[Soundwave]

So this 'Switchback' was deceased. This was a two pronged issue. On one hand it was good because it meant he couldn't code more nonsense like what was happening here to hurt their team even if it was unintentional, but it was bad because they couldn’t tear into him and find a cure faster than trying to mill something out from scratch. It was inconvenient to say the least, leaving them with a lot of gaps and holes that still needed to be put together, but it did free them up that they could now look into what steps were coming next. No stalling to track a person down, no side missions only to find out they were dead anyway... it gave immediate closure. Because of this, Soundwave idly noted Deceased next to the individuals file in the records, before he closed them all back into his long-term internal storage, and started to consider then how something like this spread.

Given the act of cannibalism being practiced on that ship... it was not difficult to make an informed guess.

If Switchback had samples of the coding inside of Energon jars in his laboratory, it may have been consumed assuming they were clean before resorting to eating one another. In addition, the scientist may have been infected by his own disease towards the end there due to other issues or complications or potentially even a lack of test subjects mixed with determination to prove value. Whatever the case, the second it was within the frame of an individual, as long as that individual was eaten, than the following Cybertronian were then infected too.

Jump and skip... hopping down the line... the disease potentially fueling the hostilities and spurring the cannibalism and mass murder to new levels in savage desperation to survive... it was all speculation, Soundwave did not know, and it did not particularly matter whether it was a bloody massacre, or a slow bleeding down of the survivors. The watered down base point was that Flatline must have eaten someone who had gotten the infection inside of them, and if that meant it was transferred through Energon contact, than... how did it get to the Spymaster?

Soundwave did not interact with Flatline directly. He never was around him other than a passing glance in a hallway if their paths happened to cross. But even if they did linger around one another often, Soundwave did NOT eat in the company of others. He took his Energon ration from a communal fuel station like many others, and took it back to his quarters where he would re-fuel in peace. It was done this way so that if the communal fuel was indeed infected, they would have most of the Vehicons and personnel infected as well, so that someone like Starscream could not target poison him, without losing a huge chunk of his forces at the same time, a loss he wouldn't want to take.

Oh...

Soundwave eased upright slightly, his helm lifting a bit as the true expanse of the issue sharply settled into his processor. Everything Flatline had said violently connected then to the Nemesis, and how much absolute hell they may be plunged into if given enough time. With this in mind, his frame angled away from the injured and delirious mech, choosing instead to tilt and stand facing Knock Out completely, effectively casting the black and red scientist from his immediate interest to address their CMO.

Sharply, imagery started to pop up onto Soundwave's visor, the image starting with a small wire frame avatar of Flatline's features at the very bottom most point. This was followed by a line leading to a question glyph, after this line, it leading to a glyph for the Energon Dispensary, and then instantly fractioned out like a tree violently to a wire frame of himself, Vehicons, Eradicons, and other soldiers and troopers, including Knock Out himself. Depending on who actually ate from the same dispenser, they could have a very large issue here.

Once the image was absorbed, the screen blacked out, and his thin arm rose up from his side to point out at the other Cybertronian.

/̷/̵Test/̷/̵

[Knock Out]

The question - and name - made Knock Out pause, his features softening into a gentle frown as he nodded.

“He did, but it was needed. Who knows what damage you could’ve done to others if he hadn’t managed to cripple you and effectively stop you. I’d say you got off lucky, all things considered.” he hummed quietly in thought at that, thinking back on that moment in the Nemesis. It could’ve ended far worse for all of those involved, not just Flatline.

Even so, it was good in a way that Flatline could remember some things about what’d happened. While Knock Out wasn’t about to start poking and prodding him for answers into his mindset at that period in time, given he was there to live it himself, the fact Flatline could recollect details was a good sign indeed that his processor was undamaged, even despite being put into stasis for a bit there - and the hefty knock on his helm (and subsequent kick to the face by Knock Out himself) when the Nemesis had made impact with the ocean.

As Flatline flexed his leg, Knock Out would simply watch. While he wasn’t worried that the other mech was about to hulk out of his restraints, he was glad to see that he could still move and twist the limb a little even despite them. Although he knew he hadn’t completely crippled Flatline with the repair and made him unable to walk, it had been a small fear at the back of his processor - especially given how delicate Flatline’s limbs were. He knew he’d never live it down if he’d royally messed things up, so had made sure to be extra careful even despite how gnarly it still looked.

The irritated, squinted look was not lost on him - a look he’d given many of himself, and as such he knew it well. A quiet ‘tsk’ given in response to the fluttered quills.

The answer that was given… was not what he wanted to hear. Even though the likelihood of Switchback being around was probably slim to none by now, the slight chance of him being alive may have given them more answers - if they could’ve somehow made contact with him, anyway.

Which was unlikely. But still, there would’ve been that small glimmer of a chance. Something to cling to.

“Ouch.” his tone rather flat, considering the gruesome nature of the conversation at hand.

“Rather him than you though, eh?”

The lighthearted tone and weak smile on his face would fade at Flatline’s next words. Those, paired with the growl and the tug at the restraints? Not good.

A glance to Soundwave was made as he, too, moved. Assuming the movement of the Spymaster was due to shared concern of Flatline’s bared denta and growled words. They weren’t, it seemed, and he’d watch as images and glyphs began to appear on the inky black visor.

Even though the imagery looked complicated at first glance, it didn’t take Knock Out long to understand what was being displayed. He-

Ah.

He hadn’t even thought of that. It certainly explained how someone as careful as Soundwave had come to have gotten this thing if that was one way it was possibly spread. So when the Spymaster’s arm rose to point at him, paired with a single word - Starscream’s voice unmistakable - he faltered some, pulling the datapad away from Flatline and setting it down, all the while his attention straight ahead on Soundwave.

“Me? But- but I haven’t been displaying any signs! Surely if I had this I would’ve lashed out, or noticed a difference in my optics!”

He realized quickly that there was no point in trying to plead his case. Not against Soundwave, anyway.

“But, I will do so - if only to prove that I am perfectly fine.”

Better safe than sorry, he decided. A deep vent inward followed, and his gaze drifted to the Vehicon in the room.

“You, come over here - you’re getting tested as well.”

[Flatline]

So it WAS Breakdown who had broken his leg?

Flatline's gaze shifted back down to the limb as his previous thoughts were confirmed, dwelling over the fact it was Knock Out's little PET who had been the one to mangle him so badly. Then again, it seemed like everyone had taken a few swipes at him throughout the night, adding up to a nice laundry list of things that were now broken and beaten up. He was about to ask about other injuries he was starting to notice on his frame, to learn who was to be blamed for what, but the subject shifted and he was tasked to answer a question again.

Which he did so readily.

Only to be further ignored.

A passive comment from Knock Out; a sort of brush of a statement... that was all that had been said about his report, while Flatline's actual request was in turn snubbed and ignored in full. This was a bit distressing all things considered. He felt confined, he felt trapped, both things technically true in the scope of things. It was disconcerting in more ways than one however, but it appeared he was simply meant to accept it and not ask any more, not that such a thing would stop him. Flatline was about to speak up again, considering making his request a bit more forceful with a preface of 'I answered you, now answer me!', but before he could do so, he became aware of Soundwave, and he instantly cowed.

In some form or another, Flatline wondered if he was conscious of the other's presence before this moment. The dark shadow that clashed in the well lit laboratory, the tall figure that edged at the corner of his vision... but being vaguely aware and consciously accepting the individual as more than an illusion were two different things altogether. Because of this, Flatline's helm lowered a bit, and his bared teeth were gradually hidden behind his lips, quelling down his frustration as best as he could despite the emotion prickling at his nerves.

Pale red optics flicked sharply between the two individuals, listening as carefully as he was able in his disoriented state of mind. It appeared Knock Out was defensive.... but... what else was new if he was being accused of something? This sideways thought seemed to amuse the delusional mech, a twisted smirk peeling back into formation, while half lidded optics stared out at their CMO with a sort of smugness behind them.