[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Cause and Effect [Closed]

[Knock Out]

Week Two, Day Six 
---

Aaah, the Nemesis.

Knock Out hadn’t given much thought to the fallen ship in recent weeks. When they’d first arrived at Blackridge he had, of course, been one of the most vocal about the (what he considered to be) terrible conditions. The lack of doors, the lack of water pressure - the lack of privacy and even worse? The sorry excuses for equipment that he was supposed to somehow work with.

But he’d adapted, mostly because he’d had no choice, and while he still wasn’t the happiest with current accommodations - it sure was dusty in this claustrophobic cavern, which was absolute murder on his finish - he had at least ceased the majority of his more vehement whining. Equipment had been salvaged from the depths, and while some of it didn’t function as well as it did when they were floating in Earth’s orbit, it was better than nothing.

With his position of CMO, he got away with more than most - the almost incessant whining, for example. While he did push his luck sometimes (okay, far more often than he’d admit) he had the privilege of not having to care about the poor Vehicons tasked with fulfilling his ludicrous requests, the only worry was whether or not they were completed.

Well, he saw the aftermath of these errands of course, when they trudged back to the Medical Bay covered in sludge, injuries, with the occasional missing limb - the Nemesis was dangerous, what with the saltwater, the general hazards, the toxic disgusting refuse and who even knew what else. But the point was that he didn't have to really deal with the dirtier side of things like actually seeing any sort of danger. 

Which was why he found himself confused this day. Staring at a datapad in silent bewilderment, his request to send some troops to gather some of the last few containers of paint from the sunken ship had been denied. Attached to this denial was a rather fuzzy photograph that looked to be taken from a camera at a traffic light that was undeniably him partaking in some very illegal street racing the other day. Aah, Soundwave - you’re hilarious.

Psh, couldn’t even get a decent photo… Though despite the quality, he knew he at least looked good.

Swallowing down that deep dark fear that the Spymaster would be watching him more closely, he would ease into a stand at his desk. Opting to leave out the rather key detail that this request had been denied - because they really did need that paint - he would slide his thumb across the screen, before powering off the datapad itself and setting it down. Looking over and across to Flatline who seemed to be working on something, he’d clear his throat.

He'd never been against taking matters into his own hands, and so today would be no different. 

“Flatline, we have been given permission to venture onto the Nemesis to salvage what remains of my paint collection. As you probably know, we’re running low on pretty much everything.”

They had to use the common purples and grays sparingly when patching up the poor Vehicons who arrived with scuff marks and scrapes from their various excursions in the mines or whatever else they got up to, almost to the point that if he gave half a slag he could probably tell which one was which via appearance alone.

“I haven’t forgotten that little wager we made a few months ago, either. This is as good a time as any to finally finish your side of the deal! Aside from the boring purples that we need, I have a bigger variety of colors just waiting to be picked from.”

Ah yes, the ‘you can’t go a week without making some sort of crude comment’ gamble - easy peasy, Knock Out could show some restraint when need be. While half of Flatline’s wager had long since been paid off, and wow, who knew he was so good with a buffer once he stopped grumbling! The other half had not - if only because the more daring colors were still sadly locked away in the ruined Medical Bay.

“There’s something else in it for you, though - in that we could try to salvage your harpoons. I’m sure they’re still laying around somewhere down there. Scrape off whatever organic filth has taken hold, not to mention the rust, and I’m sure we can do something with them.”

He knew Flatline missed his weapons, not that he ever really used them, and hoped it would be enough to bait him into this little adventure. Not that the other mech had much of a choice in the matter.

After all, it wasn’t like he planned to do any dirty work here - sure, he’d bridge onto the Nemesis itself, but it would be Flatline who would be doing all the rummaging through whatever was down there. Maybe they could see if any equipment was in some kind of working order, too.

Or depending on how bad things were down there, they could snoop through the old Officer quarters for anything of note.

Not that he’d ever say that idea out loud.

[Flatline]

Flatline was a diligent worker. He was one of those souls who was good with being told what to do so that he could narrow his focus and not worry about anything else. He did his job, he didn't complain about his role beyond whispers behind scenes of his personal grievances, and he didn’t leave the Medical Bay with grandiose ideals of interacting with others or seeing beyond his enclosed cage of a base. While he may wish for some fresh air, to step foot outside and see an actual sky for once... he did not seek it nor dwell on it too long before what was needed of him was put to the forefront. In a way, he thought of himself as serving the Decepticons perfectly, a model Cybertronian when compared to Knock Out who seemed to live by his own rules and did his job as CMO as a side hobby.

Well... Flatline thought he was a model individual...

Until the Nemesis fiasco....

That would remain an oppressive layer of guilt that was hard to shake. An odd feeling of having dodged death, while also worrying that it still may lurk around any corner. He had to keep his footing, keep himself valuable, keep himself WORTH something to not be taken out to trash as scrap metal. The missing void where his Secondaries once were still ghosted occasionally to aid this goal. No pain lingered at the site, the wounds long since healed... but false feelings and signals were still sent to his processor occasionally, reminding that something should be there, should be moving... Alas... he kept trudging along with this, and as such, when Knock Out finally spoke, it was an irritating interruption that disrupted that flow.

Closing his eyes a moment, Flatline took a slow invent. He was steadying himself for what drabble was going to be thrown his way, trying to find some form of inner peace to brace himself. While this occurred he sat his hands flat on top of his rickety little work slab, one tool pinned between the table's surface and his splayed palm. The black and red mech would stay like this for one more cycle of air, before his helm rose, a dead gaze looking over at the flashy bright CMO to try to process the nonsense he was spitting out at him.

"You wish to pull me from my station, so that you may go on a field trip to the Nemesis in order to seek... not medical supplies or necessary tools that may yet be salvaged... but to recover a collection of paints for the sake of vanity and upholding a past wager that was made when the other party was completely delirious on painkillers and the physical shock from amputation."

Everything about this long droned out reply was monotone and hollow. No real inflection to it, no real hate or shriek, just a haze of disbelieving irritation that Knock Out thought it was wise to send both their medical workers down into the Abyss where any section had the potential of flooding out entirely. Ignore the fact if it WERE going to flood it probably would have done so already... but that was not the point. It could be dangerous, and if they were both crushed and killed then it would be a highly damaging event to the Decepticons here on Earth.

"Take a Vehicon and go yourself."

The bait about recovering his harpoons was cast aside and not even acknowledged. It wasn't worth it too him right then and there. That isn't to say Flatline did not want them back... no. He certainly did. They made him feel safe and protected. The harpoons were aggressive looking, barbaric and gruesome. They didn't have the numbed visual familiarity of a sword or gun to others really, and brought with it a ghastlier mental image if someone were struck, especially when they got ripped out. Their sight alone could be a deterrent, which is where the real value came in.

Because Primus knows he didn't fight with them well.

Looking back down and picking his tool back up, Flatline tried to snub Knock Out, really REALLY not wanting to go to the Nemesis for something so trivial.

[Knock Out]

Knock Out's attention and gaze met the other mechs, and there was a look of what was probably genuine disappointment at how quickly Flatline shot his words down.

While he was sure there was some logic behind his reasoning - the thought of being trapped among debris or crushed to death by something moving had crossed his processor - he wasn't having any of it. This was, at least to him, far less work than driving into some weird human town in the nearby area and using a holoform to steal a dozen cans of paint. None of which would match the needed shade, none of which he wanted to carry.

"Nuh-huh. Not just paints for vanity, dear Flatline. Have you not noticed the state of our Vehicons lately? They're in dire need of patching up.” while he did not care much for the appearance of others, given nobody could look as good as he did - they did have somewhat of a standard to keep up with their appearances, and their troops were looking a little worse for wear in recent days.

“As for the wager, that is an added bonus indeed. Need I remind you that you were lucid enough to run me over, ruining my finish and breaking my headlight,” - that part was definitely said through gritted teeth - ”and up until now I haven't held it against you!"

If only because he had been waiting for the most opportune moment to use it against him.

The monotone reply was bad enough, but the added further insult of telling him to get a Vehicon and go by himself? Just who did Flatline think he was? The black and red mech was his assistant, he was only around because of him putting in a not-so-deserving good word (or ten) when it mattered! Flatline owed him, did he forget that?!

"Ah, but I'm asking you. Do you wish to tell me you are denying a direct order from a superior? Should I call Starscream and get his opinion on the matter?"

Of course, if he did call on the silver Seeker he would twist the truth somewhat to sway things in his favor. Say it was a mission to get some actual equipment or to locate something of importance, not just paint. While he would absolutely did intend to look around for anything they could salvage equipment-wise, it was not his end goal. Time, and having half a functioning cell in his processor (unlike some) meant that he realized that by now? Most everything that required some sort of power to function would be pretty much dead. Or at least, not worth the effort of dragging back.

It'd be his word against Flatline's, and given the black and red mech had brought down the Nemesis and everything with it, with the addition of what was probably a good several dozen Vehicons - he never did get an official tally on that - he was fairly certain that this threat, which was delivered with utmost seriousness - would be enough to convince Flatline that he really, really had no choice in the matter.

It would probably do him good to see just what he'd done to them all. Knock Out had indeed noticed that the other medic hadn't left Blackridge once, nor done much of anything since their arrival except trudge from the Medical Bay to his quarters and back every single day - probably as some guilt-ridden attempt to punish himself. Something that he did intend to remedy eventually by taking the miserable idiot outside sometime, but for now, the Nemesis was a damn good place to start.

Raising a servo up to the side of his helm, he would avert his gaze from the other mech, almost as if implying that his attention was elsewhere - namely a soon-to-be conversation with Starscream.

[Flatline]

"Since when do you care about the Vehicons surface level appearances?"

Visible injuries and horrific weld marks would be bad ticks against Knock Out's skill as a doctor... that Flatline could understand being uppity about. Yet paint? Paint was paint, and while covering silver metals was ideal to make the army look more unified and less... cobbled... it wasn't that important to Flatline. They could all go cheap stock black and it wouldn’t look too glaringly odd when they already were such dark purples, and that couldn't be too difficult to source? At least, this is how he was convincing himself to not want to go. One more excuse to try to disarm this nightmare of an adventure he could already foresee going abysmally wrong.

Knock Out and him didn't do anything 'simply'. It was always a recipe for disaster mixed with awkward acts of friendship peppered with blind hate and petty rage... they didn't seem to know how to act around one another and it was such a humiliating mess Flatline wished he was above. Yet, that little self-centered moron somehow brought the worst out of him in a way that made him a squawking insulted child ready to scratch off the other's smug grin. Again. Because of this his hands lifted, face burying into his palms that were then rubbing at his eyes with a low groan.

"As if bluntly attacking in a self-destructive flail is lucidity..."

A grumbled reply that was muffled some through his hands, long fingers curling loosely over the top of his helm. Flatline already knew he was fighting a losing battle, trying to come to terms with the fact that he was already destined to go to the site of his greatest failure. Knock Out was simply going to rub his face in everything he did wrong to guilt him to come, so he could rub his face in other things. Why? Because undoubtedly, he liked torturing him for one reason or another and it was so much more satisfying than bringing a Vehicon that would just eat the abuse and know they can't say anything back.

With a slow smear, Flatline's hands moved to the side, fingers curling so that the knuckle of each pointer rubbed gently at his temples while he responded to Knock Out's last words.

"You said you were asking me, then implied I disobeyed a command that wasn't even there. Get your story right if you want to go snitch. See how far that gets you like your complaints about the washracks."

A hollow grumble, Flatline letting his arms drop onto the table with a thunk before he reached back to grab his chair and pull it away so that he could stand. While his words appeared to be shunning Knock Out again, his actions showed he was relenting and trying to stand accordingly. The other mech would just need to be patient to he could adapt to moving once more. His knee was always bothersome on the best of days, yet when he sat for prolonged times, the joint could go stiff. It left him needing to go through this same song and dance whenever he transitioned away from his work area. As such, he leaned against the table, the leg stretched out slightly so he could get things moving again. Once it stretched an inch more, a sort of popping noise accompanied it as if the hinge slipped back into place, Flatline wincing a second.

"Please tell me you have a real goal, and the paint is a side adventure..."

[Knock Out]

“Since it’s a reflection of our standard of care, you simpleton!”

He scoffed, rolling his optics as if to emphasize the fact that Flatline was an idiot for even asking. While it could be argued that a majority of it was down to the fact the cherry-red mech was a perfectionist in almost everything he did, even Flatline could not deny that there was a sense of pride in everyone looking their best once they’d left the Medical Bay.

Just because they were stuck on this crappy little planet didn’t mean they could slack off in keeping up appearances. If Megatron or Starscream were looking for things to nitpick, the Vehicon and Eradicons looking like crap was certainly one that stood out. The fact that he could tell some of them apart now was an issue. He didn’t give two slags about them, but if he could differentiate them, so could the Autobots.

Yes, yes, they could simply patch over the silver scuffs and scrapes with black - but it wouldn’t be the same and went against everything that Knock Out believed in!

The muffled grumble was not lost on him, and he’d tsk sharply, narrowing his optics slightly.

“Sure seemed like you were lucid to me! Your aim was certainly on point!” a grumble of his own as he pointed accusingly at the other mech.

Granted, he’d made it oh so easy for the rolling idiot to hit him by not running out the way or making an attempt to dodge, but it wasn’t as if he’d expected Flatline to even do that!

As Flatline countered his warning and then insulted his very valid complaint about the washracks, he would gasp in indignation as his arm lowered. Clearly he wasn’t comming Starscream - or anyone for that matter - but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t do so!

“First of all how dare you! How was I to know Megatron would just waltz on in when I was complaining about something!”

They still hadn’t been fixed up anywhere close enough to appease his neurotic standards, but at this point he was too scared to bring it up again.

“And second! I can say I commanded you! It’d be my word against yours!” swiping a servo through the air angrily, he would taper off into a low grumble. Flatline did have a point, though he wouldn’t admit that out loud.

Yet… it seemed the other mech was slowly relenting. The fact he was moving into a stand was good. Knock Out knew and understood that this was always a slow process and so would stand still, smugly folding his arms across his chassis as he watched.

The popping noise made him frown, and he wondered if- once this was all over and done with (if they survived the Nemesis, anyway…) if an offer should be made to take another look at Flatline’s knee. There probably wasn’t a whole lot that could be done, he’d done his absolute best with what they’d had available to them at the time. Yet the fact it was still an issue was troublesome indeed.

“Aaaah. Nope. Paint is the goal here, with everything else being a bonus. Any salvageable equipment, your harpoons - juicy intel from the officer’s quarters…” that last part was spoken a little quieter than the rest, before he’d perk up again.

“Was there anything you wanted to look at down there? I mean, aside from taking in the destruction and realizing that it was all your fault, of course.” a gentle tease that came out far meaner than he’d intended.

“Maybe you left something in your quarters that was important? You didn’t really get a chance to go back and grab anything, after all.”

Maybe that would help soften the blow a little.

[Flatline]

"Oh! And such a high standard of care we offer! Only the BEST for the Decepticons, am I right!?"

Flatline’s right arm flung up and out, gesturing broadly to the wreck of a room they were in. Half hovel... half misplaced technology thrown in that was salvaged... Despite its horrible condition, it evidently was of lesser importance to the Vehicons having a fresh set of paint! They had to feel spiffy and clean for their wartime assaults! Primus forbid they spend such time doing anything else to establish this base as something more than a temporary fix. Did they actually expect to get the Nemesis back? Flatline didn't think so!

Yes. Pride in one's work was high on Flatline's on personal list when it came to things that he felt were important. He could agree with Knock Out entirely there. Given any other situation he could jump on board for their soldiers should the paint not have been in a death trap. However, his tolerances were evidently better on setting such things aside given present circumstances, as he would not have even suggested sending a Vehicon to find the paint if he had an ability to direct them.

When Knock Out mentioned the incident with Megatron, a snorted sort of scoff popped out that was borderline a laugh. How was Knock Out to know Megatron would be there? Well, Flatline figured the chances were rather high given the red mech seemed to complain a good deal. Fifty-fifty chance of embarrassment and disappointment should the Warlord make a spontaneous appearance. Even right here and now they were bickering and complaining openly, which wouldn't be a great impression to any higher ranked individual.

Flatline stretched his leg out slightly further then, making sure the disk that had slipped into place was going to now stay there and not slide back into the position it went when he was immobile for too long. When things felt solid enough, he pulled the limb back close to his frame and eased upright, settling into his normal standing stance with his hooked posture and digitigrade build. It was then he chose to speak up again.

"Let's see... who would be more likely to lie...? The high maintenance CMO who has a flair for the dramatics? Or the terrified assistant who would jump to call out of fear of Starscream determining two lost limbs weren't enough?"

Both arms hooked down and looped up, sharp pointers jutting at his own chest dramatically.

"Signs point to the assistant!"

If Flatline was given an ORDER, he would accept it as law and must follow through. If he was given an order by Knock Out, he would begrudgingly accept it, though verbally complain while doing so. The bottom line however was that an order was an order, and after what he had done to the Nemesis he wasn't too keen on disobeying them. This fear forged cage made Flatline feel somewhat SOMEWHAT stable in calling the CMO's bluff. What he was not alright with and did not accept however was what Knock Out started bolting out next.

"I am not raiding the Officer Quarters! Are you insane!?"

A shrill squawk of a cry, much louder than probably intended. The mere idea to go into that area and break open doors had never crossed his processor in any way shape or form. That was means to get torn apart, or if they were lucky simply killed as far as he was concerned. This alarm had made Flatline hook further upright, helm positioned high as red eyes flicked across the other mech's features. Any sort of fear shown shifted over to aggression a moment after however, a bladed finger raising to point at Knock Out accusingly when he was called out on the Nemesis, his free hand grasping his cane that was leaning against the side of the table with a snatch.

"Oh. OHhh We starting this on this foot hm!? Not even one step to the door and you are going to kindle an argument."

In a way, an argument had already started, so Flatline was a tad slow to the draw there. That said, the last words spoken to him seemed to catch him off guard, and Flatline's expression blanked a second as he thought over what offer had just been gifted.

"I- er..."

The idea of going back to his quarters, which were directly attached to his lab, seemed to have made Flatline pause and hesitate.

[Knock Out]

“Oh and whose fault is that?!”

Knock Out was quick on the defense, and while Flatline was gesturing to the room that they were forced to work in, the cherry-red mech motioned dramatically toward the other mech.

“Considering what we have to work with, I’d say we do a damn fine job!”

He sounded absolutely - and genuinely - offended by Flatline’s words. How dare he insult the standard of things when it was HIS fault they were here at Blackridge to begin with? Considering the state of half the equipment here, they were lucky to get anything done at all. Keeping this place even somewhat sterile was an uphill and constant battle, and pair with that the fact the CMO was neurotic about keeping things to a certain standard? It was absolutely exhausting to stay on top of.

This was such a minor (if slightly dangerous) want, all things considered. No, the Vehicons and Eradicons that manned the corridors and the mines did not need fresh paint, nor did they probably really care if they weren’t pristine in their appearance. But it was something that would make Knock Out feel better about things. Give him some of that sense of normalcy that had not yet returned. Just one little thing he could take some sort of pride in, as those were so few and far between these days.

The snorted scoff made him scowl, and with a huff of indignation he would fold both arms across his chassis as he stared Flatline down. He did consider himself so very lucky Megatron had other things to worry about that day, and that any possible reprimand for his unprofessional outburst had seemingly been forgotten.

That scowl would soften as he rolled his optics at Flatline’s words, a gentle scoff of his own sounding.

“Let’s hope we don’t have to find out!”

At least it seemed that Flatline was getting ready to head out on this adventure, so hopefully no actual calls to Starscream would be needed. Honestly, their acting Lord would probably shoot the both of them and put Breakdown in charge if he learned they were bickering over something so stupid.

Speaking of stupid, it seemed the other mech didn’t care for the idea of going into the Officer Quarters.

“Oh, live a little Flatline!” he droned this, voice not raising in pitch like that of the other medic, though it’d certainly made him smile. “Fine, though. You do not have to do anything of the sort. Just simply stand guard like a good little puppy while I raid the Officer Quarters. Primus, the one chance to do something a little risky for once and you’re wiggling out of it!”

Maybe a Vehicon would’ve been better to take along for the ride. They weren’t cowards at least.

As Flatline pointed at him and grabbed the cane, Knock Out chuckled.

“Flatline my dear, it wouldn’t be us if we weren’t arguing about something.” a touch of amusement to his tone

While their friendship had certainly - and unexpectedly - grown from practically being each other's nemesis, they did still bicker over… well, most things. Yet there was rarely any real malice or venom behind the words, and Knock Out found himself actually enjoying Flatline’s company and help here in the Medical Bay.

Pushing forward some in a gradual walk toward the door as if to not so subtly make Flatline start moving, his smile would only grow at the hesitation.

“Ah-ha! There it is! Use that as a reason for coming with me and lets go. Maybe we can see if that random spark chamber thingy is still intact.”

Ah yes, the spark chamber thingy that he’d only seen because he’d snooped through Flatline’s lab when the other mech had not been there. The spark chamber thingy that he probably wasn’t supposed to know was a thing at all.

Whoops. Despite this possible slip up, Knock Out’s voice was as cool and calm as ever.

Ah well! Maybe it’d slipped Flatline’s mind, and Knock Out bringing it up would merely end with the other mech assuming he’d mentioned it in passing to the CMO a long time ago.

Maybe.

[Flatline]

A long drawn out vent shifted through Flatline's systems when Knock Out told him to live a little, the sigh mixed with a roll of red eyes that was very apparent and not at all masked in the slightest. There was no attempt made to hide precisely how he felt about this horrible idea and how poor the other mech's attempts were to convince him to play ball. As far as Flatline was concerned, he was as alive as he could be! Push the line, push the edge, and he could end up doing something else that could put his head back on the chopping block. He was fine... mostly... in his little bubble! So being told to 'live a little' was like telling him to play Russian roulette with a loaded gun.

"Don't you feel, should the nemesis get raised, that they will realize belongings are missing entirely? Things the sea would not claim?"

Droned words as he poked a hole in the other Cybertronian's logic.

Nothing there could be 'raided' without it being somewhat apparent. Things that would naturally dissolve or corrode in the sea would already be gone, things that broke would still leave shards and pieces, and any locked boxes or containers wouldn't simply vanish because a room got shaken around violently. Knock Out would have to tread with care to not leave any evidence, and Flatline didn't think he was capable of doing anything with any level of subtlety and care. Flatline a hundred and ten percent imagined Knock Out struggling with a drawer, only to full tilt kick it to get it open, then spend the next half hour crying about how it scuffed his shin and how it left his signature red on the drawer's edge.

They'd have to try to find cleaner, then try to figure out how to make the edge look weathered from the salty air and not freshly cleaned... and it would be two hours of anguish that Flatline could imagine SO perfectly that it was as if he were looking into the future. It was while his fate flashed before his eyes that his hand lifted, rubbing at his inner eye again in an exacerbated movement while he mentally tried to figure out how to replicate a few months' worth of salt creep on a metal surface...

Knock Out however, couldn't hit closer to the truth on his subsequent words.

It certainly would be quite out of character for the two of them to NOT be bickering in some way. He could agree on that level. They constantly clashed like oil and water trapped in the same jar. Mixing somewhat when things got bad and jostled, but would always pull back apart and contest one another for space in times of calm. Being locked in the same laboratory in smaller living arrangements certainly forced their cooperation and tolerances to evolve, and while Flatline deep down knew they were allies in a way, it didn't always look like it.

Trying to focus on the good that could come of him being able to get back to his old laboratory, Flatline set the REAL reason for their excursion aside and tried to pretend the lab was the true goal here. It would gift him some little mental stability to add sanity upon the ridiculous, an act that was starting to work on some level... yet... any progress that had been made was promptly obliterated when Knock Out said something he shouldn't have.

Instantly Flatline was wrenched out from his inner balancing act, his calming quiet suddenly snapping as he whipped his cane up and pointed accusingly at the other mech from across the room.

"You were sneaking around my lab!"

A snarled cry mixed with aghast horror.

"No wonder you want to snoop the Officer Quarters! You have probably rooted around every other edge of that ship haven't you!?"

After his barked words, Flatline's cane whacked down with a loud click against the stone floor, this action swiftly followed by a stiff limp that was starting to take him in the direction of the door. Each time his cane hit it was put down with a bit too much force.

"When was this!? You sneak in when I was asleep? When I left to get rations? You must have felt SO clever didn't you."

A scoffed snort was made.

While he sounded upset, he didn't sound violently upset. Flatline could only ask himself... did he expect any different from this hack of a CMO?

[Knock Out]

The optic roll was to be expected, and Knock Out would match it with an obvious one of his own. Why couldn’t Flatline just loosen up a little? Why did he have to nitpick every single little detail and avoid anything and everything even remotely risky or fun?

Yes, yes, he had been the reason the Nemesis had crashed and they were stuck here at Blackridge, but he’d been punished for that already - and as far as Knock Out could tell through word of mouth and just happening to listen in on things he probably shouldn’t? There were no more punishments to come.

Which rendered his last threat to call Starscream absolutely moot, but hey - if Flatline was still scared of repercussions? Knock Out wouldn’t be Knock Out if he didn’t take advantage of that fact!

As he was met with logic, he would scoff.

“Oh please, you know as well as I do that won’t ever happen. Besides, they’ve probably taken everything of value already. If not? Do you think I am so stupid as to bring anything back - wait, don’t answer that.” he held up a pointed digit at that as if to say ‘ah-ha, not a chance’, before continuing “I’d just look around a little. No harm in that!”

His own processor wandered some, though instead of something similar to Flatline’s own thoughts to the CMO’s failure to open a box and the hilarities that stemmed from that, he had far more sinister motives. Shove the black and red annoyance into Soundwave’s room and somehow jam the door shut, thus trapping him inside - leaving him to be caught red handed somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be.

Or maybe taking something of value - if there was anything left, of course - and stashing it in Flatline’s quarters. Tucked nicely under a berth, it would remain there probably undetected until the other mech annoyed him and then ohhh, an anonymous tip to Soundwave or Starscream and-

Aaah. That’s what the old Knock Out would’ve done, anyway.

He did still fully intend on at least looking around those rooms - even if Flatline stayed huddled in the decrepit Medical Bay like some sort of trembling coward. Oh yes, Knock Out could be brave and fearless at times - usually at the most inappropriate moments, to be fair - but nobody could ever doubt that he had gumption!

While he had begun to move out of the Medical Bay, he wasn’t moving with any real purpose - knowing Flatline would take a minute or two to catch up to him. He didn’t intend on abandoning the other mech, nor giving him the chance to fall behind to the point he missed this adventure entirely.

Yet the snarled cry made him pause, turning on a heel to look at Flatline - a smirk on his faceplate that even if he tried to, he couldn’t hide. The sound of the cane striking the floor a bit too hard with each step was honestly hilarious. Was the other mech really that mad over this?

He’d merely shrug at the accusation, letting Flatline snarl and screech his spark out - until the question was asked, and he’d tap a finger to his chin in absent thought. After a second of mulling it over - if only to annoy Flatline - he would shrug again.

“Hmm~ Can’t recall.” a blatant lie. “I do remember what I saw, though - curious indeed! As for me rooting around the ship as you put it, surprisingly I have not. Which is all the more reason to look now that it’s all but abandoned!”

While he’d poked around a few supply rooms when the ship was functional, he hadn’t really snooped or wandered into areas that he shouldn’t have been. With the Spymaster watching their movements, anything amiss would need to be answered - and, well, while he was an exceptionally good liar, even he knew not to deceive Soundwave.

Walking backwards, he would continue.

“C’mon, we’ll go to your lab - surely some of the equipment there is still salvageable at the very least.”

[Flatline]

"-Do you think I am so stupid as to bring anything back-"

Flatline's mouth opened, just as Knock Out predicted, before snapping closed when he was cut off. The CMO had nearly walked right into that one head first, and only narrowly avoided a faceplant before veering in a different direction. It was smart, as Flatline had more than a couple comments ready to throw out in retort, though... now he had to simply rely on a mocking smirk that said oh so very much without a single word uttered.

A smirk that didn't last long, for Knock Out's denial on remembering when he had rooted around his laboratory struck another nerve with Flatline and set him right off.

"You damn well know you recall perfectly, you arrogance bloated narcissist!"

What did Knock Out think he was? An idiot? Even if the bright red mech had said he didn't recall earnestly with no hesitation or obvious game behind it, Flatline wouldn't have believed it for even a flicker of a second. One didn't simply forget when they went into the work area of an individual that they had a rivalry with to open drawers and closed containment vessels without getting caught... It wasn’t a common occurrence that could get folded into the backdrop among other things. No. This was a potentially planned excursion, and it was being treated as if it were no big deal, implying that Flatline had left his projects in the hallway for him to walk past.

Continuing his angry stride forward with loud impacts of his cane, Flatline followed after Knock Out, his lips still peeled back into a garish sneer of insult and anger.

"If we can even get to it! You act as though all rooms are free to explore!"

In truth, Flatline's lab may be somewhat secure, all things considered. It was towards the back of the Warship and as such was angled higher towards the surface with the other workspaces and engine rooms. Air must have collected in those pockets, while the bottommost cone of the ship was likely submerged and flooded out. This could be an issue for Knock Out however, as his little 'Officer Raid' would be potentially hindered. That is... if Flatline remembered right. He didn't necessarily seek out such halls outside his little bubble.

[Knock Out]

The smirk did indeed say much, though it was met with a brief - though equally as smug - one in turn. He knew damn well he’d just denied Flatline the chance for some scathing, witty retort, and he knew it probably killed the other mech to be unable to speak his mind when he’d been practically handed an opportunity to do so.

At the name-calling he would splay his digits across his chassis in mock offense, gasping.

“Would I lie to you, Flatline?”

He chuckled.

“Mm. Don’t answer that one, either.”

While their friendship had evolved and strengthened since their days on the Nemesis to the point they tolerated being in the same room as one another for hours on end, he wasn’t sure it was quite ready for the truth in how he’d rummaged through Flatline’s work - and belongings - when the black and red mech had been helping him with a medical issue.

Then again, it wasn’t like Flatline could do anything about it now. If anything, it could be held over him for the reactions alone - because wow, it’d certainly brought out a glimpse of the old, sassy glitch Flatline he’d come to love and miss.

Continuing his backward walk, he would scoff.

“When there’s a will, there’s a way. We won’t know anything until we get there, so you should get a move on, mm?”

The servo that’d been splayed dramatically across his chassis would smack to one side, fumbling for the handle on the door to push it open with one swift motion in an attempt to look cool. Though this did not happen, and with a grumble of annoyance, he would turn then to push the door open and stepped into the corridor.

Holding the door open - he would wait for Flatline.

[Flatline]

"Mm. Don’t answer that one, either."

"I answer if I want to! With or without your invitation!"

A snarled retort. Flatline would accept being told once to not answer a rhetorical question when he got to dish out a smug look in turn, but he wasn’t going to be told to effectively shut up more than once in such a short timeline. Because of this, he snapped back in irritation, though didn't confirm or deny the makeshift question that had been sent his way. It wasn't worth the energy to utter 'Yes you would lie to me', the truth behind it so painfully apparent that it needn't be confirmed in any way shape or form. It was as obvious as the red on the other mech, which is to say gaudy and over the top.

Whether Knock Out felt their tentative friendship was strong enough to survive the truth didn't matter. He had already woven in distrust and kickstarted Flatline's imagination to reel in circles. Backpedaling through the many months on this world, trying to piece together when and how the CMO snuck his way in there... As of yet he didn't put two and two together on the event with Knock Out's tire, but that didn't mean he wouldn’t get there eventually. More likely than not in the dead of night when he couldn't sleep... it would strike him like a lightning bolt and he'd go flying out of the room for some sort of screaming vengeance.

When Knock Out told him to get a move on, Flatline puffed up some, his shoulders hiking up along with his turrets, an irritated sort of bristle.

"Oh yes, let me just jump for joy and sprint down the hall for your little vanity run!"

Try as he might to pretend the trip was for something of real value... he just couldn't let it drop.

"Forgive me for needing to limp because your boyfriend bashed my knee backwards!"

If it weren’t for Breakdown going over the top, they could have been half way down the hall by now. But NOOoooo... the box built brute of a mess thought smashing in his knee was the most effective choice in the moment. Flatline was resentful of that, and while he was civil, he didn't exactly look upon the other Cybertronian with any level of respect or real friendliness.

Flatline would continue on, watching as Knock Out failed to act with his normal levels of dramatic flair. His little attempt fell flat as he had to turn around like a sane person would have done from the onset to open the door initially. Yet, that was where the amusement halted...

The door being held open for him? No. No.

Lifting his cane as he got close, Flatline would aim to wedge it between Knock Out and the door, planning to 'pry' him free so he would start down the hallway so he could follow suit. There was no way he would trust him to hold open the door like some kind of 'gentleman' without an ulterior motive, and Flatline wasn’t a moron.

"Get going..."

[Knock Out]

The snarled retort was met with a chuckle.

“WiTh Or WiThOuT yOuR iNvItAtIoN!”

And his best impression of Flatline. It was all done in good humor, with no real malice behind the words or tone. He’d found himself in a decidedly good mood today, even with his initial request for Vehicons to do this task denied. The fact he’d managed to convince the other mech to come along with him to the Nemesis (if only to do all the work in their stead) was the cherry on top.

Well, not that Flatline had had a choice in the matter. But still, it was a small victory indeed.

He could only hope that Flatline would get something of value from this as well. Maybe the Nemesis would be in a semi-decent and somewhat safe state, with areas able to be moved through - and picked through - for things of use. Then Knock Out could rub it in his face that it wasn’t a waste of time.

“Would you relax, for Primus’ sake.”

Flatline had been overly snappy - and that wasn’t an attitude they needed going into somewhere that was probably going to be quite dangerous in parts indeed. Even Knock Out could have his moments of seriousness and focus - surgeries, mostly - and knew and understood that this excursion would no doubt be one of those times. Though for right now, he was casual and calm - probably a little too much so.

As the other mech puffed up, Knock Out scoffed.

“I would pay to see you sprint down the hall. Though on second thought, don’t even try. Last thing we need is you trying to prove a point and crippling yourself to get out of this. As for your knee, that was entirely justified! You scratched my face and tried to kill me!”

There was no confirmation nor denial about the comment made - no, he went back to the initial assault against him that’d started it all. Flatline had been out for blood that day, and crippling him had probably helped to save not only his own life before he ran into someone much bigger, scarier, and stronger than Breakdown - but countless others who may have run into Flatline’s path.

As the cane was wedged between himself and the door, an annoyed squawk-like huff escaped him as he moved away - if only to stop the cane scratching his paint.

“So untrustworthy. I’m honestly insulted!” he sounded it, too.

He’d tried to do something nice. Hold the door open so Flatline could make his way through the door without issue, given the added hindrance of the cane and all - and it’d been thrown back in his face as he was physically moved aside.

Rude.

“Keep up then.”

With that, he would make his way down the corridor toward the Control Room of Blackridge Hold. The occasional glance was given back toward Flatline, an exasperated sigh as he paused in his footing so the other mech could catch up, but after a few moments they had reached the expansive room.

A lone Vehicon stood at the terminal, keeping watch of things - ready to open bridges should anyone need one to and from their vast number of mines, or call for assistance should there be Autobot activity of any kind. At seeing the CMO approach, he would step aside without question.

Knock Out was used to opening bridges, after all they were one of the only ways to get out of Blackridge when he didn’t feel like driving for miles upon miles - and it was almost like second nature as he scrolled through various screens till he found what he was looking for.

The location of the Nemesis.

Humming to himself, and acting completely calm and composed, he would input the coordinates - the roaring vortex spiraling to life just a few feet away just seconds later.

He wasn’t quite sure whereabouts in the Nemesis they would end up, only that they would definitely be on the fallen ship - and from there it was just a matter of navigating whatever hazards to get back to the Medical Bay.

Turning to look at Flatline, he could only smile.

“Consider this my second attempt at holding a door open for you. You first.”

His attention would shift briefly then to the Vehicon.

“Close the bridge once I am through, though keep communications open should we need a hasty retreat.”

“Yes Sir!”

The Vehicon had no idea what was going on, nor did he really care to ask or question - though an order was an order, and he would bob his helm at the command.

[Flatline]

Flatline made a snorted sound when he was told to relax, feeling justified in everything he had said up until this point. As far as he was concerned, Knock Out started all the conflict from the onset by his reasoning to go to the Nemesis, and then added fuel to the fire by declaring he had snooped through his work area months prior. It was like he was jabbing his side, and then got huffy when he was slapped back. Trying to get serious due to where they were going was smart... but it didn't mean much when Flatline felt like he was being badgered.

When Knock Out took offense to him not letting him hold the door open, Flatline simply rolled his eyes with a low ex-vent. He didn’t protest or comment more as the mech did somehow seem insulted, though it was hard to say on what level when his fuse was so short on the diva-meter. Whatever the case, Flatline walked at a reasonable gait after the CMO, not hobbling or dragging his leg. He needed his cane of course, but he could still make good progress so long as he took some of the weight off on that side with the tool.

Staying quiet, he would watch as Knock Out pushed ahead and started to plug in coordinates, his fingertip tapping on the hook of his cobbled together cane when the Space Bridge took form. There was a sudden thought of 'he is going to jettison me into low orbit' when he was presented the portal, his distrust forming the second Knock Out 'held the door open'. This wariness lasted until he saw the wireframe of the Nemesis on the screen. With this reassurance, Flatline stepped through the bridge.

Knock Out bridged into the Nemesis alright.

But his aim was as piss poor as his medical training.

Flatline expected that his first step outside of the vortex would be slightly tilted. The entire ship was at an angle! So, it was obvious that it wouldn't be even grounded! A fact he took into account while taking point through the portal. However, while he anticipated a tilt, he didn’t consider that perhaps the floor may be worse off than he remembered, or there would be something else amiss. As to be expected, things would always go worst case scenario when they worked side by side.

"I shouldn't trust you making me go fir-"

A two-pronged hoof like ped twisted sharply the moment it came in contact with a violent angle, Flatline's words cutting off abruptly with a snorted pop of panic. His systems heaved active with a sort of makeshift adrenaline boost, the quills along his back flaring out along with his turrets. The slip of his ped and the severe forty-five degree angle in play threw him to whatever ground it was, his hip striking the uneven floor with a clattered rattle that shook him to his core. The tilt was canted so far that gravity took things from there, and no level of his gyroscopes helping with balance could assist when his legs couldn't even get beneath him again fast enough.

Dropping his cane instantly, both of Flatline's hands slammed down onto the slope with a hard impact, palms splayed out as bladed fingertips gored down as much as they were able to do so. It did about as much help in slowing things as to be expected given he couldn't get any kind of grip, his frame scraping down the slope rapidly before he hit some bottom plateau and skidded across to strike a wall.

Knock Out had bridged them into the damn upside-down stairwell, which equated to a horrible slip-and-slide.

Figures.

Stunned, Flatline sat on the flatter portion that was the underside of a landing point, his upper body propped up on one forearm, while he blankly stared ahead trying to process what had gone wrong. The apertures in his eyes were twitching some, trying to focus on the shocking transition to darkness, while his mind was also trying to catch up to the idea on just WHAT happened and ask himself if he was injured and just hadn’t registered it yet'.

"What the HELL!?"

A screeched yell that echoed through the empty halls mixed with some panic, thinking this was intentional yet also questioning this fact. He and Knock Out may argue, but this was a bit beyond malicious prodding and jokes. He liked to hope it wasn't planned.

[Knock Out]

Knock Out could only assume that Flatline’s sentence ended so abruptly because he was out of any sort of hearing range once he stepped into the swirling vortex. His own attention and thoughts were on other things - like if there was anything else except paint that he would need to retrieve from the Nemesis.

After all, after today’s excursion, it wasn’t like he planned on ever going back down there. At least, not in the ship’s current state.

Venting in sharply, as if psyching him up for whatever he was about to see on the other side, he would follow Flatline through the portal.

Only to immediately slip as well.

“What th- Ahh!!”

A terrified shriek as he tried to gain any sort of footing. Even with his pedes being… well, somewhat normal, and not hoof-like it was all but impossible. Delicate fingers scrabbled desperately for any sort of purchase to stop himself sliding, but it was beyond hopeless and he was fighting a losing battle with gravity and the angle of the ship.

Somewhere among the panic, any light that’d been given by the swirling vortex above would vanish without warning - because hey, the Vehicon was following orders! - plummeting them into darkness unlike anything Knock Out had encountered before. Not helped by the fact they were so very, very far under the water and any natural light couldn’t even begin to reach down here. With the only illumination now being that of his biolights, it wasn’t enough to see at all.

With some quick thinking during this not-so-graceful fall, the flashlights on his chassis would turn on. All Flatline would be able to hear would be screaming and the sound of scraping metal and the various OOFs and panic-filled AHHs that came from that, the light ricocheting around like an out of control flashlight as Knock Out tumbled aft over chassis - sliding to a not-so-delicate stop on something sharp and decidedly pointy.

Ah.

It was Flatline. He’d slammed into Flatline. Talk about making this whole thing about a million times worse.

His terrified reaction alone would hopefully be enough proof that he had not planned this at all. But hey, at least they weren’t currently underwater!

“Fanc-- ow. Fraggin. Primus. Ow.” he groaned “Fancy seeing you here…”