[ti]Ep 2.5[/ti]Against All Odds [Knock Out]

[Flatline]

Episode 2.5 | Week 4 | Day 1

He was alive.

Somehow...

But... the pain.

The pain was so blinding, so consuming. It raked along frayed lines and blurred his thoughts into a dizzy mess. At one second Flatline saw Blackridge for what it was, saw it for the rough rock hallways and jagged turns. At another second he saw the Nemesis again, dark corridors of purple, closing in on either side... only to shift back to the brown stone after a hard series of blinks. Energon loss and pain overload was not playing nice together, but... he had to make it to the Medical Bay. Had to seek reprieve, and couldn’t just give up.

On the Nemesis, if he were to fall there was a good chance a Vehicon would come across him in short order, either out of luck or perhaps the merciful grace of Soundwave's all seeing eye. But here in Blackridge? It didn’t matter if it was so much smaller, it could almost feel more isolating in some ways. An odd juxtaposition that shouldn’t be true. Perhaps it was psychological, not feeling important anymore, easier to be forgotten... but that was an entire bag of worms that couldn’t even be delved into at this point.

What was true was that Starscream had tore off his secondary arms as punishment for his negligence.

Flatline, despite his newest damage, was making his way down one of the hallways that would lead him around to where aid would reside. Trying to cut corners and make his journey as short as possible, nix away any footfalls he could. His end goal would be the medical bay, as to be expected, but whether or not he could make it was a now very real troubling concern. He simply didn't know if he had it IN him.

Energon dappled down his abdomen and legs, long thin trails of blue that speckled the ground in luminous droplets. He had lost a good amount of fuel on Starscream's floor, the flow itself having waned a bit, but just because it was slowing gradually didn’t necessarily mean good news. Either his self repair was working diligently already, or he simply didn't have the fuel pressure he did before, which... is what Flatline was guessing given the weakness he was experiencing and the wooziness he felt.

A wobbled step, a fumbled stumble...

Flatline grasped onto his cane with everything he had, leaning against it as his world spun. A moment of recovery, a moment to try to shake it off... before he took a few more limped steps.

Only to fall.

With a clattered slam, Flatline fell onto the rock floor of the hallway with a loud jittered clunk, his cane scattering down the way a short distance from him. Shakily, he stretched for the tool, blue lined talons stretching, but it was simply out of his reach. Resigning himself to futility, Flatline opted to rest a bit, his other arm crooked across his injuries as faceplate pressed into the floor.

[Ren]

Today was the day that QLC-972 was 100% definitely going to the right mine system. That little mishap two days ago? TOTAL fluke. But today he was going to go through that Ground Bridge right into the correct mine, and mine the shit out of some Energon.

All before Soundwave caught up with him and sent him off for a complete reformat or something equally terrifying, haha…

...Ha.

That’d been a lingering and scary thought, and half the reason Q found himself yet again standing in the stone walls of Blackridge. Would mining really be so bad? At least there would be other Vehicons there - more than in the cave with the Space Bridge, anyway. And no scary dinosaur lizards! And no Soundwave!

Ohhh but there was the risk. The danger. The high probability of dying. Yeah yeah, the pledge to give your life for the Decepticon cause was all well and good, but to go out in a mining accident? Where was the fun in that?! He deserved better!

Maaaybe… Maybe today wasn’t the day after all. All he had to do was bridge back to the location of the Space Bridge and keep his head down and get on with his work and all would be well and good. Dying from boredom for the Decepticon cause was something that was marginally okay, at least on Q’s 1-10 ranked list of ‘ways to die’ which was something else he’d thought about in his ample spare time.

With a cheery hum, he’d start typey-typing on the console, input those coordinates aaaaaand- WHAT was that?

A clatter and a clunk from… well, he wasn’t sure where. Curse these echoey stone walls! Normally he’d just leave it, totally and completely not his problem, but after stumbling across a dinosaur lizard the other day? He needed some good karma in his life.

And so he’d start to wander. He wasn’t technically supposed to be here, but if he just acted all normal and serious, he would blend right in. At least all Vehicons looked the same!

After turning down a few corridors and not finding any sign of whatever it was that’d obviously fallen over, he was about to give up - only, wait… Ah, yep, he’d walked in a complete circle. Maybe this next corridor which at the end was so totally Starscream’s probably-temporary room (noooo, Starscream was just as scary as Soundwave) would hold the answer to this newfound mystery.

It didn’t take him long to see the crumpled heap of black, red and... blue, and while he didn’t recognize who it was? It wasn’t Soundwave OR Starscream and so he’d rush right over, scooping up the cane that belonged to whoever it was that’d fallen.

“Hey! Are you dead? Do you need help? I found your stick thingy!” he’d offer it out, even though the mech in question wasn’t moving, and was completely face down on the floor.

Dying in a hallway for the Decepticon cause? That was a new one! But it was Flatline's lucky day, Q was here to help!

[Flatline]

Pride was a mistake.

Pride was dangerous.

And pride was now bringing him far more pain than any strike to his ego would have.

Flatline was starting to have some serious regrets with the choice he had made back in Starscream's quarters. He should have requested Vehicon aid from the onset, took the strike to his ego and plead for some kind of assistance. While it could make him look weaker in front of their new Lord, it would allow him to even make it to the Medical Bay without completely going into stasis and needing to be drug there. Flatline was just starting to try to rile himself up enough to try again, just about to try to pull forward, or really... even try to just lift his head... when footfalls were heard.

Every stride was a signature, every ped a certain sound. Starscream's light sharp clicks, Soundwave's hollow clunks, Breakdown's broader stride, and many others who stood out. This strike however couldn't be placed, yet somehow seemed familiar. Flatline didn't have to wonder long though, as the mech spoke to him and he managed to lift his helm enough to see from their shins down.

This was a great boon! A Vehicon could help him and there was a possibility he didn't have to cross their path again. No judgment, no prolonged mockery over his fault! It wouldn’t be like Knock Out finding him, though, the medic would find out eventually he supposed. Trying to work through such thoughts were not really panning out as intended though, bleary optics crooking up to look upon the outstretched cane that had been oh so wrongly dubbed a 'stick thingy'.

For a brief moment the black and red mech's processor stalled, wanting to lash back, to correct the words or ask what was wrong with them, but he needed his aid, and so he could piece together the dots enough to not snarl in reply. As such, Flatlines free arm reached up shakily, long Energon smeared talons curling over the center of the cane to then attempt to drag it close to himself again.

"Not dead..."

He grumbled this out.

"Can you assist me to the Medical Bay."

'Can', not spoken as a demand or order to try to garner the favor of this trooper.

[Ren]

There was movement!

That was a good thing! Well, no - unless this particular mech was a zombie. He’d seen those in movies and read about them in comics on his old datapad! Coming back from the dead and biting people aaaaaaaaah no thank you. The gore was pretty neat, though - some of those special effects were amazing!

Could Cybertronian even do that? Become the undead? Thankfully he was blissfully unaware as to the effects of Dark Energon, otherwise he may have been panicking a little bit more than he was. Yay for being kept in the dark! 

Even so, he kept his distance, servo still holding the stick out to the possible-zombie. Even though the tiny single functioning cell in his processor told him it was so stupidly illogical that this guy was a zombie and going to bite him, he wasn’t chancing it!

He watched cautiously as the possibly-dead-guy took the stick thingy. In all the movies he’d seen, the zombies ran which was… probably not right. He always saw them as shambling drones, kind of like what he was! Haha!

Oh, there was talking! Grumbled, kind of like how a zombie would probably talk, but, yay, talking!

He wasn’t dead!

“Hooray! Well, you look pretty beat up- you’re bleeding and I don’t have to be a medic to know that that’s probably bad.”

There was a request asked of him then. On one hand, he’d already delayed going to the new mine system for over a week now. Soundwave had to know, and the longer he put off going? The worse it’d be for him, he was sure of it.

On the other hand, he couldn’t exactly leave this guy here. What if the roles were reversed? He’d want someone to help him out!

There was an awkward moment of quiet after the request while he worked out the answer, and while his thought process was a little more involved as he weighed up the pros and cons, it was probably something akin to a dial-up noise in there for a while.

“Yes!” he finally stated, confidently. “I can indeed! QL-uuuh.” he stopped, clearing his throat and starting again.

“RGE-529 at your service!”

Ohh now he wasn’t going to get any of the credit for this heroic deed, but if Soundwave heard his true designation floating around as being here and wandering the corridors? That wouldn’t be good!

“Do you want me to try and pick you up? Or just kind of… You can lean on me while we walk like a bro, thing? You can totally do that. I don’t mind!”

Where even was the Medical Bay from here? He’d only been there two days ago, but- eh, they’d work it out!

[Flatline]

This Vehicon was... something was wrong here, and Flatline's processor clunked along and stalled at every turn in the other mech's words. Was it worth it to snarl and call him out? Snap that this was serious and to cut the crap? Could he honestly stomach keeping completely silent? It was so unlike Flatline to hold his tongue around those who could not order his death, no need to show passivity and fear to the basic troopers... but he needed the help badly. There was no avoiding the fact that this was a not great situation.

Why did he have to get the Vehicon five cards shy of a full deck?

Not getting an immediate response to his plea for help, Flatline's helm crooked a bit further, neck cables straining since it wasn't an angle he took often. His body was traditionally hunched forward, not... laying chest first trying to look to a standing face... Because of this the back of his helm clunked against the neck guard fanning out behind his throat, one eye squinted while the other stared up incredulously. What was taking him so long to reply? Did he seriously need to consider if he was worth it? Maybe they all DID hate him for what he did and this mech was going to leave him to bleed out?

Flatline's claws tightened around his cane, wondering if he should try to move again, when a response was finally gifted.

Thank Primus it was going to help.

"Help me to my feet, and support me please. I'd like to get to the Medical Bay sooner than later."

Flatline spoke weakly, but with an edge of exacerbation. He didn't know if he NEEDED to specify the speed in which he hoped he could get to the new destination, but the cynical angry little part of his mind felt it may be necessary when this Vehicon fumbled over even giving out his name. His name... Oh Flatline would not forget his name, whether it was for praise or verbal bashing down the line was up for debate.

[Ren]

Q didn’t even notice Flatline looking at him in those few, lingering moments while he spaced out and tried to work out what to do. Not that it would’ve changed anything if he did happen to look down and make eye contact, his thought process could only go so fast and that was without the added pressure of being looked at!

Flatline was lucky, in a way, that it was Q who had found him. Q had absolutely no idea who he was, or what he’d been the cause of back on the Nemesis. All he’d heard was Soundwave had crashed the ship - and as much as he’d love to use that as ammo against the scary navy mech when he did finally get caught not doing what he was supposed to, the thought of blackmailing Soundwave was a super awesome way to get yourself murdered.

Or, y'know, bridged to the bottom of the sea, and after escaping the Nemesis once? He didn’t want to see saltwater again for a looong, long time!

But eventually, the thought process was complete, and Flatline responded - giving him some advice like he hadn’t ever had to have someone lean on him before while they walked! Psh! He’d helped Vega escape the Nemesis and that was while it was all upside down and she’d hurt her leg!

This was nothing! Okay so he was bleeding a bit there and it was probably worse than it looked, but still. Solid ground. Short walk away.

They got this!

“Okay!” a cheerful, chipper response as he forgot all about the terrifying zombie-thoughts moments earlier and he crouched next to Flatline, using both servos to try and help the black and red mech to his pedes.

“This reminds me of a song, y’know.”

Once Flatline was upright, which- oof, he was heavier than he looked, what was even going on with that? Q would slide his arm around him as best he could without touching any of the ouchy open wound parts of his frame.

“♪~ Lean on meeeeeeee, when you’re not stroooong ~♫” he started, even though it wasn’t invited or wanted.

“♪~ And I’ll be your friiiend, I’ll help you caaaarrrry onnn- to the medical baaaaay ~♫” his own personal touch! He was so clever!

His singing was pretty good, even if he couldn’t remember half the words and kind of mumbled the next part of the verse.

[Flatline]

Thankfully, the Vehicon seemed to take the choice and advice to hurry well. No protests or grumbles, or even a comment about Energon getting all over them. He appeared perfectly happy, Flatline good with this until the trooper's claws grabbed onto his armor and started to try to pull him to his feet. It wasn’t really the claws that bothered him however, more so the actual pain that came along with the movements from his injury. His torso twisted as he was lifted, a spatter of electricity popping out from exposed wires on the little nub of an upper arm, all paired with a nice loud yell of alarmed pain.

The shout was short and abrupt, a stunned squawk that was quickly stifled by teeth slamming closed sharply to grind together with a heinous scrape of metal against metal. He managed to throttle down further yells, hooves clattering beneath him a couple times before he managed to gain traction and was on his feet, left arm draped over the Vehicon. Despite gaining support, the movement ravaged his processor, any complacency and tolerance that had formed bashed aside to fray raw nerves.

Then it spoke.

It was singing.

Primus why was it singing.

What made it think this was an appropriate time to do such a thing!?

Why was this happening to him!?

Flatline's red optics peeled open and stared straight ahead in stunned disbelief, the thin white pupils blankly looking into the dark void of his new perpetual hell. He could hardly even process what was happening here, both not understanding the point, and not recognizing the song despite tapping into radio frequencies to keep some form of entertainment in his long gone laboratory. It was incredibly inappropriate, his thoughts jostled further as so called RGE-529 began his walk down the hallway.

Another clank of his slim peds, a scrabble for traction while his cane clunked down to try to take some of the weight from his opposite side. Flatline's pain ravaged processor started to wonder if this trooper was a spawn of death that was taking him down to damnation. A torturous demon meant to drive him insane while he was carried to The Pit. He didn't think he was THAT awful a person to deserve it, but it felt like the only explanation in this absurd moment that made him feel so incredibly detached from reality.

The red and black medic started to believe this ludicrous concept long enough he turned some to hook his gaze just barely over his shoulder, expecting to somehow see his own corpse face down in the hallway.

Nope.

He was being tortured in reality.

Flatline's helm rotated forward again, eyes wide and unblinking.

"Please don’t..."

[Ren]

The initial flinch paired with a squawk of pain made Q jump, but he expected as such and so he managed to thankfully keep hold of Flatline and not drop him through the shock of being spooked. His arm gingerly around the other mech, making a point to absolutely NOT touch any of the open wound-areas if he could help it. Not because he was squeamish to the Energon that was leaking, but it’d hurt a heck of a lot, and he was trying to do a good job here, not make things worse!

Once Flatline was upright and steady had been the moment when Q had decided to sing. Maybe it’d lighten the mood, maybe it’d make the injured mech smile and forget for a second about the pain he was in! They moved forward slowly, with careful footing. He made sure he kept his movements level, wanting to go at Flatline’s pace so he didn’t throw the other mech off balance or something.

Sloooow and steady. Slow and steady! They got this!

At least the Medical Bay wasn’t super far, Flatline didn’t look it but he weighed a lot. Q wasn’t struggling though even with the other mech’s weight on him now, he was a trooper through and through!

Half mumbled through the other verse of the song, he was absolutely sure he was getting all the words wrong- but it didn’t matter, it was helping HIM focus if anything- until finally, a grumbled voice spoke up.

“Don’t? Oh, you don’t like my singing?”

Aw.

He actually sounded disappointed. Maybe if he’d picked a song he knew the words to it would’ve gone over easier, but no other song really fit the mood!

“Thought it’d help! My bad! I guess we can fill the quiet with questions! I’ll start! What happened to you? Although hey! Maybe I could sing the questions? Make it fun? Kinda like… ♪~ Whaaaat happened to yooooou ~♫ Is that better?” he really did not like quiet, and even if was just him rambling away trying to offer ways to make conversation through awkward questions, he’d do it!

While it’d clicked that he’d been outside Starscream’s room, it had not clicked that the Seeker may have had something to do with the injuries in question.

[Flatline]

No.

Flatline did not like the singing.

He didn’t want to listen to some Vehicon stumble mumble their way through a tone, forgetting words and trying to formulate proper replacements on the fly. He was in no mood to stomach it, and couldn’t even slightly pretend to enjoy it or tease the trooper for their failure. He was in pain; his processor buzzed with raw pings of fire, and instead of hustling along and focusing on getting there fast, the individual was now trying to fill the quiet with questions.

Questions were something Flatline could field though... It'd give him something to think on, keep his processor active and trying to focus on something else to pull him away from reality. He pretty much didn’t even care WHAT the question was, for even if it was something he couldn’t figure out, having to articulate as much would be good distraction on its own. Only, the trooper decided to not just ask something, but SING ask, and it was about the last thing Flatline could stomach at the moment.

In one cascading crash, all of the anger he felt when facing Starscream, all of the bottled submissive HATE that was flowing through him at what their Lord had done, and how long he made him suffer in fear beforehand, slammed into him at once. Red optics widened as the musical question sung out, the bottom edge of an optic twitching as fire burned behind the nerves. In a way, the Vehicon did help in a backwards process, Flatline now too livid to even think about his pain at the moment.

"This situation is too DIRE for SINGING!"

A snarled screech, his helm whipping over to angle at the Vehicon as teeth snapped together with a borderline growled hiss. The jagged edges of the denta were bared, sharp irregular angles locking together with painful force behind them. Oh, Flatline recognized this feeling, he recognized the pure unbridled RAGE from what happened before. But there was a difference. That 'before' felt so random, so uncontrolled, he had known he was upset but it burned so much hotter than it should have... This? Oh this felt SO validated, this felt SO pure and entirely warranted.

Long quills chattered and flicked along his spine, one of the slats held down by the Vehicons arm so it merely trembled instead. He continued to face the trooper, snarling and practically spitting out his words.

"He ripped off my arms!"

At this his arm over the Vehicon's shoulder hooked up and forward, long talons curling over his head before he pushed away with a heaved grunt. While it hurt, while he still felt weak, there was a new unbridled anger that kept him moving, motivating him to try to seek aid that wasn't an obnoxious little piece of scrap that couldn’t formulate how serious this was. Thankfully, standing had been the most difficult part, so now that he was upright again and could see the door to the Medical Bay, he angrily trudged forward, dapples of blue still falling to the floor as his cane collided with loud impacts.

With one solid motion, Flatline slammed the shoddy door to the Medical Bay aside, palm flat across its surface to hold it open as he stood in the threshold. He looked absolutely livid, and positively horrendous. A dark shadow outlined by the hallway light, luminous blue seeping down from two injuries upon his chest. Long streaks of Energon snaking down his abdomen and hips to highlight every ridge of armor and slat in the process, only to intertwine with seeping oil. His eyes, they held so much anger, so much burning rage the white in the center was almost drowned out by red, teeth bared still as he locked eyes with Knock Out.

"Starscream-!"

And... nope...

Goal reached, objective done. Flatline only had a moment to snarl out the name, a moment to try to convey what happened, before his rage couldn't carry him any further and his expression slid to a blank confused look. For the third time in a painfully short span, Flatline's frame crooked forward into a fall. His injured ped hooked up slightly, wanting to try to catch himself, but the top of the hoof clipped into the floor, and he full tilt face planted against the stone below.

[Ren]

Q wasn’t the best at reading people's fields. Honestly he was as basic as they came, and even if he’d been ‘lucky’ enough to gain some sentience all things considered, he was still a Vehicon in build and spark. He wasn’t special, he wasn’t good at things, he just existed and hoped he could skirt by doing the bare minimum - enough to not get offlined, anyway! A pretty crappy mundane existence, but hey! He tried to make the best of the situation where he could. But he wasn’t special. Not at all.

Which was probably why he didn’t notice any of Flatline’s anger at first. He didn’t notice it building in his field or even the subtle differences in his frame, he didn’t pay attention to the twitch of an optic, his attention straight ahead on where they were going! Always gotta look ahead, never back! What a good motto!

Q being… well, Q, was also probably an attribute in why he was caught so very off guard by the snarled screech that came from nowhere. He flinched back some as Flatline turned to snap at him, and yet still found himself way too close for comfort to those denta that looked oh-so-very sharp and scary. He managed to keep close enough to keep Flatline upright and stable, but his helm craned back some in attempt to put some distance between them there.

He was so mad! Why was he mad at him for singing? He’d just been trying to help lighten the mood! Take his processor off the fact he was bleeding from both sides of his chassis! He could’ve just asked him nicely to stop!

Wait. Wait wait wait.

He had said ‘Please don’t’ … Q remembered that now. But that was just… singing, did that also include sing-song questions?

“Y-Your arms? But you have both your arms!” he was confused as heck right about now. It may have helped if he knew who Flatline was, then he would’ve realized that he had two other arms. But it didn't click, nor did he put two and two together that the gaping wounds may have once housed extra limbs.

He found himself shoved, and offered no resistance - as he didn’t see that coming, either. He’d assumed Flatline had been too weak, that’d been why he’d asked for help! But it was… it was okay. He’d rather get shoved than shot. Or rammed by those quills- he hadn’t noticed those before, and as Flatline trudged forwards, Q could only stand and watch.

“If you need help just ask!” a tiny voice then, making no motions of following. He didn’t want to annoy him further, and was a little glad he’d given the wrong designation when introducing himself, just incase his singing was reported or he was written up for his actions this day.

“I’m sorry!”

A simple head tilt was given as Flatline made it to the destination without him. Well, that was that! Time to… uh, get back to… doing… something.

And with that, Q would wander off, trying to walk with purpose, like he was there for a reason and not aimlessly looking for something to do.

[Knock Out]

Peace and quiet was something that was a rarity these days for almost everyone, but especially Knock Out. What with so many Vehicons being sent off to the various Energon mines, almost every day was filled with routine maintenance like cleaning dust and dirt out of vents, or repairing truly horrific mining injuries.

Peace and quiet was something that Knock Out loved when he was granted those few, fleeting moments of it. Even if it was a brief five or ten minutes before his next scheduled appointment, it was a time to relax for a moment, sip some Energon or even take a second to sit down and watch a funny cat video to try and unwind.

But now? He had the entire afternoon free - pending any Vehicon accidents, anyway - which was so very, very rare. Soundwave had left a few moments earlier, and as much as Knock Out wanted to take the chance to go for a much-needed drive the second the Spymaster was no longer in sight, he had to log the findings of Soundwave’s visit just for record-keeping sake and to pass along to Shockwave later.

He didn’t mind so much, though - as much as he hated paperwork, it was quiet, and once it was done and over with? He could call Breakdown in here to watch things while he left for a while. Aah, he was so looking forward to it.

Only like most good things, it wasn’t to be.

The shoddy Medical Bay door slammed open without warning, causing Knock Out to jump and almost drop the datapad that was held loosely in his servo. Good thing he was sitting, or he’d have flung it across the damn room! Looking over and across at just who dared interrupt him in such a rude manner, his optics widened at seeing the state of…

Flatline?

Ohhh Primus. That was right, he’d been summoned to see Starscream and honestly… Knock Out hadn’t thought he would be coming back. Flatline alone had caused so many setbacks for the Decepticons, Flatline alone had been the reason things had spiraled so far out of control to the point they lost the Nemesis…

Yet Starscream had let him live.

That was… unexpected.

The anger in Flatline’s optics was honestly terrifying, and for a moment there he wondered if the black and red mech had snapped again. His processor racing, thinking back to that fateful day on the Nemesis. It was impossible, of course, given the virus had been completely eradicated from everyone - but… for a flicker of a second, Knock Out was scared.

Now, though, he was just worried.

As Flatline’s rage-fueled adrenaline seemed to wear off after the single snarled word, Knock Out moved to a stand. The events were in slow motion almost, he pushed into a hurried walk, almost like he was going to try and do what Q had failed to do - support Flatline and get him to a berth.

But he was too slow, not even getting halfway across the room before Flatline toppled without warning, crashing painfully forwards onto the stone floor - his cane skittering across the floor and coming to rest in the middle of the room.

“Flatline!” there was genuine worry in his tone, which spoke volumes as to how much their friendship had grown in the few short weeks since being here at Blackridge.

Moving into a crouch, he would offer a servo to the fallen mech, while his other would move to rest on Flatline’s shoulder.

“I probably can’t lift you alone, so you’re going to have to help me help you in getting up, alright?”

[Flatline]

Have both his ar- HAVE BOTH HIS ARMS!?

Flatline was going to strangle this Vehicon. Mark his words, the second that he was better, should he survive whatever additional punishments may fling his way... he was going to lash back even if it was finding a metal pipe applicable enough for his harpoon launchers and using their straight blunt force velocity to stab this ignorant little piece of slag right in his stupid little face. While it was perhaps an EXTREME reaction to such a statement, given the vast majority of their people were gifted only one set of arms, but it was just an added speck of salt thrown in his wound and he was having none of it.

This rage helped fuel him forward, ignoring the offer for help, only for things to cascade down with another slam.

The yell of his name was... weird... it sounded far from anger, there wasn’t a disgusted note behind it or an annoyed grumble, it actually sounded... worried? And Flatline's hazed processor struggled with that concept. While Knock Out and he may be getting along better, there were still the occasional spats before he would go passive and back down. He thought the other medic only liked him around for the occasional banter or the joy of a second assistant to do anything 'below' Breakdown's higher rank. However, the tone of voice seemed to make him start to rethink this, helm lifting up as the hand was offered.

Flatline's helm was a bit dented up from this fall but nothing particularly bad all things considered. While the prongs of his chin were undoubtedly pushed down and spared, the centermost crest between and above his eyes protruded some and had taken the brunt, saving him from his actual faceplate or central guards from being impacted. What was notable though was a twisted expression of frustration, angry he had lost his balance again, angry he had tied his secondaries so firmly into his processor. Oh it had its boons! With the accurate measuring and finest pinpoint control, but already in the year he had been on this horrific little mud ball he had one ripped out, the other dent-twisted another time, and now both tore out.

He didn’t even have the limp husks to try to re-attach!

With a disgruntled motion, Flatline's left arm would reach up and grab hold of Knock Outs', trying to push his weight into it to help to ease himself up. His nerves were so frayed at this point; he only really let out a snarled heave of pain, rather than a full screech of shock like he had when the Vehicon helped him up. All things considered, Flatline was lighter than he looked. With his broad torso it appeared he would have some heft to him, but a lot of it was hollow space for the gyroscopes nestled in his torso. It made it so Knock Out could help him up far easier, pronged hooves clunking down with a momentary scrabble, before trying to find purchase.

"Starscream ghnn... ripped them out! He tore them... tore them after false notions of assisting!"

He spat this out, words popping with indignation.

"Tortured me with uncertainty for WEEKS! Mind games... gughh..."

It would have been so much easier to just get shot offline instead of be tortured. While later on he would be happy he survived, for now he was blinded by stress and rage, frame scrabbling some to clutch a medical berth with his free arm, before simply leaning against it. Which was a mistake given his center of gravity was right where the holes were. He snort heaved before pulling higher, letting the corner rest on the slatted abdominal plating before he took a moment to recuperate, helm slung low.

"Just block it, block it and I can move..."

Asking for reprieve. Even if his entire upper torso was numbed to borderline useless levels, should he be able to focus more he could push down with his peds with control and less haze.

[Knock Out]

It was not exactly unknown among the Decepticons - and probably the Autobots - that Knock Out was pretty much the embodiment of the word ‘vain’. Spending far too much time preening and fussing over his glossy finish, worrying about his appearance and how he carried himself even when doing the most mundane of nothings. Yet despite this, he was skilled at his role of CMO, settling into and maintaining the position with natural talent. With this, however, came arrogance - and a narcissistic attitude that was practically impossible to put up with.

Then, there was Flatline. While he was not conceited, he took immense pride in his secondary arms - building and modifying them himself along with other parts of his frame - not that Knock Out cared. He carried with him a similar arrogance, was quick of mind and wit - yet just like Knock Out was skilled at his work, and as much as the cherry-red mech hated to admit it, had talent.

The two of them working together could’ve achieved great things for the Decepticons.

And yet…

He and Flatline had fiercely clashed since the very moment they met, and it’d set the tone for their entire working relationship. Back and forth with verbal lashings that were beyond cruel, dripping with wit and sarcasm - with poor Breakdown being caught in the middle more often than not. They did not play nice and it went far beyond a friendly rivalry at times. Stealing from one another, questioning each other’s ability and skill openly and loudly, always trying to outdo and outplay.

They hated each other, and it was well known.

If anyone had told Knock Out all that time ago that he’d one day be rushing to scoop Flatline off the floor, to help him to his pedes with his first thought being about the state of the other mech rather than the scratches he may endure to his frame in the process? He would’ve laughed.

And then laughed some more.

Yet here he was. The moment his servo was gripped, he would use Flatline’s weight and his own meager frame to pull upward and back, trying to heft the other mech to his pedes in one fluid motion, rather than them struggling for longer than was necessary.

His other servo still resting against Flatline for support and to make sure he remained steady, the first step was done in getting him up and onto his pronged hooves. Up close like this, he could see the damage that’d been inflicted not only with his secondary arms being what looked to be torn from his frame, but the dents in his helm after he’d fallen. Those were easily fixed, but ouch those holes in his sides.

His suspicions confirmed quickly with the anger-filled words.

“At least you’re still alive. I must say I didn’t think you were coming back.”

So helpful. So reassuring. Flatline wasn’t exactly wrong though - the mind games alone were awful, and he’d only seen some of the outward effects they’d had on Flatline.

Helping Flatline over to the berth, he expected the other mech to take it from here in getting himself up and onto the thing itself. It was unfortunately not to be, the movement proving to be too much - and instead, a request was asked.

“Alright, don’t move from that spot - don’t need you falling over again. Once is bad enough!”

Making sure Flatline wasn’t about to topple and that yes, he was resting against the berth for support, Knock Out would quickly move to the other side of the room, gathering the supplies needed. A simple pain suppressant and numbing agent which was probably overkill, but eh - the less whiny the patient, the better.

He and Flatline didn’t exactly have the best track record when it came to Flatline being a patient - if they weren’t snapping at each other with verbal attacks, it was the black and red mech turning psychotic and going on a rampage! Maybe third time would be the charm, though.

Moving swiftly back, Knock Out wasted no time in injecting the two substances into Flatline. Given the pain he was in, the actual injection probably went unnoticed - but at least that pain would quickly subside.

“Give that a minute or two and we’ll see about fixing this up, mm?”

That was a loose term. While he probably could rebuild the secondary arms - it wasn’t like he had the resources or equipment to even think about doing something like that, especially with such short notice! At least for now he could patch the wounds, though.

[Flatline]

It was strange how their situation had changed so drastically. Much like Knock Out, Flatline would have balked and laughed loudly with a snapped 'really!?' thrown in afterwards if he had been told where they would be now. That the snarled insults that were meant to cut deep and gore at internals would now simply be banter and striking insults not meant to seriously injure. Threatening each others competency while recognizing the skill the other had. The transition had been so subtle, so slow... and Flatline had been mostly blind to it until this moment when his eyes seemed to open to how much things had changed.

As Flatline leaned up against the medical slab his longer arms reached out, easily grasping the far edge with slender talons. With this grip he permitted himself to rest a bit further, left leg bending some under what weight was still on it, while right smeared to the side lazily with less traction available. He didn't seem to mind though, pronged hooves twisted some to the side as they lay at rest.

"If I fell it would be the fourth time..."

Grumbled, his aching helm canted forward so that he could rest his dented faceplate against the cool metal surface. Here, he pondered the situation further while listening to Knock Out collect the needed supplies to assist. Soon reprieve would be found and that was comforting. To know Knock Out wasn’t drilling the situation in his face or mocking. No 'You know where the tools are get them yourself' thrown his way, or who knows what else. The mech's actions... could Flatline call them hurried? Or was it his distorted perception of time? Ah well, whatever the case there was a subtle pinch on one of the external lines bridging his shoulder assembly to lower limb, the pain not even registered barely given the more pressing matters at hand.

While it would take time to actually play a role and numb down his systems enough there was a hazy warmth that he could almost feel circulate down his arm before hooking back up towards his body. It would only be a matter of time and while nothing was dampened as of yet the thought it would be gave him relief in itself. Because of this a large invent pulled through his ravaged systems, ventilation slats shifting some before hot air pushed out.

"Thank you..."

Actual sincere words from Flatline? GASP.

His thanks were rolled out in a lower tone, trying to relax and let his systems cool down while waiting for reprieve. As he said this the left hand where the warmth circulated pulled back a bit, talons flexing before idly hooking over the metal's edge once more. He seemed to be trying to get comfortable, his focus not even remotely on trying to get up further yet until things were properly stamped down.

Because they had to wait he took this opportunity to make another wish.

"One is gone entirely... I request you remove what remains of the other."

Somber, sad. It was apparent Flatline did not fully agree to this arrangement, but he felt he didn't really have much of an option at this point. The remaining secondary arm was only the upper portion and sphere attachment, there was no forearm and not even an elbow to be seen. The metal itself was twisted free with a couple electrical and fuel lines exposed hanging out the stump.

"I cannot go through this again, I cannot have someone grab and rip it free."

Desperation, his helm resting upon the slab once again to hide his bared teeth. Flatline took so much pride in his secondary limbs, relied on them so much and used them on a daily basis. To now be somewhat accepting they were gone? It hurt. Especially since he was in no position to be able to make them again anywhere near what they once were. He had a laboratory back then, proper tools and calibrating devices. He had his spare time to work on such projects in his own private environment. But here?... no... he had nothing.

[Knock Out]

“Fourth time? If you were having trouble walking, you could’ve comm’d me, you know. No need to struggle all the way here alone.”

Four times. Primus, Flatline... he knew the other mech was prideful but that was ridiculous, even for him. A gentle tsk was given, and a shake of his helm in disappointment as he eased the numbing agent into one of Flatline’s external lines - making a point to do it in the upper area of his frame to numb the affected area faster, then he would repeat the motion with the pain suppressant, just in case.

Four times. That certainly explained the damage, though. The fall here in the Medical Bay had been a nasty one, but the amount of damage to Flatline’s faceplate had been far too much to be from that alone - and he hadn’t mentioned Starscream or that rude femme Coldwind punching him in the face.

Once the numbing agent and pain suppressant had been applied, he would move to dispose of the syringes. A slight falter in his steps as the ‘Thank you’ was given - that was certainly a rarity in his line of work, even more so with who it was coming from.

“Not a problem.”

Wiping his servos on a rag, he would then turn back to Flatline as the… more somber request was given.

“Wait, so-” a pause. Was he hearing this right? Those arms were so important to Flatline. If he were in his position he would’ve already made plans out of spite to rebuild and reattach them. Even though their resources were severely lacking here compared to the Nemesis making the feat almost impossible, he would’ve made it a priority somehow.

But Flatline was giving up on them.

“Are you sure?”

It made sense, though. They were so frail, so dainty - and someone skilled in combat or even just wishing pain on the black and red mech would take full advantage of them. Knock Out himself had twisted one of them painfully backward out of anger, and while he couldn’t imagine the kind of pain that caused, having them both harshly torn from his frame in force to the point one was ripped out entirely? Eesh…

And it wasn’t the first time, either.

“I mean, I can. No point in having it hanging off you uselessly like that. At least not until we - or you, I suppose - get the means to rebuild them.”

Surely that’s what Flatline meant by not being able to go through it again. Surely he still wanted the secondaries. Just not now.

“I am sorry this happened, though.” along with the thanks from Flatline earlier, a sincere apology from Knock Out was an abnormality.

“Starscream is not known for his kindness, but I suppose we can be thankful he isn’t as cruel as Megatron.”

If their Warlord had been the one to deal with this, Flatline wouldn’t have lived to tell the tale.