We are a literate, intermediate to advanced AU Transformers RPG Based off of the first season of TFP with dashes of other incarnations sprinkled here or there. Characters from any continuity are welcome however must be restyled to match the TFPrime universe.
Active, with ongoing plotlines, we are always willing to integrate new characters into storylines once incorporated into the setting.
Megatron remained as he was, not moving, like a large metallic statue perched upon a berth. When Knock Out spoke -albeit quietly, the optics flicked in his direction, eyeing him as he spoke, giving just enough of a hint that the medic had been heard, before he looked back to Flatline.
He may not have been aware of it, but the fact Flatline did not throw himself to his knees and beg to survive went far in Megatron’s view. He was, in fact, fighting for himself, arguing his worth, without being arrogant. Some would have attempted to replace intelligence with stupidity, in essence saying Megatron he was wrong. Flatline, however, was showing respect while still pressing his own worth.
It was a fine dance, but one that the Warlord noticed, and approved of.
To his last statement, Megatron spoke.
“Perhaps you are not.”
Now Megatron turned to Knock Out, bringing him back into the conversation, “Tell me. What sort of procedures does Flatline assist with that Breakdown cannot? I understand Breakdown is your permanent assistant, fetching things for you, moving heavier objects you cannot. Obviously Flatline does not fill this role, especially now.”
At this, Megatron cast a doleful and pointed look at the cane.
“Does he assist in operations? Repairs? I am not aware of any battles that have taken place since my absence.”
As Flatline responded, Knock Out would nod along with his words. He wouldn’t vocally confirm everything, as surely Megatron knew enough about the black and red mech to know that what he was saying was truthful, but he wanted to add what little support he could, even if it was nothing more than a simple nod of confirmation.
Even with the lack of secondary arms, Flatline was more than useful to the Decepticons- especially here in the medical bay. Breakdown was nothing more than a basic assistant at best, chasing down Vehicons when needed (a job helped by the fact he somehow knew each and every one of their designations), plugging in a scanner and waiting for the results - but Flatline had enough medical knowledge to perform what was needed depending on what those results showed.
That wasn’t to say that Breakdown wasn’t useful, because he was. Having him here saved a lot of time doing mundane tasks that would’ve otherwise fallen to Knock Out. He was familiar with the medical bay and the cherry-red mech’s meticulous cleaning procedures. He could move the berths around with ease, and other general jobs that the CMO could not do - but he was no medic.
Was it selfish to have both Breakdown and Flatline working with him? Possibly - but the Decepticons had a lot of numbers to their army, each Vehicon had a file that needed to be kept up to date, there were schedules and non-stop maintenance at times. Or at least it felt like that. The three of them seemed to work well and they got a lot of things do-
Ohh slag, Megatron was talking to him.
He’d spaced out a little there, ready to back Flatline up further should he need to, mulling over the kinds of things Flatline would possibly say in response to whatever it was Megatron said next - but there hadn’t been a lot said to the black and red mech at all.
Instead, he was being questioned, and he’d snap his attention back to the Warlord, standing up straight.
“W-Well my Lord. Uh.” he stammered some, not quite expecting to be put on the spot so suddenly.
“Operations, yes - as well as general maintenance on Vehicons and other members of our forces should I be occupied at the time. Uh, we do keep logs, obviously, of all the work being done here should you wish to see an accurate report of just what Flatline has done with his time here in the medical bay." He paused, gesturing to one of the datapads on his desk which he'd immediately retrieve should it be requested of him. For now though, he did not move.
"Should you look, you’ll see that the majority is work on Vehicons, however, as ever since Starscream pushed our efforts into mining, there was an expected increase in mining-related injuries. His cane does not affect his work. He is of steady hand, with good bedside manner.”
He was rambling a bit. Something he did when he was nervous, but the unease was growing, paired with a feeling that he had to say all the right things here or they wouldn’t be seeing much of Flatline anymore.
“As for battles, mm... there haven’t been any. The destruction of the Neutral Base was the last major event, but uh, things have been suspiciously quiet on the Autobot front, aside from one very small attack on one of our mines. The Vehicons that were lost, Flatline managed to salvage and repair various parts should we need them in the future."
A nervous glance was cast down to the datapad, which was about three quarters done.
Come on you stupid thing, go faster!
"The point is, Lord Megatron, is that he is useful."
These simple four words meant so much. It meant that perhaps, somewhere, somehow, there would be an inkling of mercy to find a role for him. To not clip him down as an example to others. Flatline felt he deserved to be killed, for what he brought into the Decepticons, for a disease he unknowingly harbored like a ticking time bomb... he deserved to be shown that ignorance and negligence in checkups and proactive measures resulted in termination. Yet, he had already gone through those emotional hurdles. He drowned in mental anguish and fear for so very long before punishment was slammed into him. He was coming to terms with his life having some kind of future...
Only for this.
Red eyes flicked across the silver mech's features still, frantic, scared, looking for more to be said. Flatline expected another question, or perhaps judgement of some kind. Instead, it was as if he had been thrown out of the room for others to speak, Megatron cutting away their interaction to instead speak with Knock Out. Nervously, the black and red mech's gaze broke away from their Warlord, looking on the smaller mech with nervous fear at his life possibly being thrown into his hands. While they have been getting along, a snarling sort of bantered 'friendship' and alliance forged from being forced in a tight confine, there could still be animosity. Knock Out's pleasantries a means to keep sane in Blackridge, while that may change now that he found opportunity to truly RID himself of a nuisance.
While before Knock Out's words had been blurred and hazed into a general 'feeling' of what he thought hearing them, too fearful with Megatron staring down upon him readying to lay judgement... now that the larger mech's gaze was off of him, Flatline could actually try to focus, his processor spinning back to a normal speed. It meant he could absorb and take in the words, appreciating the fact that the CMO wasn't throwing him aside when given a perfect opportunity, but was almost fighting for his place here. Flatline's brows furrowed at this, having not witnessed when the other mech put in a good word when speaking to Starscream. It made him feel a bit better, even if he knew wrath could still come.
With Knock Out's words concluded, Flatline's helm would whip back up to watch Megatron, keeping silent.
Crimson optics turned back to Flatline again, once more seeming to look him up and down, studying him. Taking in every bolt and seam. Looking through him into Flatline’s spark chamber.
“Everyone is useful in some way or another. A simple cleaning drone is useful. The point is are you useful enough to earn the energon you are drinking, the space you are taking up within these walls?”
A pause.
“You were studying a method to produce two sparks from one. How far did you get with that?"
A quick, bemused glance towards Knock Out as the medic was attempting to communicate with the scanner via telepathy.
Last Edit: Sept 4, 2020 19:18:40 GMT -5 by Deleted
Megatron’s attention had shifted back to Flatline once more, and Knock Out was… a little confused.
Had he said too much? To the point Megatron had gotten bored and shifted his focus back onto the black and red mech? Was this some weird game because both medics were incredibly nervous and he was toying with them?
He didn’t understand. Even the mentions of Starscream didn’t garner any sort of reaction, and he’d cast a nervous glance at Flatline as more questions were asked of him.
There were a lot of questions being asked this day, and Knock Out could only furrow his brow some, wondering just what would come next, peering at Megatron as if looking for answers.
Nope, still on the black and red mech. Okay.
There was a gentle, if slightly awkward, shifting of his weight as he remained quiet, his own attention shifting to Flatline. Surely Megatron knew the answer to that last question? Was this some kind of… test?
All he knew was that he wanted this scanner to hurry up and fraggin' finish. Thankfully, it should be any second now.
Or so he hoped!
Last Edit: Sept 4, 2020 22:41:08 GMT -5 by Knock Out
Flatline had hoped Megatron would show some kind of approval at Knock Out's words. A hum of consideration, a look of thought or even more questions to further validate the value of the procedures and repairs he accomplished... or even another 'perhaps he is actually useful' statement in some form or another. He foresaw himself abandoned once again into the corner to merely play observer until the other two concluded their discussion after some back and forths. Instead, Megatron didn't seem to take heed of the majority of Knock Out's words, belittling and comparing him once more to just a cleaning drone.
Flatline helped with medical things that a drone could not accomplish! He was better than that and... if he wasn't going to be made an example of, his value was worth the fuel he consumed! Especially as he wasn't exerting himself with hard labor or fighting like others may on an active base. His consumption was on a lower level, and while he didn't have the stats offhand and was in no place to math it out at the moment, he would be fairly confident to wager that he would use less than a Mining class Vehicon easily.
Flatline's brows furrowed when Knock Out sent a nervous glance his way, his gaze then casting down while he tried to figure out why that wasn't enough. Why did such a review mean nothing? The focus then shifted to his work on Sparks, and while it was a grandiose plan for himself, and he understood the subject matter a great deal, he hadn't figured it out perfectly to actually produce a viable result. Science wasn't a fast process, especially on this level. All of his tangible records and results however had been lost back on Cybertron on the escape, so he didn't even own any progress proof other than what he had in his own processor.
As such he had nothing to show.
"I... er... the Sparks I were supplied with were not strong enough to survive the procedure as currently calculated."
He exhausted a good deal of lives. Some Autobots, some not... some Protoforms to tinker on... looking for a result, looking for a step forward to push the science to next levels. Just as many bodies entered his lab subsequently were drug out to the smelting pits or to be recycled, his workplace a churning means to murder in the sake of science.
"I have managed to fracture more than a few, yet each half did not hold power enough to endure past a few moments."
The tools needed to do this were beyond the scope of Blackridge however, no way to even get past the hurdles he had already mastered back on their homeworld. He was preaching of the future, of something he COULD offer if they managed to find a more permanent base and salvage the proper tools. Flatline would be willing to be Space Bridged to Cybertron itself to try to dig and claw through desolate bomb riddled facilities if there was even a fleeting chance he could pull out pieces and bits of destroyed equipment that an engineer could reconfigure into medical tools. Anything...
"A system to provide power via external sources during recovery or for long term supplementation was under review, however the exodus off world dismantled further efforts."
Flatline missed that laboratory. He felt like he had real value, a real FOOTING. Protected behind the front lines to challenge his mind actively which not only kept him alive, it made him happy. He was downgraded when he got to Earth, but it was still workable... he was content there even if he snubbed the company of others and his feud with Knock Out was at its pinnacle.
"My research made me proficient at stabilizing whole Sparks under trauma, however..."
A softer offer. Yet, was forcing a wavering dying soul to stay in this world when profoundly weak enough atop his medical skills to earn him his place? Megatron didn’t seem to care about the idea of a second surgeon...