[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Check-up (Megatron, Knock Out, Flatline - Closed)

[Deleted]

(Week One Day Four)

It was morning in Blackridge Hold.

Not that anyone could really tell. This far underground, there was no natural light, only the buzzing, sometimes flickering electrical lights that lined the long stone tunnels. The light reflected wetly on the condensation gathered on the walls. It was normally slightly chilly down underground – not that the inhabitants of this dwelling would notice such a small change in temperature. The condensation, however, could be a problem at times, especially if it built up. There was delicate machinery down here that needed a fine hand and -

There was an echo of something being hammered, far down one of the tunnels, and then what sounded like an argument broke out about something. Most likely two Vehicons, attempting to perform their duties.

The large individual who was moving along one of the tunnels heard the commotion, but paid it no real mind. If they stuck to their chores, all would be well. If they damaged something, well....it would be seen to. It was unlikely it would rise up the ranks to reach him before being dealt with, but if it did, he would.

Megatron had returned the day before, appearing in Blackridge like a behemoth rising up out of some misty swamp to startle his followers, and dismay at least one. Starscream’s distress at seeing him, although he had tried to hide it, had been obvious. Not that Megatron expected much else. The day the Commander did not attempt to take up the reins of the Decepticon army at his absence, was the day Megatron would have to take a long hard look at what was going on.

He had been gone for a long time, travelling to Cybertron to follow a hunch. He had once had a weapon – a beautiful, powerful weapon, at his disposal, and he had intended to use it to it’s fullest. The fact it had gone missing had enraged the Warlord. So much resources, so much time and energy, now lost because some fool of a Decepticon Commander had decided to go off on his own to prove his worth to Megatron. Without leaving a trace of himself, his ship, or the Hymn.

Until now.

A lost scrap of information had come to him, a hint...a taste, of what just might be a clue.

Megatron had left that very night, travelling to Cybertron to follow that clue down.

Just seeing Cybertron again had been a heartache.

What it could have become, under his leadership! They could have conquered the universe! They had power, they had the knowledge, and the skills, and the people! Once Cybertron had been reformed to allow equality to all people – under his leadership – he would have led them to their true destiny, standing astride much of the universe!

It had all been wrenched from his grasp, by a traitor. A traitor he once thought of as a....a friend.

A brother.

With an annoyed, irritated grunt, Megatron turned the corner of the tunnel he was in, and continued on towards the Medibay.
Upon arrival yesterday, his appearance hadn’t gone unnoticed. He was dented, dinged, scraped and scratched. There were various scorch marks on his body, places where he almost looked slightly melted. Megatron had travelled to many different planets to search, following clues, and some of the inhabitants were not fond of him.

Nor was the very geology.

His body testimony to the fights he had endured...battles he had won, of course....Megatron had shown no interest in getting repaired just yet. He had managed to find old stores of energon in abandoned Decepticon outposts here and there – enough to keep even a large mech like himself fuelled. But upon arrival to Blackridge, all he had wanted to do was be updated on what had happened, refuel with properly refined energon, and then recharge. Maintenance would wait until tomorrow.

And tomorrow was today.

The dark silver mech dipped his head slightly as he stepped into Blackridge’s Medibay, crimson optics sweeping the area.

It was no Nemesis, that was for certain. There was as much stone as there was metal. It looked almost thrown together, and yet the Warlord could see there was an attempt to be clean, to make it as good as possible. Considering where they were, Megatron could find no real fault with what had been done. He demanded much from his Decepticons, but he couldn’t demand the impossible.

That same gaze swept over the two individuals within the Medibay: Knock Out and Flatline.

He voice, deep and commanding, as ever.

“Knock Out. I’ve come for repairs.”

[Knock Out]

Yesterday was…

Well, yesterday could’ve gone better.

Ignoring for a second the fact he’d barged into a meeting with Starscream, Soundwave and Shockwave to complain about the washracks of all things, the fact that Megatron- yes, Megatron- had heard probably all of it was…

Oh, he was dead. He was so dead. Even though it seemed their Warlord had been on his side entirely in the matter, he was absolutely sure that the next time he saw Megatron the little altercation would no doubt be brought up and there’d be some reprimanding to be had about barging into a meeting of the High Command.

He’d left the Assembly Hall calmly at first, with purposeful steps as he walked toward the door with his head held high and frame straight as to show respect to those gathered. But the second he was out of earshot of the room’s occupants (aside from Soundwave, he didn’t count) he’d broke into an almost sprint. Slamming the door to the med bay open so hard it bounced off the wall behind it with an angry ricochet of metal.

“FLATLINE!”

The black and red mech floundered instantly with the project he had been working on, his grip on a pair of pliers falling with his lurched pop of alarm. He scrabbled for a fraction of a second, a frantic motion as he wrenched to try to catch the tool, but all he managed to do was slap it hard with his left palm to cause it to skitter across the room against the rock floor. With dismay, Flatline would plunk his right elbow on the table, knuckles pressing into the plating between his eyes. He would speak in an annoyed droll.

“Well, I take it your frivolous meeting with Starscream didn’t g-”

He didn’t get time to finish.

“Megatron’s back.” the volume of Knock Out’s voice had lowered, but his words were laced with fear.

A second. Then another. Time seemed to slow for the black and red mech, his hand slowly lowering, eyes gradually widening, while a deadened look seemed to wash over his features. While Knock Out looked horrified, Flatline looked like he had straight up looked death in the face and was about to have a hatchet cleave his helm in two. Stalling, stagnant... it slowly sinking in... until it hit full force.

“WHAT?!”

“Megatron. Is. Back.” even though he’d said it out loud - twice now - it still didn’t seem real. Oh fuck he needed to sit down. But he had so much work to do. Megatron wanted reports of the plague that’d befallen the majority of their forces and been part of the reason they no longer had a ship. He’d also no doubt want the reports of those who had joined their forces in his absence- given so many had found their way into the Decepticon ranks. But would Soundwave have passed those along? Should he go above and beyond? Megatron had only asked for the reports on the virus, not everything else.

It was like he was frozen in fear a moment, thoughts swirling in his processor- until the door finally closed behind him, clicking loudly and jostling him from this loop of terror he’d found himself caught up in. It felt like his systems were overheating some, and he’d vent in a sharp intake, an action mired by Flatline who looked as though things were starting to catch up in his processor.

"I am DEAD! I barely skirted past Starscream's wrath, but Megatron is destined to kill me!"

Flatline shot upright to his feet when he screeched this, a hasty motion that was paired with his spine going post straight and hands held up waist high as though he didn't know what to do with them. This action was met with a wince afterwards, his knee buckling from going straight so abruptly, causing his right hand to slap onto the counter to keep himself from going completely over.

"What do I do?..."

Strained words, lower, though holding a sobered and subdued edge as if he was trying to force himself to come to terms with things.

“What do you do? I’m the one who got caught bitching about washracks - although that pales in comparison to- mm, good point.”

Knock Out still hadn’t moved. He should probably be getting things ready, they had no idea when Megatron was going to show up. Would it be after he was done with Starscream and Soundwave? Would it be tomorrow? A week from now? He didn’t actually dare ask.

They just had to be prepared.

“Okay. Okay, first things first. All Megatron seemed to care about was the plague. He was annoyed by the ship, of course, but Soundwave was the one who actually crashed it and he wasn’t obliterated on the spot, so perhaps you’ll be safe?”

His voice rose a little at the end there, almost as if he was unsure.

“On the, uh- off chance you aren’t, I suppose all you can do is do your best Starscream impression and start groveling.”

“So very dignified... but I have been there, done that...”

Flatline grumbled this out, thinking back to the situation with Starscream. While he didn’t straight up beg for forgiveness frantically, he did simply fall to the ground and accept whatever fate would become him with his helm dipped and eyes dim. Would that be enough for Megatron however?

“Then you must be an expert.” Knock Out chuckled, although it was rather forced and it tapered off into a quiet hum of thought seconds later. This really wasn't the time. Flatline had been living in constant fear for a while there, not knowing what Starscream would do to him, and while they’d had a few months now where he’d been in the clear - what with the punishment being dealt and all - it was no doubt back tenfold now. Even he was scared.

Megatron was far worse than Starscream. Would he even give Flatline a chance to explain what happened before he was murdered? Or would Soundwave’s play by play in the meeting room moments earlier be enough to sate his thirst for answers and revenge. 

“All jokes aside, I say stand your ground. Answer everything honestly should he ask, you never know- maybe he won’t even bring it up!” that probably wasn’t helping.

“I’ll put in a good word or ten for you, and back you up where I can.”

That was the least he could do, right?

“In the meantime... We should probably clean a bit. As we aren’t sure when Megatron will be arriving. You mind doing that while I start gathering the necessary files?”

The Medical Bay was honestly rather pristine, there wasn’t much out of place save for a few tools that’d been used earlier that day. But Knock Out couldn’t help but stress, even if Megatron would deem the room acceptable enough. But the ‘order’ was given to the black and red mech, if only to help distract him from the probable impending doom.

...A doom that didn't arrive straight away.

It'd been a long night, with neither Knock Out or Flatline leaving the Medical Bay for fear that Megatron would show up. There was something safe about the room, filled with the distraction of cleaning and conversation, although the conversation had tapered off into an almost comfortable (fearful?) silence as the night wore on.

Things that were already clean got sanitized and washed again. The files that would be of interest to Megatron regarding the virus had been pulled and transferred onto a datapad for easy access, with Knock Out checking it over what felt like a hundred times to make sure it was all there.

Neither mech had barely slept a wink. Knock Out managing to doze on and off for a while there, but it was nothing substantial. He'd survived on less recharge, and so would be alright for the day, it was just a matter of getting through it.

The footfalls that headed this way were unmistakable, and Knock Out pushed himself quickly to his pedes. No slouching over his desk or leaning back in his chair, nope- he was at attention, ready to assist Megatron with whatever it was he needed.

As their Warlord made his way into the room, Knock Out found himself standing very still. The room was beyond clean at this point (or as clean as it could be, given the dust) and absolutely nothing was out of place.

As Megatron looked his way, he would bob his helm in an affirmative nod. Gesturing proudly to one of the larger berths that'd been salvaged from the Nemesis. It was a little dinged and had a few dents that refused to budge, but given it'd been pulled from the bottom of the ocean, that was hopefully understandable.

"Of course, Lord Megatron, right this way!"

[Flatline]

Not an ounce of recharge, not a moment of dozed slumber... while Knock Out had managed to find some semblance of comfort enough to take a wink or two of sleep, Flatline certainly was not on the same page. He stayed up through the night with an on-edge boost of energy, his processor raking hard to try to figure out the best way to approach things when Megatron inevitably crossed paths with him. What could be said, what could be done, anything to lessen the impact of his actions. The lingering horror and apprehensive lulls between cleaning and organizing were so painful to him that he could sometimes imagine the rumbling footsteps coming down the hall, when no such thing was there. Picturing the sounds were one thing however, hearing the real one... oh it was SO much more real than he imagined.

The powerful thrum, the notable stride...

Flatline's posture straightened, helm whipping over towards the rickety doorframe that tried to offer some semblance of privacy to those that had to seek medical aid. His red optics were over bright with pent up energy and stress, the thin pinpricks of white in their center contracted so far they nearly vanished within the flood of color that filled the rest. The scrap of cloth he had been using to wipe down the medical slab for the hundredth time was clenched in his fist, the grip so tight a soft creak emanated from the thin joints.

All of a sudden, everything he had loaded up in the metaphorical chamber to compile a greeting or explanation had instantly flew out of his processor. All of his plans, all of his carefully calculated words... they were simply gone, leaving a hollow void in its wake that made him stand still like a deer in the headlights while his processor effectively... well... flatlined.

As Megatron dipped into the room, Flatline's gaze would slowly raise up to start to look towards the Warlord's face. It was simply an unconscious act, before he instantly reminded himself to look passive, to not look assertive in any way or over confident. With this, his gaze lowered, a sign of submission as if he were so worthless even looking upon the Decepticon Leader was beneath him. With this in mind, he remained silent and still, until Knock Out invited Megatron to the Medical Slab that he had been cleaning.

A trembled lurch of a motion... Flatline would force his knees to actually bend and work, as he started to walk to the side and out of the way towards his little corner with his crummy scrap desk that didn't even sit fully flat. He would eek there with struggled lurches, before he settled, crooking his hocks towards one another slightly, while planting his cane infront of him so both hands could rest over its arch.

Flatline would remain off to the side at 'attention', his gaze still downcast while he hoped Megatron simply did not care about him and would ignore him like trash.

[Deleted]

At Knock Out’s words, the Warlord rolled into motion again, moving towards the berth that the doctor indicated. In truth, Megatron himself would have approached that one anyway, it being the only one large enough to accommodate someone of his size and weight.

His optics continued to move around the room as he walked. In truth, although his face showed nothing, Megatron was rather pleased with what Knock Out had done to make the hospital as workable as possible. Although he demanded the full skills and attention of his warriors, he wasn’t insane, and didn’t expect Knock Out to pull a fully functional Cybertron-worthy medibay out of his tailpipe. It wasn’t near what had been on the Nemesis, but his beloved Nemesis was currently sitting on a seabed somewhere. At least Knock Out, whether on his own, or under Starscream’s orders, had done the best he could.

His glance grazed over Flatline sitting motionless in the corner, and moved on.

Moving to stand beside the berth, Megatron turned, and sat, easing his weight onto the slab carefully, before he turned, looking at Knock Out. The Warlord’s face was carefully neutral, which could mean a whole host of things – he wasn’t angry, he was angry, or he was so angry he had gone numb and would explode into rage.

“I have questions.”

Even though Megatron knew Knock Out most likely had already written something up to give him, he wanted to hear answers from Knock Out directly, and would read any report made afterwards.

“This plague. How many on the ship were infected? Were any killed or destroyed by the plague itself, or as a secondary action? How long do you think it was affecting people before the downing of the Nemesis? Do you think it’s likely to return? Have you killed Flatline and propped his corpse up in the corner, or is he attempting to vanish into the background?”

[Knock Out]

Knock Out stood still as Megatron made his way across the room. He wouldn’t move, not until their Warlord had eased into a sit on the medical berth, and only then it was a gradual step over toward his desk.

He wondered what was going through Megatron’s processor. How could he not be curious about what he was thinking in these moments? To go from the mighty Nemesis, the floating fortress- to, well… to this upon his return. Starscream and Pyrotech especially had done amazing things with Blackridge Hold since they’d come to reside here, but at the end of the day, it was still a dingy cave filled with rock and dirt.

A quick glance was shot Flatline’s way, just to see what the other mech was doing or if he’d keeled over and died on the spot, before he would turn back to Megatron, nodding.

“Of course, my Lord!”

Reaching for the datapad on his desk, he assumed that any questions could be answered by the contents of what had been reported and logged.

Only there were a lot of questions. All at once- giving Knock Out no time to respond as they came. Quickly his processor scrabbled to even remember them, not wanting to miss any detail or answer something incorrectly.

Only that last question completely caught him off guard, making him lose his entire train of thought in an instant.

“Wh-what?” he stammered, turning to look at Flatline once more. Primus, Flatline had somehow moved to his desk but had gone inert again. He hadn’t spoken a word, hadn’t greeted Megatron in any way... Shit, had he actually died from shock? How to save face, how to save face…

Snapping his fingers sharply toward the black and red mech, he would tsk.

“Flatline!”

A nervous chuckle escaped him, he would turn back to Megatron, dipping his helm.

“Apologies, Lord Megatron. Upon your return, I ordered Flatline to have this place looking pristine. Fairly certain he got absolutely no recharge at all as a result, so I am entirely to blame for him being a little, uh… out of it.”

He did say to Flatline he’d put in a good word for him, he just didn’t realize he’d be here making up excuses on the fly quite so soon. Even if it was partly true in that Flatline had been cleaning almost non-stop, there had been time for recharge in there somewhere along the way, only he was far too stressed to do so.

“As for your questions, let’s see...”

What were they again? Time for some general answers with the hope he covered all the points.

“As far as we know, most everyone was infected. The virus spread quickly and undetected at that- at least until it was too late. As you will see from the reports, it reacted differently in each of those infected. Some reacted with violence, whereas some showed absolutely no symptoms at all. While we did not lose anyone to the virus itself, we lost a few Vehicons in the crashing of the Nemesis, as well as a few newcomers to the cause- Terrabit, Steelstrike, and Virtuoso. Or at least, no signs of them have been noted, nor have any bodies been recovered.”

Had they even been looked for? He wasn’t sure. It was probably better not to dwell, though.

Anxiously, he would tap the side of the datapad while he tried to recall what else Megatron had asked of him.

“Sparkplug and I managed to build a code to cancel out the corruption in the Nanites, and at this time there have been no flare-ups or signs that anyone has been reinfected. Now that we know what we are looking for, regular screening is being done - nothing like being on the safe side, after all!” another nervous chuckle as he cast another glance to Flatline, then back to Megatron.

“If you’d like to read over the report, it’s all here and ready. Everything from what we know about the virus itself and its makeup, to lists including the designations of the Vehicons that were lost, as well as a full record of those infected.”

The list was practically the entire Decepticon cause, but having an index of names may be beneficial in some way, he wasn’t sure- but had gone above and beyond, just in case.

A hurried step forward was taken, then another as he quickly closed the distance between himself and their Warlord. Offering out the datapad with both servos, he hoped the information would be enough to keep Megatron not only busy while Knock Out gathered the necessary tools for repair, but to hopefully answer any other questions he may have had.

[Flatline]

Megatron's gaze... Flatline could almost feel it burn across him as the Warlord looked his way. A nervous paranoia, a flickered pulse of his spark... the black and white mech was barely five seconds into this encounter and he would already be sweating in stress if he were a human. Anxiety bottling up behind him to collect into a knot inside his throat. He focused hard however, tried to steady himself and remain immobile and passive. About the only movement he made was a gentle squeeze of his left hand that was clapped over the right on his cane, meant to exert some small form of energy and bleed the faintest traces out from him.

As Megatron began to speak, Flatline's processor seemed to drift some. It wasn't because he didn't care about the questions, it was more along the line that he was focusing so hard on just becoming an element in the corner to be called upon when actually wanted that his processor was blanking. This numbed static in his processor shattered in an instant however when his own name grumbled out from the immense mech, Flatline's helm snapping up to look at the side of their Warlord's helm with a grimace of fear and furrowed brows that were crooked in worry.

Should he have instantly fell to his knees? Should he have done more than pretend to be nothing in his presence? Panic started to lace through his processor, all his previously curated words still lost to him in some kind of black hole of a void that went by the name of 'fear'. He would likely have stalled out again, keeping silent, before the sound of snapping rung out and his name was barked by Knock Out. With another sharp movement, Flatline now looked at the red mech, an anxious terror across his face that was not even slightly masked with any level of dignity. There was no attempt to save face, no steely composure... he wanted to be forgotten, and now he was being addressed by both of them and it made his spark skip another pulse.

Knock Out was offering an excuse for him, trying to help him... should Flatline be of any sane mind he would have bit down onto this offering and worked off of it. Spoke of his sorrow and that he did not mean to come off as rude, merely keeping out of the way... something to look better, but all he could do was borderline tremble in place. His Digitigrade limbs jittered a small amount as he stood, the hocks that were close together almost rattling slightly as they clicked one another. This subtle tremble was also reflected in the spines along his back, the panels pushed down flush with nervous energy.

He couldn't think.

He didn't know what to say.

When facing Starscream, Flatline instantly fell passive, instantly flung down to beg for forgiveness with an understanding of his imminent death. He had accepted his fate and asked for nothing more than a clean and swift execution so that he didn't have to suffer. But... Starscream was there to address HIM. He summoned HIM for the purpose of that discussion. This wasn't such an occasion. Megatron came here for KNOCK OUT, to receive medical aid. It is because of this Flatline didn't want to just throw himself to the ground in duress and plead for mercy or for his value. He didn't want to wrench all focus off what had to be done, and it left him in this weird little stalemate with him just wanting the ground to just consume him entirely.

Trembling, Flatline still didn't speak, though his helm was up now, wide fearful eyes peering across the other two with a distant look as if he wasn't even truly seeing what was in front of him.

[Deleted]

Megatron idly watched Flatline with an almost bland look. But the Warlord could hide his thoughts quite well when he wanted to. Perhaps he was watching Flatline the way one might observe an insect crossing the road, or perhaps he was studying every little nuance about the mech, every little ding and flake of paint on the mech’s frame since he last saw him.

After a moment, he turned away, seemingly indifferent. He turned to Knock Out, and took the offered datapad in one large hand. Dropping crimson optics to the screen, he gave it a cursory glance for a moment, lightly scanning the glyphs. A clawed thumb scrolled down over the information. He would read it all in detail later. Right now, he wanted more of an overview than great details.

Laying the datapad on the berth beside him, he turned his attention back to the doctor.

“Have you found any relation between those showing violence? Those that are more likely to show these symptoms?”

Megatron was no doctor, and left such things to Knock Out. He was leading a revolutionary army, however, and wanted to know if there was a trend running among his Decepticons. Were the ones already more prone to lashing out in anger the ones hardest hit? If so, should he be giving them different orders in their purpose within the Decepticon cause? What good an army if half of them were killing the other half?

Megatron watched as Knock Out began to move about the Medibay, puttering about and gathering what he may need. Even here, in the harsh light of the underground, Knock Out looked meticulous, his lustre still quite clear.

Apparently, the change from the Nemesis to the Hold hadn’t changed the Doctor too much.

While the Warlord wasn’t hands on with his Decepticons, he did know a great deal about them. He was no idiot, and what he didn’t observe on his own, Soundwave could be counted on to discover. Knock Out was well known within the Decepticon ranks, and it’s officers, as a gossip, and as such, if information was to be gathered, information that Soundwave himself might not be able to get, the cherry red grounder might.

“Who do you think began showing the first signs of this infection?”

[Knock Out]

Flatline was absolutely useless.

Then again, Megatron was about a hundred times scarier than Starscream, and even though the black and red mech had received punishment for his part in the mess that’d befallen the Nemesis… it wasn’t Starscream’s ship. It was Megatron’s, which meant further punishment may be coming, depending on their Warlord’s mood.

Which was why Flatline probably should say something, even a simple thing like addressing Megatron, rather than standing there in fearful silence. He couldn’t judge though, he would’ve done the same if he were in that situation.

Oh, now he was trembling. Damnit, Flatline.

Knock Out didn’t have time to give the black and red mech a knowing look, as there were more questions directed his way. While they were not fast-fire like the others, Knock Out could only wonder if they’d been asked previously and he’d forgotten to answer. That was just the nervous energy of the situation, though, he was sure- and should he have forgotten, it would’ve been addressed.

Megatron had only glanced at the datapad, which was understandable - their Warlord would probably read over the finer details later on his own time, rather than waste time doing so here in the Medical Bay when the CMO was right here to answer any concerns. Despite this, Knock Out felt very put on the spot, even though he’d expected questions to be asked of him.

“No, Lord Megatron.” he started, shaking his helm - starting to move to gather the tools that would be needed for this medical examination. He hoped the action wasn’t seen as rude or disrespectful, but since it seemed Flatline was frozen to the spot, Knock Out would have to get everything ready himself.

“No relation, at least not that we can tell. There was no rhyme nor reason to it- Breakdown became significantly more irritable, and while he did not hurt anyone, he did lash out at things, at one point breaking a medical berth. There were no other reports of actual violence, just flared tempers. Even though we lost the Nemesis, we were very, very lucky.”

Should others have been further along to the point of going completely feral like Flatline? He wondered if they’d have been able to contain it. Flatline alone had done a lot of damage, but if some of the bigger mechs started lashing out? Who even knows how many of them would be left standing.

“As for symptoms, even those varied. We had a few test positive, such as Starscream, Sparkplug- who were completely asymptomatic. My own infection appeared to be further along than most, given the state and sheer number of nanites in my system, yet I showed no outward symptoms. A little more irritable than usual, perhaps, but…”

He shook his head, trailing off before he started rambling.

“Soundwave on the contrary did not lash out with violence, but turned his attention to the Nemesis. While I do not dare ask if this was because he was not of right mind, or some strange and futile attempt to stop the virus spreading, I do not know. But it only confirms that this virus and its effects were different in everyone.”

There was a pause in his movements as the last question was asked, and it took everything in him not to cast a knowing glance toward Flatline. Instead, he focused on picking up a diagnostics datapad, turning it on and waiting for the confirmation of a beep, before turning back to Megatron, making no moves yet to make his way back toward the Warlord.

“Well, Lord Megatron- uh. I can only assume Flatline began showing the first signs, given he was confirmed to be patient zero. The thing is-”

A nervous glance was given to the black and red mech, before he’d look back at Megatron, tapping the datapad anxiously as he continued.

“Flatline would avoid his routine medical checkups, preferring to do them himself as he is more than capable and had the means to do so in his lab. So I had no clue that he was even afflicted until it got to the point that he had to seek medical aid, by which point it was too late. Any progression in terms of irritability or other symptoms I did not witness. Even the whitening of his optics did not occur until the moment he seemed to completely snap.”

Glancing to the datapad and awkwardly clearing his throat, he would continue on.

“An incident that may have clued us in that something was wrong, however, was when Breakdown was sent to retrieve a- a scanner, I believe. That Flatline had borrowed - only there was an altercation and Flatline bit Breakdown.

Unfortunately, well… it was no secret that Flatline and I were not the most civil toward one another, so I did not look into it further. However, since arriving here at Blackridge, he has been an asset toward keeping the Medical Bay running, and any hostilities between us have long since gone. Even with Starscream removing his secondary arms, he has made himself useful and assists with maintenance on Vehicons.”

Another lingering glance was shot at Flatline.

This is where you say something, you idiot…

[Flatline]

Useless was Flatline's middle name here.

He was paralyzed, he physically couldn’t bring himself to move, and his processor was barely churning and turning over enough to just barely keep up with the discussion. He had no cognitive power to even try to articulate a response at this point. This was a fear only doubled as Megatron looked down upon him.

There were indeed differences from the last time the Warlord saw Flatline.

The most prominently noticeable right out of the gate was the fact the black and red medic now had a cane that he was relying on to keep himself steady. Before, it was not even a concern, Flatline moving with a sort of care and grace where each ped clicked down with calculative care without waver or misstep. His balance was honed well, and yet... now he gripped a cane, a cane that was not temporary given the fact it was manufactured more so than cobbled together. The cause of this was not immediately apparent, Knock Out doing well to fix the damage of his knee given current events. Most of the injury was now internal, with the external being only a few warbled lines that did not hurt anything and would take too much of their medic's valuable time to rectify beyond some buffing and painting over.

The second thing possibly of note was the fact his secondary arms were indeed gone. Even when they were tucked close to Flatline's frame partly beneath his pectoral plating, they were visible. The red spheres they mounted to, the small two fingered and thumbed hand that curled into loose fists... they never truly vanished, and so to have absolutely nothing there with the red spheres even missing? It showed that they were completely removed and left an odd blank area where they had once lay.

Beyond this all, physical differences were particularly minor that no sane individual would notice. Denting to the crest between his eyes where his helm armor started, some fresher painted portions from other injuries that happened with the Nemesis' fall... some new angles and edges to his teeth from nervously grinding them together since he became coherent and aware of his possible downfall... however his personality seemed more crippled than his knee.

A once proud Cybertronian, one that dug his bladed fingertips down into a task and raked through it to find solutions... An over eager worker that seemed to thrive on a challenge, seeing whatever High Command requested as a personal goal that went beyond just 'punching in to work'. Now, he was passive, worried, fearful. He shrunk in on himself, a mere husk of what he was before. This was all simply accented as the soft trembling continued, his fear materializing in a way he could not stop.

Flatline could do nothing but watch, gaze flicking between the two now, before settling on Knock Out as the red mech started to lay down facts that did not paint him in a very good light. He knew he had messed up... Flatline was aware much was his fault here, but hearing it belted out right here and now in front of one that decided his fate was not a particularly great feeling. This caused his red gaze to flick down towards the floor, not even blinking once as he felt his paralyzed state simply continue.

"I did what I thought was right."

"I was not trained to look for this disease."

"I was not in my right mind."

"I do what I can to serve your cause."

"I still have value; I help Knock Out."

"I... I still want to live..."

[Deleted]

Megatron was quiet as Knock Out spoke, but his eyes remained on Flatline, even as the medic tapped the datapad. It was quite apparent that Flatline had changed, and not just physically. While he was never brash or bold, now he was borderline comatose with...fear?

It irritated Megatron. While he demanded respect and obedience, he did not want to see cowardice in his Decepticons. His followers were to be the rulers of their kind, and this sort of snivelling was pathetic. He wanted to snap at Flatine, to order him to stand up, raise his head, his optics...but assumed such a thing would likely cause the other mech to collapse in a heap on the floor. At while point, Megatron would order Knock Out to sweep him up like trash, and toss him.

“I’m surprised he’s capable of helping in any manner, considering the condition he’s in.”

Now Megatron turned his attention away from Flatline, and down to the Datapad.

“I gave your report a cursory look over when I arrived, and wished to hear it a more...abridged version from you. I will read the report in depth later. While I am not pleased with the loss of my Nemesis, I am aware this....plague...struck without warning.

Continue to monitor the others for this disease, any sign of it changing, any chance of it coming back.”

Crimson optics locked onto Knock Out for a moment.

“Now that we are aware of it’s existence, there will be no excuse if it returns and causes another set back.”

A simple, short warning.

Megatron looked back to Flatline again, and after a second, spoke to him.

“Starscream removed your secondary arms.”

It was an odd statement, seeing it was quite obvious they had been removed, and after what Knock Out had just told him. There was a hint of a question in there.

[Knock Out]

The fact Megatron wasn’t looking at him was scary, in a way, and Knock Out found himself wondering just what was going through the Warlord’s processor as he stared down the initial reason for the loss of the Nemesis.

The fact Flatline had yet to speak did not bode well. He’d expected grovelling, begging and apologizing- yet he was stood there in a sort of paralyzed silence, staring down at the floor.

Would this be the last time he saw Flatline alive? Would the other mech finally be offlined for his part in what happened? Surely the loss of his secondary arms was enough of a punishment considering he wasn’t the one who ACTUALLY crashed the ship. He was useful to the cause, and even though months of work on Flatline’s courage and mental state had seemingly come undone at Megatron’s return, they could build him back up to the confident sassy bastard he once was!

Or so, Knock Out hoped.

As Megatron spoke, the cherry-red mech would cast a quick glance to Flatline, then back to the Warlord.

“Current appearances aside, he’s been very useful to me especially. With the increase in mining operations, he’s part of why we could keep up with the sudden influx in uh- mining-related injuries. He’s a valuable asset to the cause.”

More good words, trying to save Flatline from what was probably imminent death.

“As for the disease, indeed, Lord Megatron. Screening and extra testing come as standard with everyone’s scheduled checkups, and now we know what we’re looking for? It won’t happen again.”

At least, that was the plan.

As Flatline was addressed, Knock Out would turn a wary glance in the direction of the black and red mech. Now Megatron had spoken to him, surely he would say something. Surely he would speak, or at the very least do something other than simply stand there.

He was nervous, yet it wasn’t for himself.

[Flatline]

Before, Flatline had not been addressed directly. It was not his place to cut in on an event that was focused solely upon Knock Out and Megatron. Their goals were more important, to help mend and repair the mars and damages their Warlord had obtained in his long absence, to get him back not only to prime fighting shape, but to look like the valiant leader they all followed rather than a torn-up mess. This played a huge role in why Flatline could not find words, why he choked on saying anything to interject. It felt like he was grabbing attention with a presumptuous need to grasp the lime light.

Now he was addressed.

Red eyes broke up from peering at the floor, widening slightly, a bit of alarm and shock that he was having a statement ((playing as a question without the inflection)) thrown at him. While Flatline knew Megatron already had the answer supplied to him, he recognized it not as a true 'question', but as a spurred jab into his side to try to push him out of his paralyzed state.

Knock Out... for all of the degrading comments flung at one another, for all of their squabbles, for all of their clashes and lashing hatred shared as they mixed like oil and water... the other mech truly seemed to look out for him. The level of appreciation Flatline felt was immense, the continued acts of good will showing that he wasn’t truly looked down upon by the other, but was a real teammate in a way. Flatline recognized this, his arguments with the CMO not holding the venomous bite for a good while, yet, to hear it in front of Megatron meant a lot.

Flatline had to speak now, he HAD to cobble something together, his jaw parting a bit with a shudder before his voice finally played along and he spouted out his first bit of input from this entire encounter.

"Y-yes my Lord."

With a fleeting tremble, Flatline's frame broke out of its locked-up state in a moment, his right arm moving down before him along with his upper body into a sort of bow. His helm would dip with the movement as well, eyes closing as he knew he should have done this far sooner than he had, yet was so locked up in his own helm he hadn't been able to find the ability to do such a thing. It was better profoundly late than never though.

"I w-worked my entire career before the War with only my two arms. I-I am still useful and can aid with multitude of tasks within the Medical Bay."

A small plead, the issue of his missing arms brushed aside gently with care. He didn't want Megatron to think he was crippled now. The secondary limbs... they were useful, he missed them, he WANTED them back... yet they did not define his value and their absence was not truly debilitating. With these words, Flatline eased upright once more, looking at the silver mech warily with a rattle that shook through his legs again.

"O-or I can focus on other sciences. Whatever you deem m-most applicable to your wishes moving forward."

He was growing somewhat fond of working within the Medical Bay, he did not want to be cut free at this moment despite what he may have said in the past...

Nervously, Flatline's right arm that had been dipped before him now folded up near his chest, his thumb scraping silently over the side of his pointer finger as if to try to bleed out the stress that still raked him.

[Deleted]

The Warlord turned his attention to Knock Out as the medic spoke, listening to how he spoke of Flatline.

The competition between the two was not lost on him. While Megatron was the leader of the Decepticons and generally held himself back from “mingling” with his soldiers, he still kept abreast of what was going on within his ranks. Some of the lower ranking soldiers might be surprised at just what Megatron was aware of, thanks to Soundwave, and his own ability to put two and two together.

And it was a well known fact that Knock Out and Flatline did not get along.

At least, not before this plague struck.

Megatron found himself wondering if Knock Out had a personal reason to ensure Flatline was shown in the best possible light, or if he truly was showing camaraderie towards the other mech. It was true he felt that competition tended to ensure everyone was working at their best, there were times he grew exasperated with those who were willing to gut their superiors just to climb one rung of the ladder.

When Flatline spoke, he forced back the annoyance that stirred faintly within him. Megatron demanded respect and loyalty, and demanded that his Decepticons acknowledged his position over them....but he did not enjoy base grovelling. Such should be reserved for his enemies when beaten, not a Decepticon. It did not show Flatline in a good light.

And yet he supposed he should not be surprised at Flatline’s behaviour. If Megatron had the slightest inkling that Flatline was, in fact, responsible for what had happened to the Nemesis, there would be hell to pay.

However, that was neither here nor there at the moment, and he needed to deal with what had happened.

“That will not do.”

Crimson optics still piercing Flatline, the Warlord still looming over both him and Knock Out while seated, Megatron spoke again.

“You may have worked with only two arms before the war, but that is not why I accepted you within the Decepticons.”

He narrowed his optics.

“You were accepted because you were capable of performing highly delicate work. I accepted you because you filled a niche within my ranks – you brought a skill to my soldiers that others did not have.

A niche you no longer fill. A skill you no longer possess.

Any idiot can aid Knock Out. A Vehicon can clean and tidy.”

Crimson optics slowly travelled over Flatline’s body, from his face down to his peds, letting his optics linger for a moment, with a slight sneer of disdain, for the cane, and back up to Flatline’s face again.

“Why should I give you a place within the Decepticons in the condition you are now?”

[Knock Out]

Ohh, whhhhy did he opt to do a full scan. Why couldn’t he have just done the basic, routine one that’d take a few minutes at most. He’d forgotten how terrifying Megatron was, and they were essentially stuck here with him until this was done.

Knock Out stared down at the datapad, silently wishing the damn thing would hurry up and finish so he could move on to the next part of this procedure- depending on what was needed.

As Megatron had been off-planet, it was taking its sweet time, though. Probably not helped by the fact the equipment here was… not the best. If only the Medical Bay wasn’t so immaculate, or he could’ve busied himself with some sort of cleaning as a way to distract himself, keep himself busy so he wasn’t standing here awkwardly feeling each second drag on for an eternity.

But at least Flatline had finally found his voice. Knock Out would listen, but he wouldn’t stare at either mech, keeping his attention solely on the datapad.

Only to glance up at Megatron as he replied.

Wait, Megatron accepted Flatline into the ranks? Personally? All he’d got was some fancy looking propaganda flier, a vague threat by some rough looking Seeker who’d sneered at his pristine frame, paired with a rather obvious choice. The Decepticons back then were a force to be reckoned with, and Knock Out was all about a little thing called survival. There was no flashy recruitment, no personalized welcome committee.

How unfair! How rude! Then again, back then, Megatron might’ve realized that Knock Out had flubbed his way into becoming a Medic and it was only through some sheer luck and natural talent that he’d managed to stick with it and found he was actually okay at it.

So maybe his generalized recruitment into their ranks had been for the best.

Maybe he’d misunderstood the wording, though- and he knew better than to ask.

At the mention of any idiot being able to help, Knock Out’s optics would narrow into the gentlest of frowns. There was far more to it than that- he had his own methodical way of cleaning, of tidying and organizing to the point of being agonizingly pedantic. It had to be done exactly right, and only Breakdown - and now Flatline - had gotten it down to an art form.

“I-if I may my Lord, he does more than just clean and tidy. He assists with medical procedures where Breakdown cannot.”

Some more small input, his voice quiet - meek, almost. He didn’t want to speak out of turn, but he had to make sure Megatron knew that he wasn’t using Flatline as his personal maid.

[Flatline]

Red eyes darted anxiously across Megatron's expression as he spoke, reading into every flicker of emotion, looking into the angle of a brow or tilt of a helm. Flatline absorbed it all with pained focus to a point the rest of the room bled away into mottled blotches and smears of color that streaked into darkness at the edges. Whatever truly lay beyond their Lord's processor was uncertain, but he knew that he was displeased, irritated, and overall simply unhappy with this turn of events. It perpetuated Flatline's fear, accented it, made it that much more honed and noxious.

The larger mech's words started to seem to blur together as well now, the exact phrases almost lost to Flatline as he struggled to comprehend that this was more likely than not the end of him. He had come to such shaky terms before that he escaped death, having faced Starscream's ire. A horrific injury had befell him, one he could still feel the ghosted effects of as his processor tried to activate and move something that was not there.

"A niche you no longer fill. A skill you no longer possess."

N-no...

"Any idiot can aid Knock Out. A Vehicon can clean and tidy."

I d-do more... please...

"Why should I give you a place within the Decepticons in the condition you are now?"

As Megatron looked him over, Flatline felt like his armor was on fire. Every detail, every bit of plating, it showed he was a noncombatant. Thin paneling, thinner legs, a gangly build with delicate joints. He couldn't even be put to menial work as a soldier or a laborer in the mines. He was defined by his skill in a medical bay, and that was being cast aside simply because he lost a trait he held? Because he thought it would be useful way back when he started to work on Spark experimentation?

Knock Out's words were also bled out as Flatline's panic and fear grew. He could gleam that they were helpful, trying to defend him even, but it felt like such a small defense for what equated to a freight train coming at him while he was stuck to the tracks.

"I-I constructed frames as my job! I can do delicate work still!"

A panicked cry.

"The arms may have been an aid but they aren’t all I have!"

Flatline regretted them. Such a choice, something he had been so PROUD of and used deftly! His processor accepted the change of frame well and he cherished them! They were something he held above others, that did help him gain an edge and deftness to work as if he had an assistant offering their aid without burdening another soul. But now looking back, maybe it was all that others saw him for. A freakish trait that overshadowed everything else he was. It created a niche where all else he had to offer was cast to the side like trash, blotted down and overshadowed.

"I have serviced repairs, reconstruction, and extensive research on most frame types to be ready for what may be placed before me."

The squawked frantic tone of voice from before was reeled back, trying to move to a more level volume. His right arm folded over his chest then, fingertips digging down at his opposite side where a 'ribcage' would be, permitting his forearm to press and pin across where his secondary limbs had once lay. There was nothing left of them, no semblance of a clue such a trait had ever been installed due to Knock Out's work, yet there was a self conscious drive to conceal that which was no longer there, as if it would let more worth and value be seen instead.

"I have worked and researched into the properties of Sparks, with specific goal to fissure to form two soldiers from one."

Flatline's gaze crooked down and to the side, his posture shrinking as the panels on his back smoothed flush. He wished he could fold the launchers on his shoulders down, to further look passive, not realizing it was irritating Megatron. Yet the weaponry was still hiked up, the barrels crooked towards the ceiling while no barbed harpoon was visible, the weaponry disabled.

"I am not defined by what I have lost..."

A softer plea.