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

[Knock Out]

“Well obviously there’s no better way than with a tantrum. Gives it that extra oomph, you know?”

He chuckled after this, however did not make any motions of moving over to the other mech. He did, however, keep his gaze on Flatline, watching as he dutifully cleaned up after himself. While the act of disposing of a needle was so small and insignificant in the grand scheme of things, Knock Out was weirdly thankful of the small gesture.

“You call that labor? Honestly, if I’d have known it was so light I wouldn’t have asked you at all. Having Breakdown move it originally probably didn’t help in our judgement of its weight.”

His gaze drifted as Flatline moved his servo, touching at the point of surgery. There was a gentle click of his tongue, almost like he wanted to say something- possibly scolding the other mech for touching the area so soon after what’d happened, but he would refrain. As much as he hated to admit it, Flatline did know at least about basic surgery and therefore he knew that any pokes and prods wouldn’t do any real harm.

Even if they did? Well, he’d be here for a while yet- paperwork was seemingly never-ending, and it was something he did not trust others to handle.

There was a gentle quirk of his brow as Flatline declined his offer. No doubt due to some sort of pride thing, but hey- if the other mech wanted to struggle on his own, that was on him. As such, Knock Out would shrug.

“If you’re sure.”

He assumed that’d be the end of it, that Flatline would then turn and leave- only he seemed to linger, before speaking once more.

“Your hesitance betrays you, and tells me that you aren’t quite so sure. I can call a Vehicon to assist if it’s me you don’t want to be seen with. I’m more than aware I’m the much better looking of the two of us, which can be absolutely shattering for one’s self-esteem.”

[Flatline]

"I had arms AMPUTATED."

Had he yelled that once already...? It felt familiar, yet he was so tired...

Yes or no, the words held a momentary squawk at Knock Out trying to validate his 'labors' by belittling them. Any sort of lifting, even if it was on the lighter spectrum, was not wise. Maybe after twenty-four to forty-eight hours or so, when his systems could comprehend what had happened and the spasming of confused lines and neural sensors calmed down, he could do such a thing... yet this had only been a few hours, and that was not good. Alas, Flatline SWIFTLY quelled his ire, a sharp invent following his outburst near instantly while both hands moved to sheer his thumb claws along middle fingers with a scrape not unlike scissors. He would do this anxious moment a couple times to quell down his spurred irritation, jaw twisting a second before he focused on the following conversation.

"Get over yourself..."

Knock Out may have started the ball rolling on Flatline wanting to take better care of himself... but his pride wasn't nearly as dependent upon appearance as the other mech. He did not care if he was the 'ugly' medic, he already had been called an Insecticon in passing rumors, which... really did not send him into a fit though didn't exactly settle well. It was irritating to be looked down upon as some animalistic beastly thing that were normally used as guardians, when he was a talented medic that wanted to stand his ground. Most realized their mistake fast, though Vehicons were skilled imbeciles at times. Alas, he never let it stop him in his goals, just as he wouldn’t let some sort of ill-founded 'shame' make him not want to be seen with the CMO.

"I just don't want the Vehicon that helped me here, to help me back."

Flatline snarled at this, it showing plain as day that something bad had happened to incur such a venomous reaction. The chances of it being the same soldier may be thin given the vastness of their ranks, yet at the same time there had to only be a few that meandered the halls on active duty at this point and time. What may have been a random shot in the dark, could be a far more likely percentage he didn't really favor.

It wasn't worth it.

Grasping hold of his cane, Flatline would push his hip off from the countertop with a grunt, easing himself into a true upright stand once more. Both of his hands would cup over the mangled hook of the pipe, pushing his weight upon it while his spindly legs balanced and tried to get their bearings. Once he settled, the tool would transition fully onto his right side, and he started to walk forward with his almost signature limp at this point.

"Really, I will be fine. But if you are so profoundly lonely you can tag along like a leach."

A jab back of his own, teasing, trying to spur Knock Out into his own indignation rather than focusing on the fact he had an issue with one of the soldiers in the Decepticon Army.

[Knock Out]

Knock Out seemed taken aback some by the yell, optics blinking slowly as he peered over at the other mech incredulously.

“I am aware, seeing how I was there.” he tsk’d. “Still, though, the majority of the lifting - if we ended up going that way - would’ve been down to me. You were more… moral support, there to give it a bit of a nudge with your hip if need be, or a gentle shove to get things moving. The way you’re carrying on anyone would think you had one of your actual arms removed.”

He was so dramatic- which was a bit rich coming from Knock Out, but that didn’t make it any less of a fact. While there was probably some rest period needed, even with the limbs removed being as small as they were? It wasn’t like he had been asking much of the other mech.

Then again, he’d never had anything amputated. He’d had a door forcibly ripped off by Optimus Prime which probably counted if he were to argue it with Flatline - Primus that took ages to find a replacement - but it wasn’t like he’d been able to afford the time to sit around crying about it or whining about having to work.

At the response to his comment, he would chuckle.

“Never.” he purred. What he said was 100% fact, and while it was not intended to be a genuine hurtful jab at the other mech, he did hope that it was something that would be remembered and acted upon. Flatline did need to start taking some pride in his own appearance, especially if he was to remain working here in the Medical Bay. High Command frequented this room, which meant they all had to look their best.

A quirk of a brow was given at the mention of a Vehicon. He hadn’t forgotten how Flatline had stumbled in here on his own, crashing onto the floor in a pool of Energon - a mental image that’d probably stick with him for some time. While the scuffs on his face from the impact against stone weren’t life-threatening or even really bad, Knock Out had made a point during surgery to give them some minimal buffing over to try and make them less obvious- even if he hadn’t taken the time to paint over them.

“Oh? Well, I’m all for doing things out of spite. What was the Vehicon’s designation? For curiosity’s sake.”

While he was sure Flatline would chastise him for wanting to use his power for ‘evil’ or whatever, it was an attempt at offering out an olive branch, in a way. If a Vehicon had been helping Flatline and then abandoned him? That warranted some sort of punishment, even if it was something petty should the Vehicon be due for a checkup in the near future.

Watching as flatline eased himself forward, he in turn would lean back against his own desk, folding his arms - only to drop them to his sides a moment later at the accusation.

A scoff, a wave of a servo. Trying to downplay that okay- maybe he did enjoy Flatline’s company.

“Loneliness has nothing to do with it! After all, as you said, you did have arms amputated! Besides, it isn’t like there’s anything that needs doing in here.”

[Flatline]

Ah yes. The assumption his secondaries were not that big a deal.

When Knock Out implied his amputated limbs weren't 'actual' arms, the top of Flatline's lip would flick a bit. He may not have been sparked with the appendages, he may have received them later in life, but that didn't make them a part of who he was. He adapted and accepted them into his frame quickly, and while they were small and fragile, unable to be used for more brute tasks such as moving things around, they were still his arms and not the equivalent of a fighter having their sword or gun removed from its mountings. It wasn't an 'Oh that’s a bummer' response to him.

Flatline let his jaw clench slightly, a small muffled creak forming from the hinge that was inaudible to the other Cybertronian. As flip-floppy as he could seem this evening, getting angry and loud over some slights while going passive to others at the drop of a hat, if there was ever a scenario he may flip out... it would be the fact this was a huge deal to him. Yet, that was a mental weakness, something that could be exploited, so he sucked it up and channeled his ire into his jaw, adding to the abrasive scores and grooves on the connection points while he focused upon following words.

His focus then narrowed onto trying to remember the designation.

"R...E... I think a twenty-nine..."

So very helpful...

"It is hazy, perhaps I will remember later."

Flatline knew his few dropped letters were borderline useless, a sort of shrug gracing his shoulders before he took a few more paces towards the door. At this point the black and red mech's back was to Knock Out, helm crooking to the side ever so slightly as if intending to look over his shoulder without actually twisting his frame around to do so. An angular ragged brow would hike up sharply, seeing right through the other mech's bullshit.

"Oh, NOW my surgery is a concern when it works in your favor?"

A sharp tsk would form from that, a chastising sound of disappointment as his mass would turn back ahead to try to walk once more. He was making acceptable progress, though the hock of his digitigrade limb would jitter every now and again after every couple strides and taps of his cane. He didn't seem liable to fall, though that could really be because he was hyper-focusing on the task while trying to juggle the conversation at the same time. A tricky feat given his sedated exhaustion.

"By all means, join me on a walk due to loneliness under the false pretense of worrying about my health."

A low hissed sound of amusement, mocking the other Cybertronian. At this, Flatline would get to the door, pulling the ragged barely-functional piece of trash aside so that he could start to depart. He didn't KNOW if Knock Out would follow, but it would certainly be interesting to see what he chose. Would he start badgering and walk along insisting it was the logical doctor thing to do? That is what Flatline expected. Scrabbled justifications.

[Knock Out]

The slight twitch of the other mech’s lip did not go unnoticed. However, fortunately for Flatline? Knock Out thought nothing of it. Sure, he might’ve hit a nerve there with the comment about the arms, or it might’ve been because he’d been reduced down to nothing more than ‘moral support’ - but he didn’t honestly care too much to inquire what the problem was.

There’d been no true malice behind his words, nor had he meant to insult the other mech with what he’d said. So if he had taken offense to something? That was on him.

It wasn’t Knock Out’s problem, and so as quickly as the twitch had come and gone? So had the cherry-mechs thoughts on the situation.

A quirk of a brow was given as Flatline began to recite part of the Vehicon’s designation. He’d been partly joking when he’d asked - and he’d certainly not expected a genuine response. He personally didn’t know any of the Vehicons by their ‘name’ and didn’t care to try and make the effort to tell them apart. Breakdown, though? Somehow he knew them all. He could tell them from one another even from a distance and actually took the time to check in on them and listen to what they had to say.

It was kinda cute.

“RE… 29. Well, it’s a start I suppose. Doesn’t ring a bell in the slightest, but I can ask Breakdown if you’d like- if you can’t remember, anyway. I’m sure he’ll know.”

They could always look it up, which in all honesty probably wouldn’t take too long, even on their slow systems here at Blackridge, but that required far more effort than he was willing to put in right at this second.

He watched curiously as Flatline limped his way to the door, barking out a laugh as he was called out, yet wouldn’t draw much attention to it, not wanting to admit that the other mech was partially correct.

“Loneliness? Flatline, honey, look at you - the speed you’re going, and that jitter? You’re either going to take all night or hurt yourself.”

All it took was one snag of that cane and he’d fall aft over chassis - again.

“I am allowed to worry, you know. Well, at least about some patients. Not all, before you go putting words in my mouth.”

The thought of him caring about everyone? Eesh, no thank you.

Pushing into a walk, he would quickly make his way over to the door - grasping it with one servo and holding it open so Flatline could focus on getting through without fumbling or falling.

[Flatline]

"Yes. I would like to log a formal complaint against them for singing and messing around when I was under duress!"

A grumbled droll. Flatline wasn't too pleased, and now that the incident was out in the open he spoke about it a bit more freely. If that Vehicon learned a lesson about what was appropriate when transporting an injured Decepticon? It would be a win win all around for anyone in the future that may be stuck in such a predicament. Whatever the case, the black and red mech's attention flicked back to the other topic.

"Loneliness? Flatline, honey, look at you - the speed you’re going, and that jitter? You’re either going to take all night or hurt yourself."

"And that concerns you how?"

Flatline's upper lip twitched at this, a sort of smirk forming. While it could be argued if he did take a tumble it suddenly DID become Knock Out's concern, Flatline was still willing to wager none of this was based off of a medic's selfless want to look after his patients. A stumble, a fall... if anything it could end with Flatline getting a new scuff or a bit of a bump. Given the placement of his surgical site, it would likely not strike the area directly unless there was some awkward neglected point, a jutted rock or ridge that would crook JUST right to swing up and get him.

Ah well, the red mech continued, and Flatline let out a sort of tired low chuckle.

"So, I am worthy of such attention? Knock Out, I had no idea!"

While Flatline was acting flippant to tease, he did sound tired, as if the energy to keep up the game was dwindling. So many times in this encounter his emotions had been swung one way or another. Anger, depression, happiness, back to rage and taking insult... He felt like he was unstable, and the rapid snaps one way or another were starting to take their tole on him along with his physical aches and exhaustion.

A click of the cane, a tap tap of hoof like peds... Flatline walked calmly along the corridor towards the gradual slope that would hook around to the lower level where the resting areas were located. He did not seem worried about the ramp, finding it gradual enough he didn’t have to watch every footfall and act with profound caution, not needing to hook his frame to lead with a hip and sidestep down. While he appeared mostly confident, he did take his time, remaining close to the right wall so if his trembling leg gave out, he had it to lean against instead.

[Knock Out]

“Singing? Mm, leave it with me. I’m sure Breakdown will know exactly which Vehicon it was and we can see about getting something done.”

Maybe.

Part of him wondered just how much was truth, and how much was Flatline being dramatic. He’d noticed that the other mech had little to no tolerance for pain, and Knock Out couldn’t help but wonder if he was shifting things out of proportion or had forgotten details, or filled in gaps with annoyances just because he was in a bad mood.

Then again, there were a few stray Vehicons who seemed to be a bit… confused at times. If this RG… 29 had been avoiding the medical bay because he was ‘broken’, any condition he was in could’ve gotten worse to the point he didn’t know what to do in an emergency situation. It seemed like standard protocol, basic initiative to help someone who was wounded in getting help, yet Flatline had crashed through the door alone, toppling face first into the floor with no assistance.

The smirk was not lost on him, and he’d scoff, rolling his optics.

“In case you forgot, you work here in the Medical Bay with me, of course it concerns me - I need you fighting fit and ready to go for a full day’s work tomorrow! You think I was allowed to stop working when Optimus Prime savagely ripped my door off? No no no, my dear Flatline, you need to rest up so you can do your job.”

A hum of thought, a slight pause.

“Well, that and I don’t want you falling and hurting yourself again, thus adding more to my workload.”

The less work that Knock Out had to do at any given time? The better. If an injury could be avoided simply by escorting the patient back to his quarters? Well, he would do it. It prolonged the inevitable paperwork and tidying up, too, even if the vast majority of the cleaning had already been done in the time Flatline had been in stasis.

As they moved, he noted just how slow and cautious Flatline was being. Unhurried baby steps, painfully slower than he realized - and he found himself having to pace himself accordingly a few times as to not pull too far ahead

Another tsk was given at the flippant comment, he’d chuckle.

“For now. Don’t push your luck.”

More agonizingly slow footing was made, before he’d grumble.

“Oh for Primus’ sake, Flatline, this will take all day. Just- just put your arm around me or something and let’s go.”

He’d already been scratched by the table, any other scuffs and scrapes from the other mechs angular frame would be a small price to pay in getting things moving.

[Flatline]

"Yeah yeah..."

This was Flatline's short little dismissive answer to Knock Out's longer excuse, the clash of verbiage notable. While it was all true, and he knew it, there was some sort of amusement found in that Knock Out always spun it all to be about him and not so much his patient. Even the last jab almost sounded actually concerned and sincere for the briefest of flickers until the swing slap at the end, and it caused a low chuckle to utter out.

Such were the ways of Decepticons was it not?

Being nice got one steamrolled.

Either way, Flatline felt like he was making decent pace all things considered. He wasn’t drag shuffling every inch along the path, he didn’t scrape his heel posts down as if trying to gore them into the stone for stability... he felt like he was just walking at an eased gait. Slower than normal of course, cautious, but not awful! Evidently, this assumption was incorrect it seemed, as Knock Out made it abundantly clear the speed in which they were moving was completely unacceptable.

"I know you like racing, but really? Risking abysmal scratches to your paint?"

The black and red mech came to a full halt as he said this, his weight resting down onto his cane as he opted to settle for a moment. This was done so that he could eye Knock Out somewhat without multitasking with walking, trying to read his expression or any hints of body language. Before this offer had been thrown his way, Flatline had been willing to admit that perhaps somewhere deep down the self-taught mess of a disgraceful Medic actually begrudgingly cared. Now? Now he wondered what else was going on here.

Did Knock Out notice the time and need to flee the area? Was there some sort of check-in of some kind Flatline didn’t know of? A patrol that the other medic didn't want to be around for... or who knows what else. The idea their pristine perfectionist self-centered egotistical CMO would dare to invite scratches to his frame just to get moving quicker?... it made no sense.

"The amount of time saved would be spent ten-fold in buffing and polishing."

Even if it was only the smallest of scuffs, Knock Out would undoubtedly make an ordeal out of it.

Ragged brows would furrow and crook down into a scowl, Flatline's hazed vision trying to focus on any details that could betray emotions in the other. It was so very hard however, his eyes pinning a moment to try to clear them, before he crooked back around and resumed his languid pace down the ramp. He wouldn’t be able to read finer visual details to guess anything, so there was no point staring him down when he could get closer to the end goal.

"You are scaring me."

Lowly drolled, hardly scared tones.

[Knock Out]

The dismissive ‘Yeah yeah’ was met with a gentle scoff and rolling of optics, but he couldn’t help but smirk. The lack of witty retort or further verbiage only proved that he was right and the fact that Flatline had nothing to add was a nice little ‘win’.

Not that it was a competition, nor was Knock Out looking to argue any, but it was a little throwback of sorts to how things used to be. It would’ve been nice, refreshing even, to have some of the other mech’s sass in response, but given how tired and worn down Flatline seemed to be? Knock Out knew he probably wasn’t in the mood.

The almost frustratingly slow pace of their walk came to an abrupt stop, with the cherry-red mech halting his steps a moment after Flatline.

“Abysmal? Flatline my dear I’m asking you to put an arm around me, I’m not offering to carry you bridal style through the threshold of your quarters! ...Well, unless you want me to, then again I don’t think I could lift you.”

His posture remained neutral, expression even more so. There was no hidden agenda here, although it was hilarious in a way that this genuine offer to be nice had been met with such confusion. Then again, he knew damn well he would’ve reacted the same way.

Another scoff, he shook his helm.

“Consider it a token of newfound friendship-” ah yes, the f-word... “-Or something. Given we’re going to be working together, I’d like it to be on good terms. Any scratches from your frame, well, Breakdown is an expert with the buffer.”

Ah yes, any excuse to be pampered - and this one would’ve come from doing a good deed. 

Setting into a gradual walk as Flatline began moving once more, he would chuckle.

“You don’t sound scared, now take me up on the damn offer before I do try to carry you.”

He wouldn’t, Primus no, but hey - the threat had been made.

[Flatline]

Red optics rolled dramatically along with Flatline's helm in response to Knock Out's threat about carrying him. While Flatline was rather lightweight, not a husky build at all with missing mass due to his gyroscopes and slender limbs, he was still bigger and more gangly than Knock Out. Even if he wanted to be carried, which he most certainly did NOT, it would be an awkward endeavor most assuredly ending with a loss of balance, tipping, a limb getting in the way, or his frame alone blocking vision to end with them running into a wall. It was a ridiculous thing to even imagine, and even if he was injured on the battlefield somehow and had to be taken away by the smaller mech, he would more likely than not just drag him along the ground leaving a trench through the dirt.

"Melodramatic about scrapes when it suits you, coping of them when convenient hmm?"

A disappointed 'tsk tsk' followed suit, Flatline's helm subtly shaking from one side to the other. He couldn't understand really why Knock Out was doing all this however. Why was he almost insisting? Sure, he explained it by 'friendship', but... that alliance was still so new, and this situation still so very odd. There had to be an ulterior motive, and not knowing or even having a strong guess on what that was made Flatline reluctant to accept.

"I am not that pitiful! I am walking, I haven't stumbled!"

The black and red mech's helm had turned as he said this, his top lip pulling into a faint sneer. This turn however ended with him doing what he had just boasted about avoiding, a sharp lurch following before his ped clipped down to gain proper traction and catch himself. The gyroscopes in his shoulders clicked and whirled momentarily to stop any fall, a startled gaze looking at the floor, before his helm whipped around to glare at the other mech. The timing could not have been worse here, and the slats along his back rattled in irritation.

"Don't!"

Quick, a squawk, trying to cut off mockery before it formed.

"Fill the time with conversation if you are so anguished."

Flatline's words rumbled in displeasure at this, a grimace in place at the fact he almost fell right after he had been so prideful of his pitiful little accomplishment. As such, he continued to speak, trying to derail and talk about things Knock Out would care about. If the topic was attractive enough, maybe he would bypass what happened in excitement at an opportunity to boast. Knock Out sure liked to brag did he not?

"From what I see you have been quite lucky on not getting in trouble for abandoning your post to go racing. I assume you win often?"

[Knock Out]

“I’d hardly say assisting you is convenient, but go off. It’s circumstantial - while I would not be pleased about it, I’d at least be knowingly putting myself into the situation and could be careful, as opposed to sayyyy… someone violently scratching me across the faceplate without warning.”

Ah yes, he hadn’t forgotten about that little incident - nor would he ever, it seemed. Even if Flatline had been sick when it happened, he’d still done it.

Yet even despite this, there was no real malice behind his words - in fact, he sounded honestly quite amused, all things considered. While his wounds from that night had long since healed, Flatline still had the limp from the damage to his leg. That alone was some weird sort of ‘justice’ for the situation, even if he hadn’t been the one to personally inflict the payback.

It only saddened him somewhat in that he hadn’t been able to properly fix Flatline, given the lack of equipment on hand. It was no fault of his own, he certainly had the skill - yet his pride had taken a blow even if he’d worked an absolute miracle in getting the leg repaired as much as he had.

Unaware of the inner turmoil Flatline was facing over the fact he was trying to be nice for once, he continued on, walking alongside the other mech - ready to assist should the black and red mech decide he needed help after all.

A gentle scoff was the only response to Flatline’s comment, his mouth opening to reply- only it seemed the other mech spoke far, far too soon, and did exactly what he said he hadn’t.

Ah, sweet irony.

Instinctively, Knock Out moved in to assist, only to be met with a fierce glare. Both servos held up, he would scoff and halt his movement.

“Suit yourself.”

There was no mockery to be had, even if the faintest smirk twitched at his lip, threatening to spread into a smile. No, no - he was behaving. The instant smack to Flatline’s pride was more than enough, and he would ease into a gradual walk once more.

“I only abandon my post when there’s nothing to do.” he grumbled, continuing. “Which as of late is a rarity. As for winning, indeed - every time, almost. To the point I’ve been straight up banned from certain circuits because they think I’m cheating.” he chuckled, shaking his head.

“You should come along sometime. Not to race, Primus no, not with your altmode, but to observe. It’d probably be good for you.” he glanced across to Flatline then, gently frowning. “You spent your entire time on the Nemesis cooped up in your laboratory, and I don’t think I’ve seen you venture out of Blackridge the entire time we’ve been here.”

[Flatline]

A low grumble sounded out when Knock Out reminded about the slash.

"I apologize for that."

Flatline wasn't in his right mind, he could blame it on that, but there was no doubt that some extra force went into the slash that was sourced from their past hate of one another. Whatever the case, the topic seemed to move on, which Flatline was more than happy about. He would transition to the idea of leaving the Nemesis or Blackridge quickly with newfound interest and investment.

"Venturing out was only done on rare occasion; however, I haven’t for... some time."

Yet, leaving previously was only done when work demanded as much. Raiding scrapyards, rummaging for anything of value to be found... the only thing outside of material acquisition was when he got his Altmode, and when he did some medical work on the side for Pyrotech in exchange for copper... which... evidently was a more sought out and rare metal here on Earth.

"Even if it is to watch you boast and rub my face in my speed capabilities, or lack thereof, it would be nice to go out."

Flatline did well to hide the desperation in these words. While he did not long to go sightseeing and want to 'enjoy Earths splendor' or other specific goal, there was still some joy out there to be found. From wilderness, to city, to desert... even if it was an endless sea of snow there would be something to be appreciated versus these caves. A breath of fresh air through his vents, an ability to stride in any direction and not find oneself hitting a wall within only a few steps. Freedom from a stone cave, freedom from a CAGE. He truly didn't care if he would be watching a race between a Cybertronian and a gaggle of humans, even willing to try to cobble together a Holoform if it was the toll needed to receive such an outing. Possibly being forced to speak with the natives, trying to fit in, just for the opportunity to get out.

"I question if I can though, I have yet to even get the gall to ask for my harpoons back."

As if recognizing they were mentioned, the turrets on Flatline's back seemed to twitch some in nervous dismay. The weapons may not be the most practical, especially for one of his fighting capabilities, however they were a good deterrent he felt. They looked brutal, they looked gruesome. It was one thing to be shot, it was another to have a sharpened barbed post ram into one's frame with no ability to pull it back out without shredding and tearing in the process. While his empty weaponry still looked like they could be guns of some type to those untrained, thus not betraying he was truly disarmed, it still made him uncomfortable.

Yet he never got a single hint it would be alright to arm himself after his 'betrayal'.

"They should not be needed, yet if things go wrong it was a comfort to know they were there."

While speaking through this entire conversation, Flatline's helm remained pinned forward to watch where he was stepping. Gradually the slope of the ramp evened out as they reached the bottom floor, now walking forward down the new hallway towards the sleeping quarters.

[Knock Out]

There wasn’t much of a response given to Flatline’s apology. A non-committal noise that was neither here nor there, if only because that must’ve been apology number… what were they up to now, 500 or so? Probably.

While he would forever hold a grudge deep down, he had moved on from the incident - at least to the point it no longer annoyed him just thinking about it - although would take any excuse to remind the black and red mech of what he’d done, if only to make him feel like crap.

Because that’s what friends did!

Yet he wouldn’t push the topic, no - not today.

A quiet hum of thought escaped him at Flatline’s comment, trying to recall just when the other mech had left the confines of their base. Since they’d arrived at Blackridge, he had not moved from within the safety of the walls. He couldn’t remember seeing Flatline ever leave the Nemesis, then again he didn’t really keep tabs on the other mech, simply because he didn’t really give two slags and because his laboratory had been so far from the areas that Knock Out frequented.

Yet something about Flatline’s tone indicated that it’d been far, far too long. ‘Some time’ was too vague, meaning the other mech probably couldn’t remember himself.

“Boast? If you were the racing sort, I would indeed! However, you seem to be on par with Breakdown’s speed - and I’m sure once I get it out of my system with a few sarcastic quips, there will be no boasting from me.”

What was to boast about? Flatline’s altmode was a hearse for Primus’ sake, he wouldn’t be winning any races in the near future, or at all for that matter. Knock Out did have patience sometimes, and while he did enjoy driving at impossibly fast speeds, being around Breakdown had taught him to be a little more tolerant of those who were not blessed with racing capabilities.

Even if it’d been entirely their own choice.

“We could always go rummaging around a few junkyards if you wanted. I’m sure you’re more than aware how dire our situation is here at Blackridge, and while I don’t have high hopes of finding anything of real value, we could possibly find some things we can at least use.”

Some scrap metal, or even some decent cables could be used for many a random task around the base, especially in the medical bay. He didn’t like having to salvage, feeling it was rather beneath him, but if Flatline was the one doing the rummaging, he could at least stand there and look good as he barked out orders.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all, and even he could admit that they needed all the help they could get - even if that help was found from things humans had thrown away. It’d probably be easier to ‘escape’ Blackridge too if they had an actual goal rather than aimlessly looking for a street race.

A quirk of a brow was given at the comment about harpoons, gaze drifting to Flatline’s back.

“I’d say let’s go and talk to Starscream about getting a Vehicon and retrieving them for you. However, as you only just had your arms ripped off - uh, sorry - just today, probably not too wise to go asking for special favors. Honestly by now, you’d be better off getting new ones made, and as CMO I can probably approve a work order for that, without needing a higher up.”

Flatline’s original harpoons had been sitting on the Nemesis ever since it’d been lost to the Ocean, and he was almost certain they’d be all but useless now. Waterlogged, rusted and corroded by salt water. He shuddered at the thought, turning his attention straight ahead as they slowly made their way down the ramp.

“Course, they probably won’t be needed, as you said. I could loan you my energon prod should you feel like you need something to defend yourself with, however. Obviously that means should there be trouble, you better be ready to protect me!”

[Flatline]

"-and I’m sure once I get it out of my system with a few sarcastic quips, there will be no boasting from me."

Flatline's brow hiked high at this, a look that plainly showed he did not believe this statement for even a fraction of a second. There was a high expectation the boasting would continue for the entirety they were in their Altmodes, a comment pitched every single time Knock Out even cast a glance at his less than spectacular choice. Perhaps Flatline should have gone for something a bit sleeker, tried to find something that could maneuver a bit better and cut loose on straightaways if he had to try to escape. Yet, he so seldom left the confines of whatever base they were in, that there didn't seem to be a NEED in his mind to even bother.

He picked the first thing he found that was remotely compatible with his frame size. No pickup truck, no farm tractor, no tow truck, nothing that was in that remote region other than the hearse that was being worked on as a pet project by the human. So, that is where he was, and he didn't currently miss or regret the choice even if he may get jabbed at and taunted. Likely if he was running for his life he would regret, but that was far from this moment.

"I know little of construction, but I believe mines use structural supports? Scrap metals could help with that?"

Flatline did not go to the mines. He did not research mines. He knew nothing about the Energon Harvesting sites here on Earth, or... anywhere for that matter. Yet something told him he read somewhere, or saw something, or maybe just logic dictated that burrowing through softer rocks and terrain needed braces to span the gaps so a cave in didn’t occur.

"Maybe construction supplies would be beneficial?"

Find some construction site and straight up rob some I beams or other tools. They would likely need to try to steal a truck though, which would be awkward since they could likely only run with a couple pieces looped under an arm each. One between the two of them if it was substantial enough. A chain slammed into the bumper of a trailer would potentially work, but he was getting ahead of himself, momentarily daydreaming on being able to present something of value... even if there was a possibility some Vehicons already had done just that and they didn't need the metals.

At the mention of Starscream and his harpoons, Flatline demeanor changed.

"No no. No need."

Sharp, quickly spoken. With a waver the black and red mech stumbled slightly in his stride, a tense nervousness rocking through him that made his turrets pull together some, and the panels on his back smooth down after bristling in a fleeting motion. It'd be alright if Knock Out approved it, Flatline going on a field trip to the other location to work with Sparkplug on potential replacements. It would be such a small and trivial work order for someone used to working on real weapons and not glorified spears.

Looking over a moment, Flatline eyed Knock Out at his statement of offering his weapon at the cost of protecting him.

"That won't happen."

Flat.

"I will use my circular saw."

[Knock Out]

Oh, there would absolutely be boasting. Knock Out knew that Flatline's altmode was among the slowest of their ranks and most of the Decepticon forces probably wouldn't judge him at all for his lack of speed capabilities, probably because they didn't care. But to the cherry-red CMO? Ahh, speed was everything, and so there would almost certainly be a comment or two (or ten) made - if only because he wouldn't be able to stop himself.

A hearse. A fraggin' hearse. Of all the vehicles on this planet, Flatline had picked a-

No, no.

He'd said he wouldn't boast, which in a way also meant no judging, and while that was only to try and make Flatline feel more comfortable with the idea of actually leaving the base, it seemed this small effort - hidden behind a fairly obvious lie - was not to be believed, and the quirking of a brow made him chuckle.

Busted.

Thankfully though, Flatline didn't comment. Instead showing some sort of interest in the idea of junkyards. While it admittedly wouldn't be his own first choice in things to do outside of Blackridge, even he couldn't deny that they were severely lacking in some of the most basic things here at base - and the mines were probably even worse off.

This way they could get out for a bit and do something of actual use and productivity - a good deed, as it were - which could then be used as a cover story for when he no doubt grew restless and managed to convince Flatline that, hey, while they were out? Might as well get in a quick race!

Or at least that's how he hoped it'd eventually go, anyway.

"Mm, it could. I'm sure Blackridge as a whole could benefit from things like that. With the ongoing expansion-" he hated that, even if it was for the greater good, the dust was absolute murder on his finish "I'm sure any effort we put in to gathering supplies will at least garner us some favor with Pyrotech and Starscream,"

It was his turn to quirk a brow, and he'd cast the other mech a quick glance.

"Some of us need that more than others. I'll even let you take most of the credit if we're successful!" he flashed a wink at that, chuckling as he continued on.

The stumble caught his attention, and he found himself faltering a moment. Ready to step in with some 'noble' attempt to catch Flatline should he topple forward, or at the very least assist in helping him off the floor. It didn't seem to be either of these things, and he noted how abrupt the other mech was in response to his comment.

"Honestly even if we did find your harpoons again, they'd be completely unusable by now I'm sure."

Corroded by saltwater and rust no doubt, the thought making him shudder. They were better off utilizing Sparkplug's skills to manufacture more from scratch, or at the very least he could try to cobble something together, not that he knew the first thing about making harpoons - but that was definitely a problem for future-him. 

Glancing back at Flatline just in time to meet his gaze, he chuckled.

"Oh? I bet mine is bigger than yours." he purred.