[ti]Ep 2.5[/ti]Day By Day [Finale]

[Flatline]

Episode 2.5 | Week 3 | Day 5

Day by day, moment by moment, that was how Flatline was forced to live in current times, and in the end? He was lucky to even have that at this point. So easy would it be for someone to label him fully to blame, so easy would it be to torture and throw him back to the well after 'justice' was served. It would be so incredibly easy, and it would allow others to have a scapegoat to target all their ire into and find outlet. Yet... he wasn't.

At least not yet.

Other than overhearing some passive conversations, and being assigned tasks to keep close to Knock Out and not venture out alone, Flatline felt pretty much ignored. Which didn't make sense. He hadn't spoken to Starscream, he hadn't gotten an order down the chain of command for his execution... really it was eerily silent and that didn’t really work well for him. It was making him fearful, neurotic, nervous... perhaps a more confident or arguably more stupid individual would accept it as a dodged bullet, but the vast unknown and no hard FACTS was a living hell for someone so attuned to details and work.

Maybe that was his punishment.

But probably not.

Flatline was working around in the Medical Bay early in the day while he mulled this all over, his gaze downcast as his thoughts swarmed over just what would become of his fate. Part of him wondered if he should just seek Starscream or Soundwave out, to rip off the metaphorical bandaid and transition speculation to fact, but fear and cowardice locked him in his current limbo. So, he simply worked, acting as an additional aid in the Medical Bay that was now even below Knock Out's little pet, a fate that would ordinarily send him into a rage, but... he felt numb, clawed digits rubbing a dry cloth over a countertop to clean the dust acclimation for the day that was inevitable in such a cave-like environment.

Overall, the mech looked worn down, beaten, and tired, having not been getting any reasonable rest, while worry chewed him up in his waking hours. This translated into an even more hunched and haggard posture that further accented his already curved spinal strut, while gaze looked distant and sunken. The red glow of his optics was almost faded, but not in the way of illness as discovered in recent times. With this worn down state he worked on automation, finishing clearing the dust off the counter, before he grasped hold of a makeshift cane, and started to move over to a cabinet where cleaning supplies were kept with a limped gait.

Step Step Clink...

Step Step Clink...

It was slow, cautious, but once he made it to his goal he pulled the door aside, looking over what supplies they did have, and trying to think what task he should work on next on his lineup, rather oblivious to the world outside his thoughts.

[Deleted]

Ah.

There he was.

Finale remained just outside the entrance to what was being used for a medibay, almost hiding in the shadows. Her dark violet optics watched Flatline curiously.

She had been walking the Hold, just trying to occupy her mind, when movement caught her eye, and she saw the odd figure of Flatline.

When she first met him, out when they had gone to collect Downfall, she had been utterly fascinated. His frame style was so different, she had been hard pressed to place just what he did. While Finale certainly didn’t hold to the idea that one’s frame was the only thing that mattered, in war it was often quite clear what one’s role would be. If you were large, and heavy framed, more likely than not you were a fighter. If you were smaller, your contribution was normally in the sciences, or support. There were exceptions, of course.

But Flatline’s frame was very different.

There was also the matter of his obvious injury. Upon questioning the Vehicons, she discovered it had something to do with the event of losing the Nemesis. Some postulated it was Flatline himself who had brought down the airship, others said it was Soundwave, yet others declared it was a conjoined effort. There were rumours Flatline had been found gnawing on the carcass of a dead Vehicon, and others that said it was all a bid to take over in Megatron’s absence.

Finale enjoyed listening to such wild rumours, though she didn’t believe in any of them.

However, now that he appeared to be alone, or at least not being closely shadowed by anyone, this was her chance to talk to him. She would find out more in that manner than any gossip.

Pushing off from the wall, she entered the Medibay, moving near silently save for the faint tap tap of her peds on the stone floor. Once inside, the lighting moved over her frame. A mixture of blacks and dark greys, in soft swirling patterns made her appear glossy, and the lights reflected in circular patterns.

“Flatline, I believe it is? Forgive me for intruding, but I fear I haven’t had much chance to speak to you other than that day in the swamp.”

[Flatline]

Footfalls could be so distinctive between individuals, from the heavy thrum of Breakdown, to the smaller clicks of Knock Out, and everyone else in-between. It varied drastically from their mass, ped shape, and if they installed rubber grips or bumpers that could change the tones created. They were signatures in a way, unique to each individual, and so, when Flatline heard the sound of steps he did not instantly recognize, his movements stopped and his helm crooked over abruptly to see just who was entering the Medical Bay and what he could do regarding it.

For a brief moment, with the way the steps were so soft and subdued, he was terrified that it may have been Soundwave. Fearing a judgment, some kind of accusation or who knows what... for a flicker this worry may have been visible, though it swiftly faded to neutrality when he realized the dark plated individual was not the Spymaster, and instead was the femme from a few days prior.

Flatline expected her to need medical aid. An injury that needed to be tended to, or perhaps a routine checkup that they arrived too a bit too early for while Knock Out was out... or something logical that did not really equate to him. Anything else under the broad canopy of options, so color Flatline rather surprised that she was actually looking for HIM and not the shiny red and gold Cybertronian.

This confusion, just like the fear that has previously shown, was not exactly muddled or subdued to try to feign control. He had nothing to gain by acting, or playing calm and collected, wearing more of his emotions on his metaphorical sleeve, and so after it passed he simply shifted his weight so that he bore down upon his cane a bit further, while turning marginally so that he was more facing the femme instead of the open cleaning cabinet. His knee popped slightly as he turned, but he did not draw attention nor wince in discomfort, letting the limb lift some to remove the weight from the peds.

"Your guess is accurate-"

Cautiously spoken as he confirmed she got his name accurate, before continuing.

"-and you are Finale if I recall correctly?"

He wondered what it was she was seeking him for, but deep down he had a good feeling it was to probably root around the rumor wheel and go to the source of the issue. Maybe she was here to rub his 'nose' in it and cause him distress. A power trip that would go unpunished.

[Deleted]

“I am Finale, yes,” came the smiling answer.

The femme looked past Flatline to the interior of the Medical Bay. When she had first arrived, she had been given a quick tour of the place, and then, left on her own devices, she had looked around even more. Finale always made sure she knew the layout of any place she was staying. Corners, small rooms, hidey holes. Finale’s processor was constantly scanning her environment, making lists and noticing things she could use in the event of a fight.

She was always ready to fight.

The Medical Bay hadn’t been investigated yet, as she knew it wasn’t a place where people tended to visit for enjoyment. A busy place, professional and important, Finale had kept her distance, not wanting to be in the way, nor wanting to be there for her own reasons. Hospitals were not fun places.

Her optics quickly scanned the interior, marking locations such as cabinets, berths, bins and benches. She was simply making a detailed map in her mind, for no real reason other than habit.

Bringing her gaze back to Flatline, as he looked at her somewhat expectantly, she chose to ignore the popping sound she thought had come from one of his legs (it would have been extremely rude to bring that up), and Finale knew the importance of being polite.

An idea formed in her mind, and she spoke.

“I was not aware you also worked in the Medical Bay, with Knock Out. We are lucky to have two doctors should we have need of them. If you are not busy, perhaps you could help me with something?”

Raising her right arm, she gracefully turned her arm, bringing the forearm and slender wrist up, her servo lightly curled downwards, fingers relaxed.

“One of my weapons seems to be having difficulty extending properly. I noticed it last evening when I was practicing. I don’t know if it’s a medical problem, or if it simply needs oiling in some manner. It’s not severe enough to have actually bothered anyone with it, and in truth I feel a little silly even disturbing you with it, but seeing I am here....”

Head slightly lowered, she gazed upwards at him to keep optic contact.

“Or would you rather I make an appointment? I completely understand if you wish.”

[Flatline]

As Finale's name was confirmed, Flatline dipped his helm ever so slightly as a sign of recognition, and respect at having learned her name properly. There was a bit of submission in there as well, but it was more trying to keep her happy and keep her from causing any trouble for him. It would be so easy for someone to lie and get him killed, and he felt it was better to sacrifice whatever straggles of pride he had left, to try to appease the typical arrogance of a vast majority of Decepticons.

So many of their faction seemed to follow such laws and the fact she seemed polite and kind in these fleeting few moments meant absolutely nothing when it came to ones true character. It wouldn’t surprise him if her next words were a demand for him to do something, though he hoped it would be civil and nice in the process. As she began to speak again, it appeared she was buffering what was to come with a compliment, before revealing that she indeed did want something, a fact that didn’t surprise Flatline now that he was easing into the situation further.

Red eyes flicked over the femme's forearm was it was drawn up, allowing him to observe the construction of the joint, and the perceived area where a weapon would more likely than not extend. He only really offered the wrist a passing glance, before his gaze returned to Finale's own as she explained the situation. A possibly easy fix, he could begin work and have things cleaned up in no time at all, but... he was shackled, and he didn't know what he should, or shouldn't do in this situation.

Should this have been back on the Nemesis, it would be no problem. He would instruct her what to do, ask questions pertaining to when the issue started, or what her maintenance on it had been previously, but this was not his lab, and he was not free.

"Mmm yes... I would be capable of assisting, but I am under guarded supervision, and am not particularly meant to work on tasks that have not been assigned."

Long talons gently rolled in a click over the crooked top of his makeshift cane, a light noise as he tried to consider what he could and couldn’t say. He hadn't been slapped with a gag order, but this was Knock Out they were talking about, and he could change the rules on a dime and play that he should have known all along.

"Should you be dexterous with your left, I could probably guide you; otherwise I may need to contact our CMO for authorization."

A deadness in his voice at the end there.

He didn't want to call Knock Out, he didn't need him flouncing in and being noisy when things were otherwise calm... but maybe he would let him do such a simple task? It was hard to say.

[Deleted]

Finale tilted her helm slightly as he spoke, studying not just what he said, but how. When he politely declined her request for assistance, she felt a little crestfallen. Not so much that he was unable to help her, but that she had requested something that he couldn’t do.

His words, however, were interesting.

“Guarded Supervision”.

How much of the rumours she had heard were true, then? He was being punished for something he had done – and was carefully being watched. Actually not allowed to tend to simple things. She couldn’t come out and ask – not only wasn’t it any of her business, no matter how curious she was, but it was....well, it was rude.

And Finale was not fond of rudeness. It was unnecessary. Even the most heated battles should contain some respect for one’s enemy.

Lowering her arm, she let it gently hang by her side again. When she spoke, her voice was plain and, although Flatline wouldn’t know it not knowing her, honest.

“Ah. Forgive me, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. I will not ask you to do anything that would jeopardize your position.”

Her gaze dropped to the floor between them for a moment, as she seemed to think, to consider his words. After a second, she looked up again.

“I do have dexterity in my servos. I think, with you as guide, I should be able to fix it myself, yes.”

Her gaze moved around the Medibay, taking in everything around her, the tools lined up for use, bits and pieces here and there ready for whatever use they saw.

It all meant nothing to her. She had zero knowledge of anything medical.

Looking back to Flatline again, she faintly smiled, “If you are willing to accept that I will likely not understand any medical terms you may use, and if you are willing to verbally aid an incompetent when it comes to such things, then, yes, I would be very thankful for your aid. I do not feel...comfortable...without my blade, but with everything else that has been going on, I don’t feel like a jammed weapon would be considered top priority.”

[Flatline]

A low disapproving hum was formed at Finale's words, not particularly impressed by her viewpoint.

"In my opinion, ones weaponry should have upmost importance..."

While Flatline was trying to play passive, and he would back down should she give an unfavorable response to this, he felt that it was in the Decepticon's interest to try to fix this passive approach she took with her weapon.

"If you cannot defend your home, any repairs and work to re-organize it are worthless."

Should the Autobots find out about the felled Nemesis, locate this base, and decide to break the Truce due to an absolutely perfect opportunity to achieve a huge victory, being able to fight was a big deal. To assume everyone and everything could be put on hold while this new base could be put together was a faulty thought process. Personal weaponry on their fighters were probably a step under getting shields up so their signals couldn’t be found... those signal jammers were arguably the most important thing of all.

Perhaps Flatline was a bit of a hypocrite at first glance in this regard, given the turrets on his shoulders were lacking their harpoons, but hopefully she wouldn’t realize they were sockets meant for a weapon to be inserted. He hoped she would see them as laser cannons, or even traditional hard ammo guns. To someone trained with weaponry they certainly didn’t look like that... but... it was a hope.

With this addressed, Flatline eased his weight, angling his injured leg back beneath him so that he could start to walk towards the femme. Clicking footfalls paired with a sharp tap of the cane and a slight scrape of the top of his hoof like ped sliding against the concrete floor... while he didn’t move at a particularly fast pace, he did approach at a reasonable stride, closing the distance so that he could see her and her limb far clearer than he could from a distance.

Rolling his weight to a stop, Flatline would halt, moving the cane to rest in front of him where his two primary hands curled overtop. His secondaries remained inert at this time, folded neatly up underneath his pectoral plating, looking almost like flares and layering of armor to those who weren't intentionally seeking them out. From this new vantage point his red eyes would peer down at the limb intently, still trying to see where seams were and where the blade was housed. He was able to discern some fissure points in the armor for transformation from this view.

"Do you know if your blade is spring loaded to extend? Or does it use a hydraulic or other pulse system before locking out?"

A simple question, while she expressed she was 'incompetent', he hoped it was a joke and she at least knew some basic terminology about her own frame.

"Could you attempt to extend it for me?"

[Deleted]

Finale turned her attention back to Flatline as he spoke, and started moving towards him. She kept her optics on his, and not his frame, as he moved, although it was apparent he was crippled. Again, the rumours around the base indicated he had been injured during...whatever it was that had happened. He wasn’t crippled before all this. And again, she found that interesting. In some of the other Decepticon bases she knew, the attack itself would have meant his death, even if he were not in control of his actions. And if he hadn’t attacked anyone, being so crippled would have meant his death, for it would have been seen as weakness.

So either something was being planned for Flatline.....or he was considered too valuable to get rid of.

Interesting, both ways.

“You are right,” she said, nodding politely to him, “in that one’s weapons are important....but this is not my only weapon. Just a preferred one in close quarters.”

She raised her arm again, turning so her servo was palm side up, revealing the underside of her wrist. There was a faint mechanical sound, and a tiny panel right in the middle of the wrist recessed and slid backwards to vanish. There was a flat, rectangular hole in her wrist, and if he looked closely, he would see the fine point of the dagger, just visible. Clearly, it wasn’t moving. The entire dagger was slim, and housed entirely inside her lower forearm.

“Spring loaded, and as you can see, nothing. It should shoot out silently into my palm. I don’t know if it’s dirt or dust from this wretched planet or not. It doesn’t feel off, not really, it’s just not moving at all.”

She continued to keep her gaze on his optics, head slightly tilted. She had a lot of questions....but to just blurt them out would be so impolite.

Finale would wait, and see.

[Flatline]

"Ahh, good then. I was under different impressions."

Relieved. While Flatline still would have found it important to seek help sooner given it was a preferred weapon, it was good to know she had more up her metaphorical sleeve to be able to defend herself and her home. It made the fact she delayed getting repairs more palatable, his focus then shifting entirely to the limb itself and what could be done. While the other Cybertronian lifted her arm and tried to activate the weapon, Flatline was trying to discern the general model type and how the weapon functioned, listening carefully to what she had to say about it.

Every individual was rather different. While certain frame types were part of stock molds, there was still a vast array that overlapped with custom modifications. It wasn't like an organic that seemed to always fall into the same checklist of muscle groups and tendons that acted as pulley systems... instead a limb could be moved by a small variety of differing gear systems and hinges. Because of this, knowing that it was spring loaded was good to give him a head start in diagnosing, red eyes settling on the slot a moment, before looking down the forearm as if he were trying to look through the plating and imagine where the blade settled within.

"If I were to wager a guess, perhaps you struck an individual at an angle the housing did not favor or while the weapon was not fully locked out. If the blade shifted in its channel, it may have lodged in the lock position."

A hesitated movement, unsure what the line was that Knock Out would get him in trouble, Flatline paused before his secondaries unfurled from beneath his chest armor. They were narrow and thin, one bent slightly at the 'humorous' with a dent but otherwise seemed to be functioning well. They would ease forward to gingerly guide the femme's limb with just the fingertips pressing against the metal. Using these arms permitted him to keep his hands upon his cane, while not NEEDED for balance due to the gyroscopes within his shoulders; it was more comfortable for him.

"If it were dirt, I believe you may have been given warnings previously... a progression of it being more difficult to extend over time. The opening does not look large enough to welcome large particulates, unless you became submerged?"

A question paired with a hooked brow, though his gaze remained locked onto the limb. He guided it with care, turning it with consideration given to where the blade would extend. While it was currently lodged, he didn’t wish to assume it was harmless and get shanked in the face by being careless. With this in mind, he would angle himself to look directly at the opening, peering beneath the housing as best he could without getting too close. While he did so, the thumb claw of his left secondary dipped at the edge of the blade housing, feeling for the seam which he then followed up to an overlap of armor further up the limb.

"Looks like a two plate switch to open..."

His fear of getting in trouble for 'playing doctor' was becoming overshadowed by his enjoyment with medicine and want to help. While he was still treading carefully, he would lift up his primary right arm to support Finale's forearm, while the thumb on each secondary tried to press a small panel switch on either side. Should he guess correctly, it should pop the wrist plating free nearly to her elbow, allowing the armor to be set aside so the weapon housing would be visible fully.

[Deleted]

“It is possible it was knocked about. I was working shortly before I arrived here, and my last assignment was a bit...aggressive. I didn’t notice any damage, of course, or would have had it seen to much earlier than this, but I..was...”

Her words trailed off as his secondaries unfolded. She turned her entire attention to them, fascinated.

Instantly, she started to wonder what their limits were. Being so small, she could only assume they were for fine, delicate work, as it looked like a good yank might pull one at least halfway out of it’s socket system. Just what kind of work did he do, before being “under supervision”? If he were capable of delicate work, did he work on inner systems of Cybertronians?

She came back to the present as he started talking again, mentioning dirt.

“Ah. No, I haven’t had any warnings. And I haven’t been submerged, not recently. The fact of being submerged here, on this planet....”

She gave a delicate shudder. Only Primus knew what disgusting, oozy things lived in the water around here, and the thoughts of any of them ending up inside her nice clean frame and housing was disturbing.

“I was undergoing some self maintenance this morning, and realized I couldn’t discharge my dagger.”

Finale continued to watch him as he turned her forearm this way and that, inspecting. He seemed to be warming to his task.

A moment later, the housing over her forearm came loose with a soft snick, revealing the weapon housing system underneath.

[Flatline]

Trailed off words.

It was apparent to Flatline what had caught Finale's attention; an individual not needing to be particularly clever to catch onto the fact his secondary's gave her pause. They were atypical, he knew that. Some could find them creepy, he also knew that. Many were off put and others simply wanted to stare. This was all... regular to him. He didn’t falter in his own actions because of it however, he didn’t further draw attention, not needing to go off and get off track when she had sought out help. He wouldn’t respond venomously if it were, but he made no effort to breach the subject.

"You do not want to become submerged, especially the sea."

While Flatline had very little recollection of actually being submerged, he knew he WAS in the ocean's water at one point and the aftermath was memorable.

"The salt content lingers."

A flick of fingers as if grossed out, a grimace that peeled back on his features, the black and red mech's opinions were rather apparent before he looked back at the forearm.

As the forearm housing popped free, Flatline delicately grasped the edges of the plating before pulling it aside to rest in the fully open position. Here, he could see the more fiddly internal mechanisms. Some hinges and gears that moved external plates during transformation, larger channels of encased portions that housed relay lines and hydraulics, while a few fuel and coolant lines fitted neatly off to the side... As far as he could tell, everything around the immediate weapon housing looked clean and in good order. While ANYONE their age could always have small things that could be tweaked or cleaned, it seemed this femme was on the better end of the spectrum.

Casting his attention to the weapon housing itself, Flatline examined the blade which was now visible. It was shiny and honed, its edge kept to a nice clean finish so that it could rend as smoothly as possible through a foe. Nothing was apparent with the blade itself; light shined along its surface with an even sheen, no bend or swayed shapes... nothing to betray that the blade itself was crooked. He would angle her forearm a bit to catch onto the light even better to make certain, and things appeared all good.

"Blade is in good order, hold on, I am going to try something..."

Contradictory to his 'I will instruct you to do things because I don't want to get into trouble' mindset from before, Flatline continued to dive into a troubleshooting state of mind. With care, he would make certain her forearm was pointed away from any body parts, before his thumb would carefully press at the latch that was locking the blade in place. Should things go well, it would pop aside and send the blade out, but if the lock was stuck or belligerent in its actions it could help him narrow the issue.

[Deleted]

Finale watched him as he worked, listening to his words as he spoke. When he spoke of the water sources on the planet, the disgust was quiet evident on his face, and his voice.

“I will take your word for it.”

She let him guide her forearm away from anything that could be harmed, themselves included, and watched as he pressed the latch.

The finely honed dagger seemed as if it would shoot out, as expected, the nearly silent blade starting to move, but it only jutted forward less than a few nanometers before it seemed to jut to a stop. It actually seemed to quiver for a second, as if struggling to continue forward, before sliding back into it’s latched position with a soft click.

Finale made a soft sound of annoyance, a sort of tsk. “That’s all it’s been doing. Attempting to disengage, then resetting. It’s not painful, just irritating. I can’t see what it’s catching up on, but then, it’s hard to get a good look without the risk of taking out an optic.”

Her gaze moved back to the small forearms, tilting her head slightly to the side to get a better look at them.

“Forgive me for staring, and you may tell me to mind my own business if you like. I have merely never seen anything like that before. They can’t be routine, rather highly specialized.”

Finale leaned back a tiny bit, trying to keep her arm within reach for him, and yet not press in too close, infringe on his personal space, especially she had just possibly asked him a very personal question.

“You must do very fine work, highly detailed? Delicate structures and the like?”

Finale watched him work, something new to add to her growing list of curiosities about this mech. Why would someone with a background in what she could only imagine be fiddly, detailed work, be here, now, with Megatron, on this planet? Were they working on some sort of weapon with finely tuned components? If so, they must be keeping it a secret....

[Flatline]

Flatline expected this to be a latch issue. Something getting in the way of the pin that held the blade in place during day to day actions, something to keep it from retracting... if this had been the case, than sliding the latch aside should allow the weapon to launch free smoothly. This didn’t happen however. It lurched a slight amount, struggled, only to slide back and attempt to latch down again. Flatline let the latch go as it returned in place, his angular brows crooking up some as his theories went onto a new path entirely.

"Ahh... intriguing..."

He was in the process of starting to formulate his next plans, ready to try to instruct her or ask a question regarding the weapon housing, but before he got too far into his mind, Finale's question was spoken.

This was to be expected, and honestly it was almost a miracle it had taken this long to even be breached even though it was only a couple moments. It did not annoy Flatline, for it only delayed her ability to get repaired when his mind was slid elsewhere. Because of this, he himself would ease back slightly upon the heel prongs of his peds, not to put distance as if off put by her words, but to angle his hunched frame into a more upright angle so the secondaries were more visible.

"Mm... yes. Before the war I constructed frames. Intricate work, a notable amount of care needing to be taken into account."

While he said this, his primary limbs still continued to support Finale's own arm, his arms long enough to do so despite their eased back position. The secondaries however angled up some, palm facing her momentarily with fingers outstretched. Each of the small hands only had one thumb and two fingers, minute talons adorning each that crooked forward ever so slightly. The joints of the arms were not reinforced much, and the only real 'decorative' element to make it look comparable with the rest of his armor being a few bands across the forearms.

"I wished for a higher level of dexterity than my hands could gift alone, so I constructed these."

At this, the limbs would lower again, and he would ease forward to peer at her limb.

"They work well for this sort of labor, and should you permit I would like to remove the blade so I may observe the channel beneath it?"

He changed subjects at the end there, but it wasn't toned like an individual trying to shut down the conversation in annoyance. Instead it was almost an interjection within; wanting to be able to talk and work at the same time should she have further questions regarding the atypical limbs. To pair with this, one of the secondaries pointed back at her exposed forearm with a tiny talon.

[Deleted]

Finale’s attention was drawn directly to the smaller limbs that projected from Flatline’s torso, optics almost narrowing slightly as she peered at the objects.
She had never seen anything like them before. The majority of the Decepticons she had met were usually striving to be larger and stronger, or smaller and faster, like herself, but never so...intricate. She had seen a few modified servos before in the case of a bomb disposal expert she had known, but even that hadn’t been as delicate as the objects she was looking at now.

Even being tucked so closely against his torso as they were, it was surprising they had lasted as long as they had in the war. Surely they had been damaged at some point. Had he been able to repair them back to such an intricate level?

She blinked for a moment, brought back to the here and now as he continued to study her limb and weapon, and his request.

“Yes, of course,” she agreed easily enough, “Do what you must.”

Her attention went right back to the small limbs again.

“You...constructed those yourself? And attached them? That’s very impressive. Even more so that they remain functional after all this time. You either create works of art with amazing durability, or you have the ability to repair damaged, delicate items to near original condition. Both are....commendable.”

Finale raised her optics to his face, peering curiously at him. For one so...odd in appearance, Flatline seemed to have a streak of artist within him. She dropped her gaze back down to her exposed weapon, now more curious than before to see what he would do with her stuck dagger.

“I suppose since the war your talents have turned more to work such as this? Repairing small weapons, working on small delicate circuitry, the like?”

[Flatline]

At Finale's amazement that he managed to construct them himself, it actually boosted Flatline's battered ego a bit. It was a feeling that had been lost to him since the highest point of his illness, and he had almost forgot it was a thing with the other looming threats keeping him subdued. He actually smirked then, a crooked sort of grin that exposed gnarled denta that looked worn down and jagged from grinding.

"Attaching the mounts were the most difficult part, but... I had ample time to plan and work..."

Too much time in fact. Flatline did not continue down that path of conversation.

"Constructing the limbs however... They are not particularly durable, so they are more akin to the finely tuned gears and springs within a watch. Not trying to make the parts heavy duty allows for the finesse they hold without quite as much investment or effort."

It was a balance. The limbs were easy to break, fragile, and needed to be tucked under his pectoral plating whenever not in use to try to keep them safe. Any individual, even a weak one, could simply grab them and rip them free with enough of a twisting movement, if not just bend them badly. This wasn’t something he addressed directly however, just calling them fragile was direct enough, without painting an even bigger 'weakness' sticker on them in neon lights.

While he spoke, he slid the thumb talons of his main hands alongside the channel for the weapon, trying to feel out what sort of particular model this was without needing to root around too deeply. So many things could be different from individual to individual, and as he got to the base of the weapon's hilt he prodded a bit further, being mindful of the Energon and power lines that webbed to the mechanism. He more than a little didn't want to sever anything and start to flood the internals, which could make quite a mess even if it wasn't particularly dangerous.

Flatline looked down then to work.

"My talents... were... focused on installing upgrades, with a side interest in splitting sparks. I greatly wanted to find means of fracturing an individual to produce new soldiers, but progress was limited, and now impossible."

Somber, not too pleased at this revelation.

"I serve Knock Out now as assistance to whatever he wishes."

At this, he moved his secondaries forward again, hunching towards the limb some to get them in range. His thumb hooked atop the blade's side, applying strong pressure, before he activated the two switches to fully unlock the weapon from the spring housing. Should this work, he hoped to hold the blade steady enough he could ease it forward at his own pace and remove it with care. Should the spring be VERY aggressive however, it may still cause the blade to lurch out. Best case scenario, its built in stoppers prevent it from flying off, worst case it could fling from her wrist and part launch across the room, hopefully not into a wall.

If it didn’t move at all, it would redirect his focus again.