[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Morgue [Flatline]

[Coldwind]

Episode 3 / Week 1 / Day 6 / Open

The living accommodations at Blackridge were famously terrible. Whereas on the Nemesis, one could afford a small measure of privacy, that was very much not the case here; and doubly so after the personal quarters were re-arranged into communal barracks to save space. These new rectangular capsules were somehow even worse than before, shared between several mecha, with no more room than necessary. Three beds, an odd crate here and there. It was the bare minimum, but it would have to do until the Decepticons either recovered the Nemesis or expanded their primitive new home beyond its utilitarian purpose.

As for Coldwind, she could not be less fortunate to share her room with Flatline. The two of them rarely spoke, if ever. Despite his silence, the insectoid’s presence was still very much to her chagrin. She knew about him only from what the reports said, but that was enough to put her on edge. To his credit, Flatline’s conduct thus far contradicted much of the picture painted by his portfolio. He kept to the walls and shadows, almost blending into the scenery as if he wasn’t there. A far cry from the cutthroat, ruthless intellectual he fancied himself in the past.

The Seeker never confronted her medic roommate about it, so long as he maintained that attitude. Out of sight, out of mind. That was the way she preferred him. But by the same measure, his grim demeanor raised suspicions. She often knew Starscream and his ilk to act much the same way when they had a good—often self-serving—reason to do so. The feeling that Flatline was up to something beneath that pitiful exterior always weighed heavily on her shoulders.

But today, her mind did not dwell on Flatline overmuch. Her thoughts were focused elsewhere with recent developments taken into account. The return of Megatron burdened her most of all. What did it mean for Starscream going forward? And in turn, what did it mean for her? Those questions were still left unanswered, and as a way of distracting herself from them, Coldwind found solace in combat practice whenever she could.

Usually, after such endeavors, she would simply crash back in her room to analyze combat records, go over past encounters with the enemy, and make sure her extensive databanks on the Autobot threat were updated according to the field reports from their inside bot; or whatever information Soundwave and Starscream let trickle through the cracks.

It was no different now. She stood next to her bed with a small projector on the ground, which emitted a tapestry of light around the Seeker. Ever so often, she lazily waved a servo. Then, with a buzz, the image adjusted; displaying a new enemy, a new battle, a new line of code, and a new wall of text to the side. She honed this habit into an addiction.

A flick of her wrist and the image jumped from Bumblebee to Ratchet, and from Ratchet to Optimus.

Every afternoon, every morning, she looked at the same Autobot faces, at the same archives, hoping to learn more. Coldwind needed to know them like the back of her hand if she were to face off against them on the battlefield, that much was true. But by now, this had grown to be a rather useless ritual. Their spy offered less and less new info, and genuine confrontations with the Autobots were conspicuously few since that fateful mine raid. She knew all there was to know.

Perhaps if Coldwind spent less time staring at Optimus Prime and more time studying her comrades, the femme would know what grim fate Starscream orchestrated for Flatline. But truthfully, her interests were never vested in being a good teammate. Whenever she had the choice between cooperation with fellow Decepticons and doing the job herself, the latter was ever the preferred method.

But sometimes, avoiding the stink was impossible...

[Flatline]

Going from a private laboratory with its own room attached to the back, to this communal setup was a huge downgrade.

But at least he was alive.

Flatline hated the sleeping arrangements at Blackridge. Having to walk into an area that almost always had someone lurking and watching, having no way to close a door and get some kind of true silence without footfalls and distant muttered talking... it all added up and clashed violently with his reclusive nature. It would be one thing if it was a simple transition alone, the black and red mech more likely than not having enough aggression to slightly carve out his own niche and make it HIS, but... after the fall of the Nemesis he was scared.

Despite being punished, despite many moving on and settling in across the three months, that dark cloud still hung overhead as an oppressing blanket that smothered. Things were better in the Medical Bay however, Knock Out permitting him to do basic maintenance work on Vehicons that the red medic absolutely hated, so Flatline felt like he was doing something of value other than cleaning, but that didn't mean others moved on as readily. Should they have to work in a grungy environment, do day to day labor... that was one thing, but to report back to this hovel of a sleeping arrangement? Letting ire fester and rot while trying to rest? Well, Flatline was surprised he hadn't been stabbed in his sleep yet due to being the reason things went upside down.

Especially given his roommate.

Coldwind's aggression was not an unknown variable. Brutal, deadly, she would be able to absolutely rip him apart and kill him before anyone could realize, and even if they did they probably wouldn't care. Because of this Flatline remained as small as possible in her presence, keeping out of the way, quickly scuttling out from her path when she was on the move. He boosted his already passive aura around her even more so to not entice conflict or conversation. Red optics would cast aside, never make direct eye contact, never stand fully upright or look more proud and capable even if he had a good day...

Today was no different, Flatline lying down on his berth with his vision facing the far wall and back to the femme. He knew well what the brute was doing, having witnessed her ritual on multiple occasions across the months within Blackridge. What had once looked productive and admirable to him now had breached across a line to being obsessive and deranged. In his opinion with the amount of time she aggressively stared down Arcee to Optimus, it was borderline neurotic and insane. There had to be nothing more to learn at this point, nothing more to gain, all unarmored points found, all data on weaponry cataloged, and all hypothetical strength comparisons made.

He never commented on his however.

Keeping to himself, Flatline shifted some in his resting position, his aching and sore limb folding up a bit further beneath the other into a crooked posture. While the leg was significantly better over time he still preferred the aid of his cane, able to rest against it as it gave him a feeling of stability. This cane was leaned against the wall beside his bed, a spare pipe twisted at the top and sanded smoother to allow a good grip. But while he had grown accustomed to such a handicap, the removal of his secondary arms was a wound that continued to ache.

Gently, hooked talons gingerly touched the point where one of the arms had once been mounted. Knock Out's skill was nothing to laugh at when it came to surface repairs. No weld marks, no ripple in the metals surface or sharp line separating old from new paint... should someone not be aware he used to have four arms, the removal points would be invisible. The talons lightly ran across the smooth metal as if hoping to feel the base of the limb, but obviously there was nothing.

At this he left out a quiet exhale, eyes closing.

[Coldwind]

Usually, this was where their routine ended. Like any other day, Coldwind would turn off the projector, slide it into a compartment beneath her bed and dock for the night, not exchanging a single word with Flatline nor anybody else who might find their way here. He would fall asleep moping, and she would grunt for a good few hours more before finding a comfortable recharge position. Oh, it was so very difficult at her size and with her build. Wings got in the way, and so did her frame.

She missed having a place more tailored to the needs of a Seeker. But Blackridge was no Vos. She had to make do at least until Pyrotech finally gave in to her demands. Sadly, the likelihood of that was somewhere between zero and negative infinity. But she still tried to remind him that the current arrangements were unacceptable whenever they passed each other in the hallways or at a meeting.

Same thoughts, same actions. Every night.

At first, there was no sign of change. After going over the final Autobot on display, Coldwind disabled the device and put it in its place. She then sat down onto her bed, ready to get a few hours of sleep in before waking up notoriously early and disappearing to do whatever errands Starscream had her run. Sometimes she even did so simply to keep herself occupied. She was a soldier first and foremost; and hated inaction out of principle. Unfortunately, the downtime in Blackridge was often grueling.

As was watching Flatline sob himself to sleep every night. Not that he was verbal about it, no. But whenever she so much as slipped a glance, Coldwind saw him twiddling about like some sort of outcast. There was no pride, no strength, no dignity. It was pathetic and made her want to vomit. She tolerated it if only because it made Flatline less of a nuisance. But today might’ve been the day she finally snapped.

The navy Seeker rocked forward in her sitting position, wings moving out of the way with a distinct racket. She watched Flatline for a moment while he caressed his phantom limbs. As if he couldn’t get any sadder, the insect had the audacity to sigh and lament his predicament further. She knew he missed them but never cared to ask how he lost them in the first place. Based on a simple assumption, Coldwind concluded that it must have been the work of an uncharacteristically brutal Autobot. A few names popped into mind, but none of them were distinctly cruel enough to simply tear off a pair of arms and call it a day. And neither did the Decepticons carry any records of such an encounter.

“Miss your claws, bug?” She asked in a guttural, low grumble. Her tone was oddly curious, much unlike her stoic and ignorant demeanor. Either she was genuinely interested, or she wanted to stop Flatline from brooding around all day like a ghostly shadow.

His sulking was a boon in many ways, but she couldn’t stand to look at his sorry face anymore. Not like this.

[Flatline]

Oh great. It was speaking to him.

Flatline paused in his movements when Coldwind addressed him, a sort of slight freeze as he started to try to consider what exactly it was he wanted to do. His first impulse was to ignore her. She was trying to gear him up for mockery of some kind. Get him to admit he missed his limbs only to probably turn around and snarl that he shouldn’t have destroyed the Nemesis and THEN tell him he should consider himself lucky to even be alive.

As if that'd do anything to make him feel better.

She obviously knew he had lost his arms, so she had to have known the circumstances regarding it right? If not, she still could be setting him up for mockery. Trying to get him, once more, to admit he missed them only to laugh and call him pathetic. There was an exceptionally slim chance her feelings and intent matched the more curious undertone that was in play, contrasting her normally growly ways, but did he really want to even slightly face that psychological evaluation into how she was trying to manipulate him?...

Could he afford to snub her and possibly incur anger straight out?...

Fuck it.

Flatline let out a snorted heave that was muddled and subdued, a sort of sound of annoyance that was choked back so he did not sound terribly flippant. With this his frame crooked awkwardly to exploit his less armored midsection, his slimmer lower half bending and twisting more in her direction while his upper torso rolled a bit to let his spine aim at the slab. With his hip assembly angled towards her the hock of his heel crooked over the edge of the berth for a 'grip' before he wrenched the rest of his frame around in a borderline alien like lurch given his lopsided structure. Once he had been flip-flopped to the other side with a heavy clunk, the hock 'unclipped' from the metal slab to then crooked some to go at rest once more.

Now lying on his side once again only to now be facing Coldwind, Flatline folded the arm that was closer to the ceiling across his midsection, while the other was rather pinned and unable to bend given its structure. His gaze was tired, unamused, red optics settling on her intently.

"Do you even care?"

Exhausted words, not really wanting to get drug into a verbal fight, and most definitely not wishing to have things turn into a physical fight. This is part of the reason however he did not sit upright and chose to remain lying down. Not wanting to look like he was squaring off with her, not wanting to seem more active. If he stayed small perhaps shed feel less inclined to backhand him to the ground should he be prodded enough to throw back some snarled words.

[Coldwind]

"Oh, believe me, I don't."

Straight to the point. Coldwind had no need for sparing Flatline's feelings or pretending like under all that rough exterior, she was secretly a loving, kindly soul which only pretended to be a ruthless soldier. No, she was every bit that soldier. Always has, always will be. Her interest in the melancholic medic was only borne out of frustration. And despite Flatline's attempts to make himself seem small, she already felt challenged by the notion that someone like her would care.

"But this?"

Coldwind stood up to her full height and approached Flatline if only to underline her presence. The Seeker's footsteps echoed through the otherwise silent room. It was then that her helm tilted downwards to look at him up close, looming high above the twig-legged Decepticon.

"It's pathetic."

Her joints heaved and ratcheted as Coldwind leaned in closer. Her thick eyebrows were furrowed and her expression could not be described as anything but annoyed.

Then the femme's voice grew deep and smooth like never before. Hushed, quiet, and hollow. It was unlike the guttural speech patterns so characteristic to her usual conduct. She approached at a territory very few bots had seen her in.

"When I heard who I will be sharing the barracks with—well, quite frankly, I was afraid. The upstart medic who plowed his way here through bodies of foe and friend alike. You might not have a reputation, but you certainly caught my interest."

She paused, her vents letting out a pensive hiss to the tone of Coldwind's voice. The frills on her chest and beside her cockpit flared as hot, wet air evaporated into the surroundings.

"And so, I watched my back—and more importantly: I watched you. Every. Single. Day. I waited for the moment you were going to do something productive, something bold...Something worth my attention. But that day never came. You always return here, moping, sticking to the walls. You sit around and wallow in your misfortune."

Coldwind's beady red optic—not unlike those of the scheming monster which she had clung to throughout the bloody war—narrowed.

"It makes me SICK."

And therein lies the question at which Coldwind had arrived.

"Why? Why all this theater about a pair of mandibles? Do you have no pride? No sense of worth? No ambition? What kind of Decepticon are you, exactly?" The first sentence was still hushed, but with every question she laid at Flatline's feet, Coldwind grew louder and louder, until the very last one escalated into a down-right bark.

Flatline's depression was not something she could comprehend from her position. She hadn't known anybody in her field to act this way even after centuries of bloody combat. Many always looked forward to the next battle, crunching numbers and drawing battle plans, commanding troops and respect both. A militarist always marched on.

She did not understand.

[Flatline]

For a brief moment Flatline felt like 'this is it' once more. That flickered anxiety that he was about to get his head clobbered clean off his shoulders. "Is this the moment I die?" playing again in his processor, only to be backhanded by the fact he had overcome such thoughts and dire situations previously. Despite the terrors he permitted to strike through his frame at every confrontation since arriving to Blackridge, he was still alive... so why fret too hard? While the fear shuddered through the underside of his spark either way for a moment, such things unable to be helped when a behemoth was towering over him and bending forward to snarl at closer range...

It lasted only a few moments before numbness formed.

A sort of half lidded unamused look was sent up at Coldwind, a dull nothingness as if he was already over her imposing act when she started to wind down and slam dunk more pointed questions. While he may have cowered at her approach, and was uneasy when she leaned down, he seemed more relaxed at this point, his expression mostly blank with a tired overlay. One could argue it was bored, but he was interested and curious now, he just... lacked the energy at this exact moment.

"You certainly bite into the rumor mill of the Vehicon's tales."

Drolled words, calm and with a flick of amusement.

"Insecticon, monster, savage, the thing that took down the nemesis, a sadist out for Energon. Oh, I have heard the nonsense spat out, and should your comments be directed at events before my arrival, do know even those are grossly over inflated."

With this his arm lifted some, long slender fingers uncurling to show that they were rather narrow and fragile in appearance. His wrist was a sort of small ball joint with visible hinges, and the top of his hand lacked any reinforcements or plating across the knuckles to strengthen its shape. The blades that acted as his fingertips and claws could probably lash with a decent enough slash against weaker armor, but overall it was not the appendage of a fighter and in no way could compare to Coldwind's reinforced joints. Her hand alone could probably completely crush his into a mass of mangled metal.

"I am but a scientist, a medic. I work within the lab not the battlefield. My additional limbs added to my capability, and without them I am scrabbling to find a niche that neither Knock Out or Sparkplug can fulfill."

Bluntly honest, no hiding behind walls and puffing up to try to paint his situation in a different way. Flatline was being weirdly open, perhaps under the mindset that if he were to just tell the truth than Coldwind would back off sooner. Realize he was never going to be the type of assertive she wanted to see since he was still trying to even find his place. Back on the Nemesis he had a place... he had confidence... but not here. Here he was lost and frankly scared.

With flashes of defiance.

Gradually, Flatline's arm lowered down after he showed off how frail it was, gripping the edge of his berth to then push and heave himself away from its surface. His frame eased to rest upon his hip, twisted a bit so his upper torso was angled more upright in a normal stance. The arm that had been pinned beneath him now supported his weight at a crooked angle given how abnormally long it was. Flatline figured if he was going to take a backhand, he didn’t want to be pinned between her fist and the slab, instead wanting his body to have somewhere to fling to in order to slightly lessen the impact and not get squished. At this, he continued to speak, the bored tone from before still in play though with a flick of annoyance.

"By the way, a mandible is the lower jaw. Should you wish to try to sound intimidating you shouldn't tip your cards to show you are lacking."

[Coldwind]

((Permission the ruffle Flatline's feathers was given by Zercon :D))

Coldwind had no interest in Flatline's death. Not for as long as Soundwave roamed Blackridge and kept tabs on its occupants. This afforded the medic at least a minuscule amount of protection from the colossal mass of navy blue which now towered in her full height over his bed with a silent rage boiling somewhere deep under the scarred surface. Her features expressing the associated emotion with great accuracy.

She could've forgiven Flatline's assumptions. That assured, she knew he was no Insecticon biologically. Coldwind had seen and commanded the real deal back on Cybertron more than once. Fought some after the planet died. He was not like them. But all the same, his features were reminiscent of them, and that was enough. Her referring to his hands as mandibles, likening him to a bug, an insect, it was a way to strip Flatline of his humanoid traits, to make him seem lesser. A strategy to chip away at what made him sentient and rational.

But what she couldn't forgive was the blatant disrespect. He had the audacity to talk back to her, the daring to correct her. If she let everybody bicker like this, Coldwind would lose whatever credibility she had left, and before soon, her rank and stature would mean nothing. She couldn't allow that. If one cautionary tale was what it took to maintain her presence, then Flatline would have to be one.

Flatline was the perfect target. Everybody blamed him, hated him. He was a scapegoat already, and Starscream would most likely hold no grudge over Coldwind messing with him for a while. And if he'd keep the rest in line? All the better. It was time for Flatline to become an example yet again.

It was time to emphasize on who exactly the medic was talking to.

Without giving away any cues, the Seeker's arm quickly sprung into action, reaching out towards his neck at the fraction of a second. Her claws coiled around the brittle, frilled meshes and grasped them tightly. She pulled them closer and higher, lifting Flatline off the slab and holding him a good few feet above the ground.

"I am sure you are smart enough to understand a metaphor," she retorted, tightening her grip around the layered metals, letting them squeal and strain under the added stress. Coldwind wanted this to hurt, but she knew how far she could go before damaging someone as fragile as Flatline. After all, picking bots apart, making sure they lived and died painfully after meeting her—it was something of a hobby. Nay, not a hobby. A calling. Her endless hunt for Autobots. A mad conquest, devoid of reason or purpose. She had methods.

"And that you are in no position for levity."

Coldwind squeezed even tighter, letting the neck's outer layer crunch between her claws, before finally letting Flatline down with a mangled chassis. She had half the mind to kick him while he gathered his strength, but that would be of no use. Hopefully, he already understood plenty that Coldwind was not here to be his friend, nor somebody he could disdain and disrespect like he did many others.

"If your extra limbs are everything you're good for—you don't deserve them."

She returned promptly to the matter at hand, almost ignorant of how she treated Flatline. A scary switch from untempered brutality to cold, hard professionality. There was no transition, her voice simply jumped from threatening and guttural to strong and mannered in the span of a sentence.

((Feel free to interrupt at any point. All's an attempt!))

[Flatline]

Ah yes, here we go.

Coldwind's claws easily curled around their mark, a firm fist latching around Flatline's throat with ease as the thin panels that provided mobility flexed inward slightly from the grip strength. He simply snorted out a sort of noise as he was lifted, dragged off the berth entirely so that his frame was left to hang momentarily in the air under the full weight of his mass. This femme was significantly bigger than him, stronger than him, and could simply heft his more hollow lightweight body with ease despite the illusion of weight with his broad shoulders... but most seldom took into account his digitigrade limbs.

A stretched flex, a push down... Flatline's legs were normally borderline squatted, crooking at ninety degree angles at the knee and hock before leading down at a slope to his pronged hoof like peds. It made him shorter, more loping, and despite it looking awkward at times it was comfortable to him. However, when lifted off the ground like this, without enough fear in play to make him curl up and try to protect his chest and abdomen by folding his legs against them... they stretched out, and Coldwind would find his hooves clipping down against the ground to alleviate the strain of his own body mass placed against his throat.

He was far taller than any gave credit, even if he looked odd truly stretched out.

The tightening grip caused Flatline's lips to peel back, a sneered twist that exposed gnarled teeth that etched in a jagged line. Chipped, broken, edges ground sharp into a dangerous mash of dental plating. Not true shark like teeth like others, but almost looking worse in the fact they were so broken and not intentionally made into such blades. This snarled look was paired with a snort of air through his vents, red eyes almost wild as the white lens plate contracted smaller to lock eyes with Coldwind directly.

He listened, but did not speak.

He processed her words, but held off on a retort.

Not that he would be particularly able to do so as her grip tightened once more.

Another heave hissed out from the vents on his back, the flared quills pushing aside to let it flow more freely from his engine. Flatline's neck armor by this point was crushing inward beneath her claws, his defiant snarled expression faltering as teeth parted and helm canted back with a rasped wheeze of pain. The external red lines that snaked down on either side of his neck were getting pinched off, which was for sure not a particularly pleasant experience as a tingling sensation crept up from the underside of his jaw and started to lead up his cheeks. He didn't claw at her forearms however, arms hung loped at either side as long talons flexed slowly as if there were serious thoughts about doing something with them.

Thankfully he was dropped before it got too much further.

Hooves already being against the ground, Flatline stagger slumped down to a more normal not stretched out state, as his arm closest his berth slammed down so the lower half was flat with its surface for support. He did not fall to the ground at her feet; he didn’t become some groveling fool to beg for mercy. No. He was in pain for sure, Flatline could never particularly handle pain so the injuries sustained were far worse in his mind than they should be, but that didn't mean he was going to beg like he did before Starscream.

No... Having stared down the barrel of a gun as much as he had recently, Flatline was feeling particularly uncaring that Coldwind basically had her finger upon the trigger to a shotgun. As far as he was concerned she'd be in a pile of SLAG should she take a medic from their cause, even a disgraced one. All it took was Knock Out having one particularly bad day... and they would be wishing he was around and alive still.

Flatline's sneer remained as his free hand pulled up to rub against his neck, a gnarled look that mutated from distaste to straight up hostility. His eyes still held the feral appearance, a sort of flashback to the ferocity and rage that he had kindled somehow from his depths when Cruor had struck him down. While feeling over the damage to his throat, wondering how bad it truly was, he spoke, a sort of extra gravely rasp added to it.

"Metaphors are somewhat representative of that which they speak of. A jaw isn't related to arms unless you think mine had teeth."

Direct, confrontational, teeth bared as his frame was hunched some with helm crooked up at her features. Even though he was leaning on the metal slab for support, even though he looked punched down upon crooked legs, he was oddly hostile, words spitting with venom to attack Coldwind where he felt he reigned superior.

Her intelligence.

"I reside in limbo, I can be in any position of humor I want, and your petulant power plays don't scare me anymore."

A twitch, a small flicker, the edge of his mouth pulled back on one side into a sort of smirked sneer, angular brow plates crooking down further as seething red eyes narrowed fiercely.

"Go ahead, kill me, beat me to scrap, have to tell our Lord and your handler you killed a servant to the cause, or report to Knock Out an extra work order should you not finish the job."

The grin now formed on both sides, peeled so far back the mountings that held the dental plating were exposed, a sort of feral smile showing the 'gumline' on top. Daring her, baiting, his claws dug down somewhat against the top of the berth, a crackle of metal as thin grooves were scratched down with a sickening scrape of the blades. His last words were a low growled purr, pleased, daring.

"By all means, do me a favor by fucking yourself."

[Coldwind]

And then she just stood there. After Flatline was done thrashing about blindly, retorting wherever he saw fit, Coldwind simply towered in silence. Her optics kept a firm and watchful gaze on the recuperating Decepticon. She didn't move and she didn't make a sound, vents dormant, occasionally letting out the tiniest hiss. Was this silent, seething anger? Had she finally snapped and now considered in which way to dispose of Flatline? She could pull him apart limb from limb perhaps. Or maybe Coldwind could sever a vital fuel pump and watch Flatline desperately struggle to crawl towards the medical bay, only to bleed out half-way there. She knew how to make it hurt.

But no. That was not the case. She took a step forward. Then another one, cornering Flatline on his recharge slab. And then—then she started laughing. A bassy, gravelly chuckle full of power and force. She simpered then, her lips tugging into a weak smile with her optics half-closed. Her expression bespoke satisfaction, like she got exactly what she wanted.

"So you do have a spine."

The timbre of her voice fell somewhere between smug mockery and delighted surprise. Flatline had so much energy, so much venom to spit, coming seemingly out of nowhere. This amused her, impressed her. In a second, her respect for the mopey layabout medic grew, and her opinion of him completely changed. He wasn't some hapless freak to take pity on. No, he was every bit the Decepticon she expected him to be before they met. All it took was a bit of healthy encouragement and the sass came crawling out of the woodworks.

"And to think all I had to do was to choke it out of you," Coldwind chortled more so to herself rather than in an attempt to directly address Flatline. She put a hand on her hip and shook her helm, looking entertained, content, and if one wanted to go that far, happy. Being a person who ever thrived on adversity, Coldwind missed tension dearly. Soundwave watched on every corner and she couldn't even have her fun with Knock Out. Flatline not only shattered expectations but also provided a much-needed outlet.

Still, Coldwind couldn't afford to linger on her smug satisfaction for long. In a sudden shift of tone, her face twisted into a stern gaze with a characteristic tinge of contempt.

"Why, then, do you insist on pretending to be something you are not? What use are self-pity and false humility?"

She didn't understand, nor could she ever truly comprehend the depths of another's psyche. But Flatline had shown courage—a trait Coldwind admired in comrades and victims both. Her mind often wandered back to the good old days when the Autobots would struggle until the bitter end, holding onto their friends and lovers so dearly. They had a strong backbone, and a little part of her always wanted that for herself. In that respect, the medic before her merited at least some small measure of attention.

[Flatline]

Typically, given current events, Flatline would be bracing himself now. Regretting his choices, regretting what he said, hoping he could live, and should he not be gifted such a grace than praying his death would be swift. He didn't wish to suffer, he didn’t want to go through the pain of being torn apart or pummeled to death. Blunt force trauma was absolutely awful. A blade could slice open enough lines Energon pressure would plummet and death could come quick, the same could be said for guns and other projectiles... but a fist? Oh fists just dented in and broke, crimped lines and twisted struts... it would be particularly unpleasant...

That was typically how he would react.

Right now however Flatline was feeling particularly brazen and insulted, his ego flaring with venomous ire and some of his past confidence and aggression blistered up. He welcomed her attack, was ready to face what would come, teeth bared as red eyes locked with hers as she stood in silence, slowly venting while undoubtedly trying to rub two little bits of processor together. Oh, Coldwind was intelligent with some things likely, her dedication to research a testament to that, but now... oh now that Flatline was in an aggressive state of mind and got a little taste of intellectual weakness, he snapped his teeth into it full force.

Was she looking at those Autobot files so religiously because she couldn’t fragging REMEMBER!? The thought made the corner of his lip flick up some, eking into the lulled silence with a confident little smirk as eyes narrowed further. A look that only grew fiercer at her hollow growled laughter that could only come from a larger frame of power and confidence. That rumbled chuckle that then lead to her first words since his full verbal assault.

"That is generally how we are built, yes."

Flippant, snarky, his helm twisted slightly to the side at this, amused, a crook of his brow, knowing DAMN well that wasn't what she intended, but he was still bouncing against anatomical trivia to torment her.

While Coldwind mused to herself over the fact she need only choke the aggression out of him, Flatline's attention shifted to look at his berth from the corner of his eye. Scrabbling a brief moment, he tried to get his feet back under him at a more comfortable angle. His one crippled leg scraped along the ground, hoof struggling to gain purchase, before he got enough traction to press up and push down with his arm. It was as Coldwind asked her finishing question that he was standing, right palm planted flat against his bed while the other crooked over his midsection. The protection of his midsection was almost habitual, unnoticed, trying to cover an unarmored point and help protect secondary limbs that were no longer there.

"Because should my worth be deemed expendable, I have no means to protect myself."

Blunt, direct, a bit of a growl snaked between his words. Should Coldwind do something SO abhorrent that High Command would deem her disposable and that she needed to be made into an example for the troops, she had at least a chance. Enough armor to survive a blast should it not hit dead on more likely than not, enough bulk to barrel through Vehicons that may try to block her retreat... She need only get groundside and she could transform and rocket to the horizon line with enough of a head start she could hide before Starscream could give proper chase.

Flatline had none of this.

He was unarmored, he had no strength, and should he somehow get out of this cave system his wheels were useless to him when compared to flyers of any kind.

"It is better to lay low, and prove worth in talent, than act above reprimand and immune to what may come."

Flatline eased further upright then, flexing his backstrut as the quills and panels along his back flared momentarily. He finished his stretch with a huff before his left hand peeled away from his midsection to once again feel along his throat.

[Coldwind]

"What a shame," Coldwind nearly barfed at Flatline's explanation. While he scrambled up, using his bed as support, Coldwind simply walked over to the nearest wall, listening intently. Her wings then angled to the sides slightly, allowing the massive Decepticon to lean against the flat surface between two large steel beams that kept the room's integrity. She crossed her arms and side-eyed the struggling mongrel.

"Proving your talents without an ounce of confidence, integrity or faith in those abilities—It will be difficult," she chuckled, bemused by Flatline's situation. However, intentionally or not, she was possibly quite right. It was very difficult for a Decepticon to prove their actions were worth something when they were struggling to even perform in their field. Perhaps it was not the scientist's fault, but it was quite certainly a consequence he had to deal with regardless of where the blame lay.

"Or you could roll over and die for all I care. You'd be doing me a favor."

Coldwind adjusted her lean a bit to make herself a bit more comfortable, releasing a puff of hot air from her vents. The room was incredibly stuffy and strangely warm sometimes. The sooner they were out of this dump, the better. She could not wait to see the "glorious" Nemesis in its full glory. There were some fascinating rumors about the vessel, and as much as Coldwind hated not being part of the crew, she could scarce feign disinterest.

"Whatever you do, just do it soon. Your moping is annoying," the Seeker mouthed off, her optics narrow, loosely glancing in Flatline's direction without much care or intent. She did not give a damn about where the Hearse ended up. Her only goal was to wipe that pitiful attitude off his face—and she did, even if only momentarily.

There was always violence if he decided to be a morose again.

[Flatline]

"Oh, I am sorry that persistent death hanging over my head gives me grief. Primus forbid I have any level of coherent concept of my inevitable mortality."

Flatline lifted his head then, crooking it up and to the side to expose a large portion of his neck. There was a dent in along these fragile overlapping plates, a compression point from being grabbed by someone as strong as Coldwind. It was giving him discomfort, a bit more irritation that nagged at him while he tried to orient himself. Because of this his left hand pulled up, long fingertips curling against his palm except for the blades of his pointer and middle fingers. With care the middle one placed alongside the red fuel line that hung loose on the external of his throat, gingerly pressing it aside, while the talon of his pointer crooked and wedged itself between two of the delicate slats.

There was a soft clicking pop then, such a faint noise that sounded out as the indent was pushed back out from the point behind the plate ever so slightly. With this issue rectified, Flatline let out a snort and retracted his hand, the thin fuel line folding back into its natural inert placement. It trailed along two seams of his neck that almost cradled it in place so that it didn't drape around and fall at odd angles as he moved. After this his helm evened out again, glancing over at Coldwind while he stretched his injured leg a bit.

"I find wishing the death of one of the few qualified to repair damage rather foolish."

Hollow words, a lot of the bold audacity and rage leaching out to more of an unamused tone. Tired, not as combative despite the irritated context of his words.

"Given how often Knock Out ventures into humanity, it is only time before MECH picks him off..."

Flatline sounded flippant as he said this, almost as if he truly did not care and could look at it with a bit of excitement. He would for sure have to be promoted then! He would get recognition and a place, something that could keep his footing and keep him alive! He would be even more valuable due to the fact he very seldom cared to even go out into humanity, so the chances of him finding a similar fate was exceptionally limited. He could be a strong stable element to keep the War Machine churning along. And yet...

He didn't REALLY want Knock Out to be Killed.

The two medics had started to get along well, finding a sort of cease fire and friendship after the Nemesis' fall had forced them to live and work in confined spaces. Not able to escape, not able to run... two animals stuck in a cage that had to learn to get along, or end up mauling each other to less than desirable outcomes. They had apparently chosen the prior, and it worked out well for them.

Red eyes trailed across Coldwind's frame as she made herself comfortable against the wall, taking additional note of her make a model, wondering if he would ever be tasked to actually repair her, which would be a wonderfully beautiful moment of irony. He could drill this fact into her processor while she lay crippled upon the medical slab. At this thought his teeth slightly parted, half lidded gaze judging her a moment longer before the ragged dental plating snapped back together with a click and 'tsk'.

"You are stuck with me here just as much as I am stuck with you. Don't expect my personality to simply adapt to your preference. I am not seeking your friendship."

An exasperated tone, his hand pulling up then to smear down across his faceplate. The knuckle of his pointer rubbed at the inner corner of an eye before dropping down at his side. With a soft push Flatline eased himself fully onto his feet, not using the slab any longer. Should Coldwind come at him, he was bracing himself to try to ignore the pain in his leg to run. Maybe if he booked it fast enough and hooked corners quicker than her heavier mass... he could possibly make it to the Medical Bay which may have a 'no murdering each other' safety net?

[Coldwind]

The Seeker did not lash out or anything of the sort. She might have been something of a brute, and yes, she did injure Flatline somewhat—but just enough to flex her servos, growl so to speak, and not enough to cause the morose monster any permanent ills. He got away easy, all things considered. Of course, there was no way Flatline even knew of the things Coldwind could do to people. Perhaps it was better if it stayed that way.

She did, however, let out yet another amused titter when Flatline spoke of Knock Out's dangerous games with humankind and how Coldwind's remarks towards himself were unsound.

"And yet, you don't sound like you'd be too disappointed if the scavengers got our dearly-beloved friend. I cannot blame you. He has a fancy job, doesn't he?" Coldwind mused idly, partly mocking Flatline, partly speculating without much care. Indeed, it would be rather fortunate for Flatline's sake. This gave her the idea that he was still ambitious, no matter how hard life decided to be for the poor doctor. More so than he let on outwardly.

"Just make sure you're the one getting that post if Knock Out's distractions blow up in his face. Taking initiative is what counts. People who sulk in corners either get overlooked or crushed. Take it from me, I've seen it happen."

There was a tinge of melancholy. Indeed, Coldwind knew all too well what it felt like when one's talents were cast aside in favor of louder voices. Starscream has done this to many of his once-favorite lieutenants and commanders, including one of his top bodyguards. Just as Coldwind once replaced somebody in Starscream's circle of confidants, so too, was she replaced. And as far as she knew, Flatline was not the only one skilled at medicine, science, and anatomy. There were others. Shockwave, Sparkplug. They were equally valid candidates for Knock Out's hypothetical replacement.

"But don't worry. I certainly do not wish to be friends with such a sorry creature," she ridiculed and humiliated Flatline further, "Rubbing shoulders with pathetic runts is not my style. Especially when there isn't anything in it for me."

Coldwind grumbled deeply and lifted herself off the wall. She lumbered over to her berth, leaned in to pick up a datapad, and began to scroll through various reports from Vehcions and the like. Just making sure everything was in order. Flatline may have thought the Seeker unintelligent for her obsession with data and chalked it up to poor memory. However, the truth was anything but that. Coldwind was simply a diligent person. She was not a reckless murderer—she was a very well-organized killer, which was arguably much worse than slaughtering out of affect.

Finally, as Flatline struggled to scramble, she deigned to lift her optics from the device.

"Unless that runt made an offer."

Perhaps the broad-shouldered femme was hinting at something, or perhaps she simply meant to insinuate that if Flatline ever—Primus forbid—needed her help, she would be willing to entertain him with the right incentive. It's how she and Starscream got where they were today, after all.

[Flatline]

Flatline let out a snort at Coldwind's words, an unamused noise at her calling him out for seeming too happy for Knock Out's demise. It was a good mindset to falsify however if experience served well. Not show weakness, not show an attachment to others... They are all stepping stones to get what he wanted. This was a way Flatline lived out his life, leaching knowledge and experience so he could add it to his own database to pull out at another time. Try to surpass others as mere obstacles to use and abuse until they were no longer needed. Alas, Knock Out had a certain abrasive approach that let them snarl and bicker with one another in a way that was somewhat amusing.

Ah well...

"Unlike the role of a brute, medical personnel are rather... limited."

As far as Flatline was concerned, should any other chunky simple minded large Cybertronian get maimed, it wasn’t as if it was a grotesque loss that others could scrabble to fill said role, no big title for her to dig her claws into. That said, should Knock Out fall, the pool of individuals to pull from was rather hindered, so he felt pretty good. Brushing aside the femme's words with a tired motion, Flatline's gaze shifted back to the slab of metal he was leaning against, starting to consider the position he was in with a bit more clarity.

Rage subsiding due to her backing off and no longer harassing him outright, Flatline started to realize how lucky he was that she had even tolerated his audacious words previously. He wasn't aware of just how clever Coldwind was, so in his mind he didn't put it past her to have killed him, only to then realize after the fact it was a big 'oopsie' that was going to come back to bite her. Thankfully for his sake she was smarter than she 'looked', but he chalked it up to luck as his mortality came back to claw at the back of his processor.

He didn't really want to confront her, he didn't really want to face her wrath coming down upon him with any REAL level of power behind it. She could ruin him in just a brief flicker before he could attempt to throw his arm up in defense, and even if he did move quickly enough her punch could likely strike through it to hit its intended mark. With these thoughts Flatline's aggressive glare gradually melted away, his vengeful thoughts of her being stuck on the medical slab NEEDING his help shuffled aside as a pipe dream. With this thought he eased his mass up enough to clip the wheel of a thigh against the edge of his berth, before swinging up with this 'grip' to pull back onto its surface.

A low rumbled sigh filtered out the moment Coldwind offered a barter, his weight settling as his good leg crooked up. With a fold of the digitigrade build, he clipped the hock of its shape onto the edge of the slab, letting the hoof like prongs fold down due to gravity as he eased into a comfortable stance. His injured leg continued to hang off of the surface however, the end bobbing ever so slightly in a sort of subconscious movement.

"I will keep that in mind."

Flatline drolled this out in a lower tone, refraining from using less than friendly terms despite a want to do so. He wanted to fold back into his more passive state, to not incur more wrath against him. He however WAS keyed up, so the idea of attempting to get some sleep felt like an ever far off goal that was lost out of his grip. Besides, falling asleep right now with psycho-bitch across the way after a rageout wasn’t... wise...

[Coldwind]

Coldwind placed down the datapad eventually, listening to Flatline speak. To be designated a brute was more than a little incorrect, perhaps due to Flatline's preconception of Decepticons built like her and past experiences with similar frames. Then again, she gave him no reason to think otherwise either. Now, Coldwind could demand an apology, or she could tolerate the gangly Decepticon a while longer.

Sadly, threats were a poor substitute for torture. Having first-hand experience with how fragile Flatline was, Coldwind opted to not risk her position over making an example out of him. There were plenty of unruly Vehicons to fill that spot just fine. Q came to mind and then a few other drones that decided to run their mouth.

"I did more than you realize to secure my place, Flatline."

The gravity of her words was plain. There was a certain weight behind them that spoke of conviction and truth. This was no empty boast. Coldwind killed scores to gain Starscream's favor, destroyed many lives, and done terrible things to maintain it. To say being Starscream's pet brute was an easy, consequence-free job was simply a fantasy Flatline chose to believe. Only a select few had the strength, fortitude and ruthlessness required.

But then Coldwind fell silent, shuffling her massive form onto the bed. She folded her wings to the sides uncomfortably, getting ready to sleep. She still listened in on Flatline. Did he want to continue their little chat? Or perhaps he was more fond of silence.