[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Medical Leave [Closed]

[Flatline]

A falter in stride occurred at what was spoken next, Flatline’s gaze leveling off.

Word of mouth? That implied Knock Out was casually going out to socialize, which made him instantly imagine the other mech sitting at some gathering with his Holoform trying to pretend to drink. Perhaps he was even gossiping about current events that he likely had no clue about in an attempt to fit in, playing a verbal game to see if he would be called out. This idea seemed to nearly short out Flatline's processor for a split second, a sort of horror and confusion felt that had an undertone of 'you fucking would...' grumbled beneath it.

What did Knock Out's holoform look like? What did his own Holoform look like?

Flatline knew what humans were, yet that didn't mean he had something specifically lined up beyond being aware of the anatomy and what options were available to him. There would be nothing worse than having attributes absolutely wrong and unintentionally taking traits that another alien species would call their own, unknowingly applying it to a species that had no clue that extraterrestrial life was a thing. This made his mind wander that much further from the initial point, zeroing in on a sort of age bracket and what attire could potentially fit his personality so that he did not look as flippantly casual as Knock Out no doubt was. These drifting thoughts however were pulled back a moment after they began, his gaze lifting to look over.

"-I do have somewhat of a reputation along the West Coast-"

"Do you think you have unwittingly competed with an Autobot?"

This was a rather random thought that had jumped to the front of Flatline's processor, a small amount of curiosity then gifted to the idea of someone else being just as egotistical and pompous as Knock Out himself. While it could be a hard standard to live up to, the red mech was a professional on all accounts, arrogance wasn't a unique trait, and the west coast was a swatch of land the opposite team appeared to call home. Ah, the irony that could be... an Autobot and Decepticon facing off against one another in a game of skill without knowing that the competition went beyond a mere sport.

A victory was a victory perhaps.

When the idea of a pet rock was then casually tossed out, and he let out a scoff at the idea.

"Oh yes, I shall keep this first stone as a token of your profound generosity by pulling me from my assigned tasks into some wasteland with a mock gravesite ahead of us while someone may be bleeding out in the Medical Bay."

Sarcasm absolutely saturated this run-on declaration, Flatline finding it profoundly difficult to break away from his true self into the more casual open mindset. He was trying! He had said he was going to give it an honest go, though his personality was what it was, and to completely disregard it would mean the outing was a challenge of pretending to play a role of someone else entirely. Despite this, the novel idea did wiggle some into place, red optics casting down to peer upon the striated rock that he had retrieved first, letting it roll in the cradle of a crooked finger.

"I will cherish it forever, letting it take valuable space upon my desk that would be better utilized by literally anything else."

Well, maybe not literally, though the concrete meaning of his words was secondary to the joking nature of them. Whatever the case, he held the stone up as though presenting it as some prize to be shown off in an effort to make someone else envious. How priceless this artifact was! One out of a million that all effectively looked identical even if they were not.

[Knock Out]

The falter in Flatline’s stride went unnoticed - as Knock Out’s own attention had shifted straight ahead once more. As they grew closer to the place they were going, he was ever wary of being spotted. Even if this area seemed absolutely deserted, humans were awfully strange, and all it took was one random person being out here to absolutely ruin their day.

Of course, Bumblebee could always be out here as well - as he and Breakdown had been here in the past - though between himself and Flatline, he was certain they could take out that moron with ease.

Even if it meant somehow throwing the other medic at the yellow idiot and running away.

That’d be funny.

At the question, his attention snapped back into the moment, and while he wouldn’t turn to look at Flatline, he would shrug.

“Unwittingly? I mean, probably. They do seem to lurk in that general area and I’m sure at least one of them knows how to have some sort of fun. I did encounter Bumblebee once. That didn’t go so well - mm.”

He rubbed at his arm in absent thought of that night, before chuckling.

“Never did get to finish that race.” he didn’t sound too hurt by this fact, nor did he show hint of wanting to seek out the yellow Autobot to have a rematch. If it happened in future he wouldn’t say no, but given Bumblebee seemed to be the golden child of the Autobots, it would probably do far more harm than good.

Though it would certainly be nice to put him in his place.

Continuing on, the gentle scoff from the other mech was met with a smirk - the sarcasm-laced words made that smirk shift into a gentle smile, not that he’d let the other mech see.

There was the Flatline he knew and loved, the sarcastic little slag…

“As I am the one who assigns you the tasks to begin with, I think in this moment the rock is far more important than anything else going back on at base. We’re out here for you, remember?”

If anyone was bleeding out, well it sucked to be them. He wasn’t worried about things spiraling into a gigantic mess in their absence, Breakdown could handle most things, and if not? Well, he was only a comm call away.

If he even answered.

Chuckling, it was then he turned to look at the other mech - albeit briefly.

“You damn well better cherish it! You can look upon it fondly during those long, boring days and think back on the best day ever with your new favorite person! Maybe it’ll inspire you to venture out again in future.”

That’d be the day. Though, a part of him did hope it would help the other mech. Flatline lived in the Medical Bay as of late, and it wasn’t healthy at all. There was an entire world outside of their little hovel, and while they did not need to go scouting for Energon, nor were they ever assigned such tasks, getting out and enjoying some fresh air and a change of scenery did wonders for one's mental state.

“Or, worst comes to worst - you’ll have something within easy reach to throw at me.”

He wouldn’t put it past the other mech, and he would probably do the same - should he ever take a pet rock of his own.

[Flatline]

"-best day ever with your new favorite person!"

"You mean my best Stockholm friend."

It was odd how hatred and rivalry slowly distorted into whatever it was that was going on between them. Continued competition was still there of course, Flatline more than willing to try to dethrone the unworthy mech from his damn title, yet they were tolerating one another while making jokes and snide verbal swipes in their day-to-day lives with no real malice bleeding behind it. Sure... he was envious... though he didn’t think about poisoning the red mech's Energon in order to take his place.

At least not seriously.

Lowering his arm, Flatline would strike the rock twice against the rubber of his upper leg wheel, before smearing it between a larger groove in the tread to try to break off any remaining pieces of dirt that may still cling. It was a casual gesture, not trying to get it CLEAN clean, since such an act in this environment was impossible, and a tire alone was hardly a proper wiping surface. Perhaps it may have been earlier in the day, the rubbers having not touched the ground in months, though the brief drive earlier quelled any boon that gave. Either way, he eased to a momentary halt, so that he could hold his left arm out in front of him.

A minute transformation took place then, one of the red square plates on Flatline's forearms pushing up so that he could grab it and retrieve the accompanying medical device that lay hidden below. He didn't actually want the tool in question, however its general shape to permit a handhold meant there was a viable gap it could offer, one that was used a second later as he pressed the rock flush up against the grip, then shoved the plate back down to lock the tool away. He was effectively 'pocketing' the stone so it would not be lost, which spoke volumes that he found amusement enough at the idea to actually keep the thing.

Resuming his walk now that he could use his cane one more, Flatline's focus would drift to the ground below, reaching his hand down to rake up two stones that were close to one another, leaving another set of grooves from his bladed fingers.

"There are plenty of choices when it comes to throwable objects, though a rock is far more viable than something that could break I suppose."

Some of their tools were already dented and worn simply from extended use over many years in service, though that didn't mean it would be great to chip the edge of a slotted screwdriver so it didn't fit properly any longer, or any number of other examples. While there were other options, such as the cup he used to hold some of the smaller more fiddly pieces, he would actually want the container back, while Knock Out could hold it hostage after the assault. Perhaps a tool tray would be viable... frisbee that thing at his head... which was more of an amusing thought than an actual consideration.

Truth be told, if he was feeling inclined to ACTUALLY range attack with something, he would be angry enough that whatever he grabbed was irrelevant and only had to be convenient and easy to throw in the first place.

"Consider yourself lucky I don't see such childish violence applicable."

Unlike Knock Out.

The chip on his shoulder... the literal type... still had yet to be painted over, though it was small enough that it was easy to miss to begin with, muddled along with other shallow scrapes and marks from his time in service to the Decepticons. In the coming days perhaps that would change, the other mech having made some decent points, though at this specific moment, he wasn't in the best of shape. Especially his knee.

Pausing briefly, Flatline stretched the limb, before he continued, this adventure already a longer walk than he likely accomplished in a full day in the Medical Bay. It was good for the joint no doubt, though it was still an exercise he hadn’t done before. Just like they neglected transforming to test the joint, he was realizing that he should have put time aside to pace the halls simply to work the hinges for longer than short progress across a room. It made him feel so incredibly foolish again, another little strike.

Pinning the two rocks under his ring and pinky finger again, Flatline dipped and scraped up a third stone.

[Knock Out]

“Stockholm friend, best friend - same thing in this silly little war, no? We’ve come a long way you have to admit!”

He coughed, realizing moments after he spoke just what he’d said - and was quick to clarify.

“Not that you’re my best friend, ew - no. But I am absolutely yours.” he grinned, turning to glance over his shoulder and offer the other mech a wink. “After all I’ve done for you, I should damn well hope so, too.”

It was funny how things had worked out. Just a few short months earlier, he wouldn’t have given Flatline the time of day, yet here he was, walking through the most boring landscape on Earth to try and bring a little bit of joy to his absolutely mundane little life.

It was strange how much he found himself actually caring for the other mech and his well being - nothing like a bit of life changing trauma to bring two enemies together, he supposed.

“I’ll wear the title with pride, though!” he laughed, splaying a servo across his chassis before turning back ahead as they neared their destination. He hadn’t picked up a single rock of his own, too distracted by his own voice, no doubt. It wasn’t like it mattered, it wouldn’t take much effort to find things suitable for what he had in mind. Rocks were in abundance - it was the metal sticks that he was concerned about.

The soft sound of transformation - probably only heard because they were literally in the middle of nowhere - didn’t draw the cherry-red mech’s attention, assuming that he was just simply being Flatline. It wasn’t the other mech shifting back into his altmode, and so he simply didn’t care to question.

Rolling the rock that’d been gently tossed at him earlier between his fingertips, his optics would narrow as they grew ever closer to the long abandoned junkyard. He was only half listening to the other mech, turning his attention to where they were going just to make sure they were, in fact, alone - though when he was called out he would smirk.

“Ah, still holding a grudge over the wrench incident, mm? That was a fun day.”

Fun was certainly one word for it, and it made him realize he’d never looked into the maniac Vehicon that Flatline had been screeching about. Though, to be fair - he’d never been brought up again so it can’t have been that traumatic, whatever he’d done.

At least in comparison to what else had happened that day, at any rate.

He didn’t notice the other mech had paused and in doing so had fallen slightly behind - it wasn’t much, not to the point he had to yell; but when the sound of footsteps behind him grew just the tiniest bit more distant - and he most certainly was listening and paying attention to everything now they were practically here - he would turn to look at what the other mech was actually doing.

“Wow, look at you! Picking up all the rocks, and here I am with the one you threw at me. Maybe I should keep this one. Our rocks can be Stockholm friends too!”

That wasn’t exactly how it worked, but ah - he did like to rile the other mech up sometimes.

[Flatline]

Flatline's double-plated brow hooked as Knock Out seemed to try to backtrack on his statement, the initial words and the quick attempt to remedy them speaking volumes about things and what reality may be. It was a true statement in every sense of the word that things had come such a long way, however, it was rather unspoken beyond that, making the undertone of the more honest approach all the clearer. Choosing not to dive into more 'sentimental' layers that were unbecoming of a Decepticon, he would focus more on what was brought up next to dodge around that pitfall. It wasn’t like he wanted to admit to growing fond of the other mech’s antics in one way or another either.

"Anyway... I think our definition of a 'fun day' drastically differs."

Flatline's voice grumbled with an almost crackle before he continued more audibly.

"You just liked being in control and holding that above me."

Not that Knock Out didn't already have control. As the Chief Medical Officer, he could effectively put his foot down about most everything and he would be forced to comply. Bicker as they may, there was still rank, and Flatline didn't wish to invite repercussions for not obeying the chain of command. It did not stop their clashes in general, however, no order was given to actually shut up and be quiet, so that was always noted. Granted, if an order came through that was truly completely asinine, he was not above reporting to someone just how brazenly incompetent their chosen medic was being. Starscream wouldn’t likely care though... Megatron he would never approach, and Soundwave was... Soundwave... though he knew Thundercracker well, and that meant there could be some support there.

Ah well.

Examining the stones that had been retrieved, Flatline started to ponder over the definition of 'look good' once more, the vague nature of it eating at his insides. He didn't like when things were left to the open in such a way, it not mixing well with his more neurotic way of thinking and approach in life. This made him let out another soft grumble, noting that one of the rocks had an odd indent that had been chipped out of it at some point in its long boring existence.

He wanted nothing more than just a clue so that he could do ANYTHING to be more discerning with his choices, though Knock Out spoke on, and the top of his lip flicked slightly.

"Let us not kid ourselves, if I wasn't the one pulling all the slack, then nothing would get done."

A snorted scoff followed this, there a true feeling that he did often do more of the tedious labor than the other mech. While he had profound experience with frame design and manufacturing, this making him perfect for the task of repairing severed Vehicon components to make them suitable for reuse later, it left a form of discrepancy. Whatever the case, he rolled one of the stones from being pinned against his palm with a ring and pinky, to then nestle at the end of his thumb and forefingers.

"Here, do your part. Catch."

With this, Flatline swiped his arm forward, throwing another rock out at Knock Out. While the first time was a gentler toss, this time around it was a sharper more direct sling. While this action made a risk of him striking the other mech, thus contradicting his previous statements, it could be argued that it was constructively done rather than accomplished out of malice that a more unprompted attack could convey.

In the end though, Flatline just pitched a rock at the red mech.

[Knock Out]

“Oh? And what would you consider a fun day, mm?”

He would turn as he asked the question, and as awkward as it was - would begin to walk backward so he could look at the other mech as he spoke.

“Lets see, a fun day for Flatline… hm~ waking up on your desk after having the world's worst recharge, trudge off to get some Energon befoooooore… a funtastic day of mundane and repetitive work, ending with you falling asleep at your desk?”

He scoffed, shaking his helm.

“That’s not fun. That’s not even living. Is that what you did on the Nemesis?”

Sprinkle in the odd sabotage like stealing a scanner from the Medical Bay and yeah, that was probably pretty accurate. While he had planned to bring Flatline out for more fun-filled adventures in the future, these thoughts only cemented it, and he was already dreaming up other places they could go, if only to get the other mech out of the base for a little bit.

“As for me being in control, I mean, I do have rank, but I like to think you’ve more than earned your place! I’m a good boss!” he sounded a tad offended, though it was more whiny than anything.

Swiveling quickly then so he could walk in the correct direction, he laughed at the next comment made.

“So I work you hard, what of it? If you weren’t ‘pulling the slack’-” he made a point of doing air quotes at that “-you’d be huddled in a corner, frightened of every noise, and a complete mess of a mech. I do my fair share of work as well, thank you.” ah, now he sounded offended. While he did appear to slack off at times, he did pull his weight - even if the other mech didn’t seem to think so, and keeping Flatline busy was mostly for his own good, given his frazzled psyche upon their arrival to Blackridge Hold - worsened by the loss of his secondary arms.

Slowing as they finally reached their destination, he would come to a full stop as Flatline spoke again.

“Do my wh-?” he turned then, though wasn’t quite quick enough to catch the second rock that was thrown his way. The first one still clutched underneath his thumb, both arms raised in some pathetic attempt to pluck the stone from mid-air, though instead was met with the not-so-satisfying clonk of it hitting - and probably denting - his shoulder.

Behind him sat what could be most aptly described as a car graveyard. A wooden building sat in disarray - yet somehow still standing - with a sign that’d long since faded, though flecks of white and red paint could still be made out, even if the words they once proudly displayed could not. Once upon a time, it seemed someone had manned the small building - no doubt selling the scrap metal to those that could be bothered to make their way out here to what was practically the middle of nowhere.

Cars and trucks were piled high in some areas, rusted over, and in various stages of decay. Rust-eaten and sunbleached, it was certainly a grim place indeed for the two Cybertronians. Nothing really stood out as interesting among the morbid sight, there were piles of tires, no doubt taken from the cars, various dried shrubbery that were starved of water, and what looked to be some old mining equipment nearby. It was still, eerily quiet - and long since abandoned. Should they look carefully at the ground they would see two sets of pede prints smudged into the dusty earth - one probably familiar as Breakdown, given they were bigger. The other? Much smaller and belonging to someone unknown.

Ah, but none of that mattered - for in this moment of silence, the cherry-red mech would stare Flatline down for what he’d just done.

[Flatline]

As Knock Out effectively mocked his lack of enjoying the same things he did, in Flatline's opinion, he let out a low grumble sound, knowing well that none of what was being described was something he actually liked.

"I enjoyed working on my sciences."

This was a more honest admittance, and it was reflected in his tone of voice as though he was coming to terms with it himself, speaking almost with a dash of meekness. He liked being intellectually challenged, and that was what had brought him to where he was in life. From a menial nurse helping out patients to fighting to become a doctor in his own right, only to grow bored of that and strive to move to the next step of creating frames from nothing. He had been starting to ease forward on a potential new chapter in his life, working not just what encased an individual but the core of their very begins to sever it into two, yet this ambition now felt so very far out of his grasp.

His one opportunity before he came to Earth had been squandered because he was missing some piece of the puzzle that he didn't have the time to find.

"I like challenges... not... chores."

The word 'chores' was almost spat out with a pop, revulsion lacing inside of it while his lips pulled back into a grimace. There was no excitement or mystery when it came to patching the same thing over and over again. There was nothing to be held up with pride when it came to repairing a bullet hole or reattaching an arm. To gesture at his current works with a 'look what I did!' would result in nothing but a roll of the eyes and a 'no shit, it is your job'. He no longer stood on the precipice of his own mark in their history, and with that loss was a loss of enjoyment.

Thinking over this, Flatline offered nothing in regards to the commentary on how shaken and scared he was after his fall, instead focusing on trying to joke around? Or... have fun? Or whatever one wanted to call him flinging a rock with more amused antagonism rather than true malicious intent. Whatever the inspiration however, the end result was still the same, a loud 'ting' ringing as the stone ricocheted off the once pristine shoulder paint finish that probably had more time put into making it look nice than he did for his entire frame.

Dead silence struck then, Flatline seeming to come to terms with the reality of what he had done, while also processing the fact that Knock Out didn't instantly fling into dramatics over it. There was a sort of fear this lack of reaction brought, it a sort of harrowing stillness before a vicious storm that was brewing upon the horizon. This, in turn, made it so that Flatline didn't even look over at where they had arrived, instead focused on Knock Out while his frame seemed to straighten ever so slightly.

A faint clicking sounded out in the new quiet, a hollow rattle of a chain made from Flatline's harpoons as the mechanics tried to reel in posts that were not there, its turrets hooking up in alarm to coincide with the bristling of the paneling on his back. He didn't know if this was going to evolve in a nasty direction or not, and he was already trying to juggle the validity of trying to run. To do so would hurt, he more likely than not would have to stumble forward and rely on a palmed grasp at the ground to keep going through the pain, though if he could heft himself across rougher terrain, then the other mech's significantly faster alt would be invalidated.

[Knock Out]

“Well, yes - but you completely forgot about a healthy work-life balance, which in turn made you into…”

A vague gesture was given in the other mech’s direction at that, and while he didn’t mean to? His lip would curl upwards just slightly. Okay so it was absolutely a lot more than that - the fall of the Nemesis stemming from Flatline simply refusing to get checked out due to pride or ego, the removal of his secondary arms, the living in fear, the having to work alongside someone he considered unworthy? It added up!

Though if Flatline had been a little more social and a little less neurotic things may have ended entirely differently.

Live and learn, he supposed. It was, after all, why he’d dragged the other mech out this day and had made a point of trying to include him in more busy work during working hours. Sassy banter back at Blackridge counting as being ‘social’ aside, Flatline really did need to get out more, if only for his own state of mind.

Though he hadn’t expected to have his ‘kindness’ twisted into having a rock hurled at him.

He let the silence linger a few moments more. While he didn’t want to make Flatline fear for his very life, it was evident he was mulling over what’d just happened and how to react appropriately. There had been no immediate screeching which was probably a good thing, though the silence was no doubt just as scary as him exploding into a rage, if not more so.

The gentle click from the other mech’s turrets drew the cherry-red mech’s gaze that way, albeit briefly, and he found himself making a mental note of yet another thing to add to his list of ‘ways to cheer Flatline up’.

Then, the silence was broken with a laugh.

“You’re lucky we’re friends! Now we match, I suppose - at least for now, anyway.”

That dent - even if it was insignificantly small - would be swiftly buffed out the moment they returned to Blackridge, but for now he could deal with it and wasn’t about to let it ruin his day.

Turning back to the junkyard, both servos would ease onto his hips as he finally regarded what else Flatline had said.

“Chores are basically the foundation of working in the Medical Bay, dear Flatline.” he droned, tone indicating he was deadly serious. “Oh, sure, the occasional challenge comes in - a complicated procedure like bringing Megatron back from the brink of death, or rebuilding a Vehicon from scratch…” though even that was basically autopilot at this point when it happened. “But there isn’t a lot to it, and the sooner you accept that the sooner you can be like me and be dead to it all!” his voice perked up a little there, trying to add some enthusiasm to his words.

“You think I like doing the same old processor-numbing checkups day in day out over and over again? Primus I could do them in my recharge at this point. But that’s life. That’s all there is, and unless there’s some all out fighting among the factions where we can get our servos dirty? That’s all there will ever be.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he’d flash the other mech a smile.

“Which is part of why we’re here! To break up the mundane, to let off some stress in a destructive and yet totally safe-” rock throwing aside. “-way! Now, help me find some sort of metal sticks before I steal your cane.”

[Flatline]

Flatline overtly flinched when Knock Out laughed, the sound so unexpected it was almost comparable to the echoing bang of a gunshot, even if it wasn't even a fraction of its volume. It made the plating on the black and red mech's spine push up sharply, while a noisier rattle came from the harpoons on his shoulders that was a real attempt to pull in the nonexistent weapons rather than an anxious check to confirm they were still gone. He was truly momentarily SCARED by what was happening in the now.

Was this the start of a psychotic incident? Was this what it was like for Knock Out to snap and go on a rampage? He knew the other mech could fight, and not only fight but hold his own, so it wasn't too farfetched to assume he could swap gears from aid to harm in an instant. Only... the laugh was then followed by almost joyous words, turning to survey his new lands to speak about life and just where they were in this universe instead of lamenting the damage that had been gifted to his frame.

Nervously Flatline looked over at the artificial representation of a mass grave in a battlefield, trying to understand what was going on. This was a task that was rather difficult if not impossible given he could barely wrap his head around what had occurred, not even half processing the incident that had started the fear response to begin with before trying to understand what came after. Despite being a surgeon who had to figure things out fast and seek solutions without wasting time lamenting a failure, he was truly at a standstill, his gaze almost twitching in its erratic inability to focus on one point in the junkyard, before looking sideways at Knock Out, to then look back at the rust and decay, before locking down onto where the ding was and then the other mech's features.

After the conversation tapered off, and the topic moved even further along in favor of whatever 'fun' event was happening, Flatline finally found his voice.

Somewhat.

"Who are you!?"

A popped shriek barked out that was pitched so high it crackled through his vocal systems that typically took a lower register, his hands both raising up in front of himself to gesture at the red fraud before him. There was no universe in which he would imagine Knock Out being okay with getting a rock pitched at him, and while he didn't NEED nor even want him to be profoundly upset for it to feel true to character, the complete absence of any real malicious replies just made no sense. Did he get lured out into the open by some fraud? No. That was too egotistical and illogical. He wasn't worth that kind of effort. Did Knock Out have a head injury and wasn't thinking clearly? There hadn’t been any cues to aim in that direction other than the quick dismissal of a 'wound'.

"You - the rock - why."

Flatline's forearm swung out with his palm up, this secondary action more erratic to indicate all of him with a few flicked motions as though the gesture could fill in the blanks with words that he couldn't even try to cobble together.

"Just - You are okay with - but -"

Yet another motion was made to try to articulate unsuccessfully, Flatline's helm crooking down and to the side as his jaw was slightly dropped, mouth opened as though he wanted to say something more competent, yet the words were lost to him.

[Knock Out]

The initial reaction from Flatline was certainly noted, though the cherry-red mech had continued speaking regardless. That wasn’t to say he was ignoring the other mech and whatever new crisis he may be going through, though - those nervous tells, the fact he’d flinched and his plating had shifted to the point his harpoons rattled? Oh yes, Knock Out was used to those having seen them more in the past few weeks than was probably any sort of normal.

It simply reinforced his decision to bring the other mech out here to let off some of this stress. It was clear Flatline needed it, though at this point he wasn’t sure if it’d even help or make things worse.

After the mention of the cane being stolen, he was sure the other mech would retort with some sort of sass, maybe a casual threat about beating him to death with it. Instead, there was a high shriek of a sudden question that made him blink, mouth hanging open some while his processor mulled over just what was going on.

“Wh-”

The following words from Flatline were broken, snippets of a sentence, almost as if he was trying to formulate some sort of intelligent response and instead found nothing. The gestures certainly helped convey things a little better, and the cherry-red mech could only laugh.

“So I was nice in response to being brutally mauled-” Obvious sarcasm was laced through the word, just on the off chance Flatline thought he was being serious. “No need to freak out about it. Relax. Chill. It’s fine - it’s cool. No harm done. Not going to let it ruin our fun little date.”

Or, he’d try not to - while the dent was so insignificantly small, he could feel it and it was irritating. If it were anyone else, or any other day, he would’ve no doubt lost his mind over such a slight, and so it made sense why Flatline had been overcome with a confused sense of panic.

“Well, at least not til we get back to Blackridge Hold, anyway.” he winked.

“If Breakdown isn’t around with the buffer, guess what you get to do!”

[Flatline]

Mauled? That was dramatic...

That was the Knock Out he knew.

Flatline watched the other mech warily, taking heed of every word that followed and how they were woven together, trying to find real malice or deception within that could betray future perils that he would be forced to endure. There was the obvious threat of needing to buff the dent out himself which was openly swung around clear as day, to repair the damage that he had made, yet that felt so hollow and minor given what he knew of Knock Out. No claims for covered shifts or throwing a gross chore on his shoulders in retaliation. Maybe he was being legitimate and sincere? Or maybe... just maybe... he was being deceptive and he was about to throw his lifeless husk into the fake graveyard to rot with them...

Planting his cane down at a new angle to try to support himself better, Flatline leaned forward, moving up the ridge a little further so that he could see what lay before him more clearly. If there was ever a location for someone to dump one of their kind, this would be the place to do so. Just rip or cut them apart into small enough pieces so they looked like normal shrapnel, or simply trick them into their alt mode and THEN killing them so the body could be rolled right down! This thought nicely wedged into the back of his processor, knowing to be mindful for when he transformed next, before he peered over at the red mech,

"Look at you possibly growing up..."

A little sass slipped into Flatline's words with a partial smirk, but he still sounded cautious, trying to act normal even if all of this was very much NOT normal in the slightest. This was even paired with a faint dip of his frame, though it was more an observational movement as if he were trying to view Knock Out from a different angle like that would offer some sort of insight that he couldn't see from his previous perspective. Really, it was all just weird, and it was starting to feel like some sort of bizarre dream given the fact he was even experiencing sunlight for the first time in... months...

Tilting his helm back, Flatline squinted against the light, the top edge of his lip lifting slightly from its intensity as his vision was effectively flooded by the relatively solid slate of blue. The apertures in his optics were doing their best to try to adapt, but they felt sore after having been acclimated to darkness for years. It was after a momentary pause he spoke carefully.

"Will whatever you have in mind break my cane?"

In a show of trust to the other mech he had just 'mauled', Flatline held his cane out handle side forward in offering.

[Knock Out]

"Possibly?"

Knock Out scoffed, but it was evident that he wasn't insulted in the slightest. He'd come a long way in terms of how he reacted to things – if only because he didn't really have a choice at times – and while he was still prone to the occasional dramatic and unnecessary outburst? Things like the accidental scuff to his frame didn't phase him.

Much.

Okay, no - it did. It really did, and now that he knew it was there, it was bugging him considerably. The only saving grace was that it had been accidental, and his processor was thankfully preoccupied with helping Flatline out of this little rut he'd found himself stuck in. He'd no doubt hold it against the other mech for a while, through gentle teasing though, rather than actually getting legitimately angry.

Huh, he really had come far. Should it have been a few months prior, perhaps Flatline's thoughts of being murdered and unceremoniously dumped here would've come to pass.

"I like to think I've earned more than a possibly!"

It was then he laughed, turning his attention to the other mech to see just what he was doing. Following Flatline's gaze upward, he squinted against the sunlight momentarily, before shifting his attention back, lip crooking some in amusement. Flatline appeared to be having what could only be considered a staring contest with the sky, which… eh, given he probably hadn't seen said sky in forever, it'd obviously gotten to the point that he'd forgotten it was even a thing at all and was simply in awe.

Before he had a chance to comment and ruin the moment, a question was asked - one that he hadn't entirely expected, though made him smile.

"Your cane? Uh…"

Taking a half step forward, he would carefully reach out to take the offered cane, holding it up as if to inspect it, before taking a step back - and then another.

It seemed sturdy, though gosh he wished Flatline would let him pimp it out a bit - as it was so utterly boring all at the same time. Though would it work for what he had planned? The other mech needed this to walk - which was… pretty important.

"Maybe." he commented, twirling the cane in one servo before placing it handle side down on the dusty ground. If Flatline hadn't worked out his plan, he undoubtedly would a moment later when Knock Out gave it a few hefty swings in the direction of the junkyard - almost like a golf club, though didn't actually hit anything, if only because there wasn't anything to hit.

"Wanna find out?"

He didn't want to actually break the other mech's cane. Even if it was so simple in design and could probably be replaced, he needed it for his general day-to-day and so was probably pretty attached to the silly thing, but on the other hand… it was kind of perfect for what they needed.

[Flatline]

When Flatline had offered out his cane, it was but one more piece of evidence showing the evolved trust between the two that had formed, while taking one step further beyond it as he didn't have a clue just what would become of it. A blind jump. Months back, if Knock Out had gotten hold of the thing, it would have probably been flung across the entire junkyard like a javelin to vanish where it would never be found again. While he had enough faith to know that wouldn't happen, there was an uneasiness that started to bubble up in a form that wasn't anticipated, which was the plain and simple fact that he didn't know what to remotely do with his hands.

It was an odd thought for Flatline to chew over, as he had effectively gone his entire life without the tool, and in those first months while needing it? It had become such an annoyance that he loathed its very sight. Trying to balance it against a table or his leg, needing to make numerous trips to carry things because his one hand was always occupied unless he wanted to risk a painful fall and breaking things... it was something he wanted gone, yet now that it was? It made him feel 'naked' to the point that he habitually reached down towards the side of his knee where he did sometimes lean the thing when he was standing stationary, only for his fingers to understandably touch only air.

This passing grasp flicked twice before he pulled forward more, hooking the pointer and middle finger of his right over the left to just have something to grab, which was good given he then had something to channel anxiety into.

Especially with what Knock Out said in reply.

Maybe? MAYBE? It would maybe break it? That didn't bode well. Granted it was just some threaded metal pipe with some adhesive and bent endcaps, so it would take a lot to actually break, and would be easy to replace... yet... maybe!? He had offered the thing in hopes Knock Out would do one of two things, either show him what was needed so that they could find other alternatives, or simply TELL him if it was destructive. While he got neither, what he did get was enough visual clues as the cane was flipped around, and a stance was taken that was plenty clear enough.

"You... you brought me all the way out here to hit rocks with sticks!?"

Flatline's words pitched up into an all too familiar squawk at this, his voice going shrill enough that it highlighted the gritty crackle that always lingered in the background of his vocals. He didn't know what he had expected going into this, though he thought it would be something more engaging mentally or some other sort of thing that went beyond 'smack with pipe!' levels of oafish humor. He could try to mockingly spin it as being disappointed in himself for expecting more out of the red mech, however, this was so much lower than even Knock Out on his worst days.

No wonder it was Breakdown who told him about this place.

If he hadn't already thrown a rock and regretted it, there was a chance he would have felt compelled to do so at this given moment.

"Don't tell me that we are here to hit rocks?"

Primus! He didn't expect some super mindful grandiose thing, yet this caught him off guard entirely, and he didn't know how to process it.

[Knock Out]

Curiously watching the other mech in the absence of his cane, Knock Out could only gently frown. Flatline had grown so used to the ugly stick that it seemed he wasn't quite sure what to do when he wasn't holding it. Working in the medical bay was different, of course - leaning over a Vehicon without needing to move, he could use both servos and stay busy without need for the extra support, but here where they were devoid of anywhere to really lean? It certainly showed just how much he needed it.

Though part of him wondered if he truly did anymore. The knee, while still damaged due to a lack of decent supplies or equipment, had been fixed well enough to the point he could at least move without considerable pain. He could transform, too, which admittedly was a ridiculous oversight in that they hadn't tested it earlier, but hey! He was up and about despite shifting forms twice, so that was certainly a good thing.

Perhaps it was nothing more than an emotional crutch at this point - and after what he'd been through, what with him being the cause of them losing the Nemesis and almost all their equipment, alongside part of their army? Knock Out wouldn't exactly blame him.

He wouldn't draw attention to any of this though, of course, and as such no comment was made regarding him grabbing at nothing - and the familiar squawked words once things seemed to register were met with a smile, though no answer was given, at least not until the question was repeated for a second time.

"That is exactly why I brought you here - consider this your, uh… Knock Out mandated therapy session!"

Knowing Flatline would probably screech something else in protest of the way he'd phrased it, he held up one servo in the direction of the other mech - slender index finger pointed upward to stop him before he could even get a thought in. His other servo still held the cane downward, though no motions were made to actually hit anything.

"It'll help. Trust me. There's nothing like getting to smack the slag out of something to get rid of pent up stress and worry, and by Primus do you have way too much of both."

He grinned.

"Of course, you could use a stick to hit me if you really think it'll help - though do note you'll be buffing out any and all scratches and dents you inflict, on top of the one you did prior."

Offering the cane back to the other mech, he'd lightly shrug.

"Find a rock and try it. We're probably close enough to that awful little graveyard that you could hit something from here. Or if you don't want to break your cane, we can meander on down and look for something more suitable."

It sounded like Flatline wouldn't have a choice in the matter. Knock Out was stubborn at the best of times, and while he knew the other mech would probably take some convincing to 'hit rocks with sticks' –honestly, there was far more to it than that, even if that's what it boiled down to – he also knew that it would make him feel better.

Maybe.

That was the plan, anyway.

[Flatline]

Mandated therapy session? Mandated therapy session? Sure, this outing was for his mental health, Flatline knew as much right from the start, yet to call it therapy made him grimace as he wasn't going to start vomiting out his feelings like that. It was perhaps the wrong term used, but it did make him think of such a thing right out of the gate, an uncomfortable feeling that was soothed as the other mech continued to clarify that said therapy would be physical rage venting, which had its own downsides. While he had lost his temper more than a few times in the Medical Bay... quite a bit more... It was a lot of bark and no bite, not making contact or lashing out in such ways other than a couple of incidents which was something tossed and not an actual strike.

So, he was expected to be physically violent now?

"I have JUST the right amount of worry given my situation -"

This was said quickly to correct the other mech, before he continued, happily taking the cane back when it was offered, only to turn it around and aim it at Knock Out with a sort of accusatory circle to indicate him overall.

"- and, I will need to buff nothing if I bludgeon you to death."

Would he even be able to? Surely he could get a handful of good hits in before he was killed in turn... whatever the case, he then focused on what was actually being spoken about.

Even if Cybertron had some kind of open landscape where a sport like golf would even be possible, it, and other activities similar to it, were viewed as a frivolous waste of time with no real value to be found in his life. It was of so little value that he would have half a mind to just turn and walk away, or tell Knock Out to do it himself and he will watch to see him fail spectacularly, a challenge that could likely work as a diversion with the other mech's ego! Though he knew it was a long-term battle he couldn't take on and win... Whether he did it now, or he did it an hour later after they spoke further and Knock Out depleted most of the rocks in the immediate area, he would have to do this, and a grumble formed.

Reaching down, Flatline placed one of the stones he had picked up on their way over, turning it some so that the flat side was facing where it would be struck, taking this extra precaution to ensure its best chance. The last thing he needed was to somehow clip it wrong and send the thing shooting up at them, with their luck it ending in a busted optic or something else asinine that would impact their future usefulness with medicine. With this settled, he then looked at his cane in dismay, before holding it down backward so that the handle side was near the stone.

There was perhaps one good thing about this situation, in that Flatline had profoundly refined hand-eye coordination. When it came to surgery, a controlled motion and sense of maneuverability with tools and ones arm even at odd angles separated the good from the great, and he liked to consider himself one of the latter. It was something he held with real pride, where even if he had to use different blades outside his normal set, he could still adapt on a whim. While the ability to translate that to larger format may be clunky, he still thankfully had an eye for it, which meant when he did reel back and swung forward with an irritated snort he didn't completely soar over the rock, nor gouge a trench into the ground with the side of his cane.

With a noisy clang of the hollow pipe making contact, the stone was sent soaring further than Flatline remotely expected. He had anticipated it to twist to the left or right due to the asymmetrical nature, or just pitch into the ground a short distance ahead... and while it had indeed gone off sideways some, it was straight enough that he didn't really know what to think of it. This surprise was not difficult to see on his features, red optics staring ahead where it had gone as a distant ting was heard due to it bouncing across metal somewhere he couldn’t see.

If he was in a different mindset, perhaps he would have boasted with a level of arrogance, yet he was as surprised as he could be, turning to give Knock Out a confused stunned look.