[ti]Ep 3.5[/ti]No Refunds [Closed]

[Knock Out]

Episode 3.5 | Week 1 | Day 4 - Directly after Hanging Around
Late Afternoon
-

Knock Out wasn't entirely certain just what to expect once Optimus led him away from the washrack. The undeniable tension in the air was thick enough to be cut with a knife, not helped in the slightest by the ominous silence from the other mech. Despite his initial quiet protests, his servos were once again bound in the uncomfortable stasis cuffs, and the unappealing bag was again placed over his head as he was escorted through the Autobot base against his will.

Even despite how unhappy he was about things, he did not whine or even ask any questions - and unlike his first trek through the unknown, didn't make any attempts to push his luck further than he already had.

After everything he'd put the Prime through today, he could only assume he'd end up unceremoniously strung back up on the wall – or somewhere far worse, if such a thing even existed, wherever he was – which was why he found himself not only surprised, but utterly relieved upon hearing the familiar sound of digits tapping on a console, followed by the powering down of an electrical field.

He'd been taken back to his cell.

Remaining still as the shackles were removed, he barely even got a moment to relish in this newfound 'freedom' before the cloth was pulled from his head, and a gentle shove forward was given, making him go forward a couple of awkward steps into the small room itself.

Before the electrical field powered up behind him once more.

The Prime said or did nothing more after this fact, and had turned to leave almost immediately - though the cherry-red mech didn't seem to even notice. His gaze shifted to the space around him, noting how it was different compared to the last time he'd been here. The table and chair that'd sat to one side were absent, the only piece of furniture being the uncomfortable metal berth that was fixed to the wall itself.

Well, there went that eventual plan should he have grown bored – or bold – enough to try.

Rubbing his wrists, it was then he turned around, optics narrowing at seeing another familiar form. Carbine was still here, which was… honestly unexpected, given the state of him when he'd seen him last.

Conveniently ignoring all of the horrifying trauma he'd suffered this day – something that'd no doubt catch up to him before too long – he tilted his helm in the other mech's direction in amused greeting.

"Huh. I thought you were dead." he smirked. "Glad to see that isn't the case."

((Light puppeting of Optimus done with player permission.))

[Carbine]

Great. Round two. Just what he hoped for. Just what he always wanted to hear! Except it wasn’t, and it just kindled the resentment he felt when he was first picked for the job of pretending to be a defector. It made logical sense for it to be him, he was not a good Autobot and had made some questionable choices with things he had said and done... yet it still hurt on some level. Even though he felt like the others were too kind that they were all bound to fail and lose this war, balking at his desire to saw a femme's head clean off her shoulders, he still wanted to be a part of them, and his alienation grew every day it felt like.

He only had three who even seemed to care about him, one understandably being Thundercloud for more than obvious reasons, followed up by Bumblebee and Miko. This said, the latter two didn't even know him. They knew the obnoxious troublemaking big brother or uncle, someone who was a bad influence and would encourage less-than-ideal behaviors... they didn't know how he thought or what he strove to do on a battlefield. They didn't know what lines he was willing to cross to make sure he was the one standing on top at the end with his heel digging down into another's throat.

He was in it to win it.

But he also wanted to belong.

So here Carbine was, laying on his back in the brig on the wall-mounted slab, staring up at the ceiling wondering just what he did in life to find himself in this predicament. Any moment the door would be opened and the runt would be walked back in after whatever the hell it was he had been up to the last couple of days. Truly, he had wondered if Knock Out was dead at this point, or was in the Medical Bay trying to have his skull glued back together after Prowl lost his shit. Perhaps it was good he didn't know any better however and was surprised at the summons, as it meant that he wouldn’t need to feign ignorance on any real level.

Finally, the two entered, and Carbine perked up, watching as Knock Out was walked past and shoved into his cell so unceremoniously. No words, no trouble, no nothing... just throwing him aside after who knows what happened. This resulted in the black and white mech leaning up further, his lower legs slinging down off of the slab, peds clicking against the floor given his longer limb length. He was watching with true interest, rotors flicking up some as Optimus left, where a pause lingered for only a brief moment before words were cast out.

"I thought yo͏u̧ weŗe d́e̛ad!"

Barked back, confused and still somewhat surprised.

"When y-you di̷dn͏'t co̶m̢e back after... ho̡we̴ver... long... I f-figured they just̛ cut y̢our head off to be done with the trouble!"

A pause.

"Or mayb́e ͜nǫt͘... th-they are chickenshits with̕ tha̵t soŕt o̵f stu͞ff..."

These words were said with a grumble, projected optics narrowing some in disgusted irritation. It made him flash back once more to that Decepticon femme, where he just needed some encouragement or a little help to wrench that blade back and remove one pawn from the chessboard of the other side. It was after this that Carbine took a second to even look over Knock Out, his helm tilting ever so slightly to indicate that he was peering from head to toe, his words pitching away from the lower grumble they had been to a more conversational level laced in sarcasm.

"W̕h̡at h͏a̷p̨p͟en̵ed...? Did they t-t-ry to d̵r̡òwn̕ you?"

An up-and-down gesture was given then, motioning to the remaining water that still clung to the other mech's frame, small dapples falling to the ground.

[Knock Out]

Blissfully unaware as to what Carbine had been up to in his absence, the cherry-red mech could only assume that after the rather gnarly-looking seizure, he'd been given the all clear by the Medic he found out they did have, then shoved back into the cell – after the furniture had been taken away of course – then left to die of boredom until his own glorious return.

Leaning against the portion of the wall that wasn't electrified, he kept his gaze on the other mech, trying to gauge in the brief moment before he replied if his processor had been completely fried after the little incident. He sure looked dumbfounded enough to be pretty braindead, then again maybe that was what he always looked like - it was hard to tell with the helmet covering his actual face.

Huh. The helmet had been repaired since he'd last seen him, shoddy work though, and he could do far better. The crack hadn't really been patched and was still noticeable indeed, though the gnarly wound and rust that he'd got a momentary glimpse at was no longer visible, so he could only assume it was fixed.

Unlikely, though. Or he probably wouldn't wear the helmet at all, or at least not here in claustrophobia city.

He wasn't quite sure what to expect during these next few moments. Would the jittered static-laced words be even harder to understand this time around – if he could even speak at all, he had had to wait for Carbine to 'reset' that first time they'd met – or would it be business as usual? The answer came a second later with a barked comment that'd been similar to his own, making him laugh.

"Please, I'm far too pretty to kill." slender fingers would proudly splay across his chassis now that he could actually do that, and he'd chuckle again.

"Well, that and I haven't given them any information to speak of thus far- and dead mechs can't exactly talk."

They were chickenshits indeed, and should that have been Megatron in the washrack with him? That warning shot wouldn't have missed. He noted the slight narrowing of the other mech's optics as he spoke, though took it with a grain of salt, unsure if that was his true expression under there or not.

Shifting his weight just slightly as he was eyed up and down, a quiet scoff sounded at noting how the water still clung to his frame, the servo that'd splayed would gently scuff against his chassis, trying to flick some of the droplets away. Of course. Stuck in here without a chamois cloth - could this get any worse?

"Drown me? Quite the contrary. I was allowed a rather luxurious hot shower-" after being strung upside down by his leg for what felt like an eternity, though he'd leave that part out for now. "-where I was shot at by Optimus for daring to invite him to join me, it's just like being back home!"

Tsking, though still smiling - he shook his head.

"What about you? Got your helmet fixed I see. By who, one of the human children?"

A gentle jab about how crappy it looked, no doubt.

[Carbine]

"-and dead mechs can't exactly talk."

"And silent m-mechs ar͟en’t ͏wor͜th the Energon."

Carbine mused this out, despite knowing that the Autobots would never be that bold to deny fuel just because someone wouldn't give them the information that they sought. Granted, he had no idea that just that had unintentionally occurred mere days prior, Bumblebee placing Knock Out's ration so mockingly out of reach for him to longingly look at in his sorrow. That would be frankly, downright hilarious to him, and should he ever find out? Well, he would be very proud of the little scout for his contribution to the cause. This joke was quickly cast to the side after what then was said, however, a stunned silence lingering momentarily until all hell broke loose.

"Y-you... Invited Op͟t́imus̡ ͠i͢nto the ͏sh͢o̵wer?!"

A pause.

"You ̡G̨OT ͞a ͘sh̨ower?!"

A SHOWER!? What the fuck was wrong with the Autobots?! Carbine would have been breaking Knock Out's fingers backward one at a time to get something of any remote value. Or have Bolo bite them right off. A medic's hands were their everything... it would be quite inspiring for them to be threatened.

"I got oúr n-ne͡w m͝ee͘k b̶as̴t̨ard medic fumbling a-round pret͏en̷din͠g h̨ȩ ̀co̴ul͞d do any-thing t-two days after a şeizu͠re!"

Carbine squawked this, not at ALL pleased about needing to go see the orange mech while Knock Out in contrast got a spa day, his mind conveniently blanking out the part where he had been shot at with a gun. It was while he said this that he gestured almost aggressively at himself, real indignation surging as he wasn’t sure what the heck was going on any longer. Should he be surprised? Well... probably not... yet he still was, and he knew he was likely going to freak out at Thundercloud later about how insane this team was.

Probably yell at him again about being drug to this planet.

He missed that Neutral world so very much... the transport terminal with its own economy where he had dug out his tiny corner that he could call his. He had to report to almost nobody but himself, and it was so freeing! Didn't need to worry about the war either! And yet, here he was! Expected to play a monster while their captive had a blast flirting both at Omega One and evidently in the Decepticons as well given his declaration that it was like being back at home.

"You d-didn't take͏ ̀a t̕wo... thr̛e͘e? Day shower though! W-what happened? T͡heỳ t͠ake ͠you o͢ut for dinner and le̕t y̢ou ̡p-pa̴int sḩop ţoo?!"

Carbine sounded flippantly sarcastic again as his voice crackled, absolutely floored over the information that had just been dumped on him.

[Knock Out]

The mused words were met with a gentle shrug, and a knowing smirk. It wasn't exactly wrong, and was certainly the Decepticon way of doing things, though to hear an Autobot say it out loud was interesting. Then again, Carbine was down here for apparently threatening to reveal intel to the Decepticons or whatever it was he'd said, so clearly his loyalty was probably fleeting at best.

Whatever it was, it must've been pretty juicy considering he was still down here. However, on the other hand, a Decepticon was right in front of him and he hadn't spilled all the Autobot secrets yet, though Knock Out was sure there would be plenty of time for that. He hadn't been rescued thus far, after all, and had sadly resigned himself to the fact he'd probably be here for a while.

These thoughts were cut off by the sudden squawked words, and while he didn't outwardly flinch – because he'd been almost expecting some sort of reaction regarding what he'd said – it was interesting how the part that he'd been shot at by the big man himself went almost ignored.

Carbine seemed upset by what he'd been told - then again, it made sense if he'd been stuck down here the entire time without the chance to get clean. Primus only knows how itchy and irritated he would've felt if he'd been denied a moment in the washrack for so long, which was part of why he'd taken his sweet time, knowing he probably wouldn't be lucky enough to get another.

"New Medic not that great, hm?"

Good to know.

Briefly glancing down to where the chair had been sat before as Carbine asked further questions, he'd frown upon remembering that it wasn't there anymore. A quiet grumble sounded, before he adjusted himself just slightly, leaning on the wall with one shoulder and folding his arms, though being careful so as to not scratch his paint.

Two, three days? Was that it? Ugh. It felt like far longer, and he found himself annoyed at how any semblance of time passing seemed lost to him down here in this concrete-lined hell.

"Primus I wish. The supplies in the washrack probably did far more harm than good. I'd kill for a fresh coat of paint, or even some decent wax just to tide me over." still, it was nice to feel somewhat clean, even if it wasn't up to his usual standard.

"Still though, no, nothing that fun, unfortunately." he droned this, waving a servo, though didn't unfold his arms. "I was taken up to an adorable little interrogation room, annoyed Prowl to the point he threw a table. Optimus was brought in, who also lost his temper." there was a touch of smugness to his voice, even if it was certainly nothing to be proud of.

If he'd learned anything in his short stay here, it was that the Autobots were quick to snap.

"I was hung upside down on a wall by my leg and left to think about what I did." he pouted at this, though his tone certainly indicated that he showed no remorse for what he'd done.

[Carbine]

"New Medic not that great, hm?"

"I am sure he ͝i͝s fine -"

The word 'fine' was said with obnoxious air quotes.

"- bu͜t h́e is w-weak spined."

They went from harsh to the point Ratchet, to a kinder soul in Patch, down to whatever Blades was...

"I did m͝an̢age t̡o look p-pathetic enough that I pr̨o͢bably ma̡de Optimus feel b-bad about me being locked up for stup̴i̡d s̢hit! Neglected by my fellow team... forgott͡en ̡to rot d-do͝wn here because I said some impulsive things..."

He mused this out with the bottom of his eyes crooking up into a smile, his hand raising to tap at the corner of one before streaking down as if he was shedding a tear.

Really, being left to rot was how it felt like the first time when he had bashed Windshield's face in, though he was also suffering inside his own mind at that time. What was probably a short sentence seemed like torture, and the hell he felt hadn't abated after he was freed due to his internal demons that still hissed over his shoulder. Whispering about how he was no better than him, and how by punching down the weasel of a mech he had become that demon that haunted him since his days in Garrus. He had to be better though! Had to keep reminding himself to be good! Even at the cost of currently acting bad.

"Now that yo̡ų ar͟e shelv͘ed, maybe it'll be my t-turn soon."

However long the ruse would go he didn't know, though Optimus didn’t seem thrilled at the idea of ordering him back down here, it coming off as a possible fleeting second round. As such, Carbine's focus went back to Knock Out's little pleasant vacation away from the brig... yet... it didn't sound like it was as carefree and fun as it was initially implied. Ignoring the gunshot of course. This made sense, what followed sounding a little more reasonable given just what was going on, only... once more progress stopped before any line was crossed that could get them results. Prowl flipping a table? If he knew he was immune because he had some kind of valuable Decepticon intel, Carbine would wonder if he would dare find that funny. It probably would depend entirely on the setting and what led up to it however, as it could be just as alarming as it could be hilarious with the right framework. Optimus losing his temper though? That was where it got scary.

What was the saying? Something all wise individuals fear? Yada yada storm, moon, something or other... and the anger of a gentle soul.

THAT would unnerve Carbine for sure, even more so if he was wrenched upside down like Knock Out had been on the wall, which... explained just where he was exactly the last couple of days.

"What'd th-they ba̶dg̛er y̴ou ab̕òut? Nemesis? P-Patch? MECH? Decept̕icon ņuke codes?"

[Knock Out]

"Weak spined? In this job?"

He scoffed.

His thoughts drifted momentarily to Flatline at the description of the Autobot medic. How the other mech's self-confidence had been shattered in the events after the Nemesis - to the point he never really recovered even despite Knock Out's best attempts to prop him back up. While he wasn't weak-spined, he was certainly a shell of his former self, meek - pathetic almost, yet even he could handle the most basic of duties and then some, and never seemed to second guess procedures.

Of course, things might've been different now that he'd no doubt been promoted to the role of Chief Medical Officer. He was probably relishing in it all and basking in the glory of his new rank, and given it'd been a few days? Had already rearranged the entire medical bay and sorted through the backlog of paperwork that never seemed to end.

He missed him, though there would be plenty of time to dwell.

Listening to Carbine's words, he'd shrug.

"Maybe you're left down here to 'rot', as you say, because I'm here and they don't want me to influence some of you more persuasive folk to let me out. Should that tiny little yellow guy have been tall enough, I'm sure he would've plucked me down from the wall in an instant."

He'd failed to mention his conversation with Unit-74, then again it hadn't been really important.

"Optimus seems like a nice enough guy, shooting me aside, anyway. I'm sure if you promise to be really, really good he'll let you out." he winked, chuckling.

Pushing himself from the wall, he made his way to the uncomfortable-looking berth. The lack of decent recharge while he'd been upside down had him more tired than he realized, and while he wasn't about to pass out, nor did he want to actually sleep, the short burst of energy from the shower had all but waned.

Easing into a sit, he pulled one leg up to rest on the other.

"You haven't been taken for interrogation yet? Then again, not sure what they'd even ask. It isn't like you managed to sell Autobot secrets to the Decepticons or anything. Though there is still time, if you'd like." he was only half joking.

Leaning back just slightly, he'd hum quietly, thinking back to his own interrogation and how tame it'd been compared to what he could assume an Autobot would go through at the hands of the Decepticons.

"Prowl pestered me about Breakdown and tire tracks, what else… Windshield was mentioned, again, still no idea who that is, mind you. The Nemesis. Honor, believe it or not, and how I believe certain Decepticons have more of it than the Autobots. He didn't like that. Optimus asked me about tire tracks again, apparently, you guys have an entire database on them, fascinating stuff!"

Optimus had gotten a little too close for comfort, the word 'outpost' had been used in lieu of the Nemesis, and while he'd managed to deflect to the point he'd ended up on the wall, he was certain the Prime knew far more than he was letting on.

It was probably only a matter of time before he'd be interrogated again, and he knew next time the Prime wouldn't be so patient.

[Carbine]

When Knock Out spoke, Carbine felt a wave of confusion wash over him, trying to translate just what was said into something that made sense to him.

"Wait, l-leavin̴g ̛me to̧ r̶ot a̶ro̡u̢nd you, b-because they don't want you t̵o iņfl̢uen͜c͏e others... but I wouldn't stop you from... and ͟w͏-̵wouldn͞'t ͜yo̵u be influencing me... what?"

This was such a weird statement from the other mech that it threw Carbine for a total loop, his frame shifting so that it was facing Knock Out further with more direct attention rather than peering at him from the side. It just... didn't add up to him. If they didn't want him to influence others, how did leaving someone locked away down with him do anything BUT influence them? Especially if said person was a defector risk who could have their perspective twisted that much further from the Autobot Cause? It made even less sense when thought about with the consideration that Knock Out had been out of the room for days at this point, where he would be trapped alone... if it had been real... for just as long. There was theoretically nothing to gain but problems by setting them in the same room, though maybe that was what was being pointing out.

Oh, if he sniffed out the issues here already and this was a confusing worded callout, Carbine would be disappointed but not surprised. He tried so hard however, looked so unstable, that no self-respecting Autobot would do what he had done thus far? Attacked one of their own... scrabbled to escape more so than try to chat information out... tried to FREE Knock Out before a medical emergency that could not, seemingly, be fabricated struck and he fell to the floor... where his teammates ignored him... further highlighting his alienated feelings...

Yellow optics flicked across the other mech as he continued, thinking along the same ideas that there really wasn’t much that could be interrogated out of him if he was pulled aside. It was a personality shift, not some grandiose betrayal or something where information needed to be wrung out of him. Ahh well... something new caught his full focus then.

"H͡ON̵̷O̕͟͞R?̡͝!"

Carbine's voice actually cracked at this, the radio static letting out a louder pop as its systems struggled with the abrupt noise. Out of all the things to speak about, honor would not have been anywhere near even the middle of his checklist of topics to go down. He supposed it was all relative however, he didn’t know the conversation that framed it. For all he knew Knock Out had said something that set the discussion down such a path! Yet, hearing it out of context was quite strange, and it made him wish he knew how that went legitimately, and not how it was re-told from the perspective of only one side.

The idea was true though. The Autobots and Decepticons weren’t black and white, and honor was able to be translated in many different ways. To think some Decepticons had more than Autobots? Well, that was a given, just as some Autobots would be more mindless psychopaths than other Decepticons. They all sheltered messes and called them their own.

Just look at him!

"Fuck t-tire trac̀k̕s. Ẁind b̛ack. Yo̵u HAVE to know who Windshield is. I r-refuse to beli͏e̶ve ot̕her̵wise! Maybe he goes by a diff-erent name, but don't do t̴hi̛s to mȩ màn. That’s a-all I want. Give me a glimmer of hope in this shit͜ty litt͞ĺe cell th́at m-maybe s-someday I will be able to punch the oth̢e̵r ha̡lf of his face off!"

While saying this last line, Carbine's hand would reach out, fingers splayed into a clawed shape with his palm aimed up, only to curl into a tight fist that trembled beneath the force that he was putting behind it. It hurt. It did. His joints still hadn't been permitted to heal. Though, he wouldn’t show as much, using the pain as an anchor to remind himself to try to be good and to not get too wound up on the Windshield topic. He didn't need to hyper-focus, yet... he wanted to...? And if biting down and not letting go like the most determined of rabid dogs made him look more legitimate? Then so be it.

Wait no. He just tried to tell himself NOT to hyper-focus.

Still slightly trembling from the intensity of the clenched fist, Carbine's arm would lower some, a subtle animalistic growl rumbling from his center mass. So quiet... soft... possibly muddled and lost beneath the distance between them and two energy fields of the door... but most certainly there.

[Knock Out]

Staring bleary-eyed at the other mech as he seemed to struggle over what'd been said, Knock Out let out a gentle vent of a sigh, raising a servo to carefully pinch the area between his optics. Had his comment been that difficult to understand? Perhaps his severe sleep deprivation had muddled his words, even if it'd made complete sense to him.

"Careful now," he purred, taking the opportunity to jab the other mech.

"We wouldn't want to brick your processor by working too hard."

He chuckled after this, readjusting his position on the berth - the leg that'd been sat atop the other moments earlier would move to curl under himself, trying to find some sort of middle ground when it came to a level of comfort that'd last for more than two seconds, though the metal slab wasn't exactly the nicest thing to sit on.

Then again, it sure beat where he'd been the past few days.

"Forget I said anything, mm?"

If he was pressed, he would try and elaborate on what he meant- in that he probably wasn't allowed to be left to his own devices, even down here. Should Unit 74 have been a little taller, it would've been mere moments before he was freed from the wall. All it'd take was a moment of that same persuasion from behind bars, and the electrical field would be lowered, with quick work made of whoever it was that'd been foolish enough to free him.

He'd go down fighting in an attempt to get out of wherever this was, though part of him could only assume they wouldn't outright kill him. He did hold information, after all, and it was that information that kept Carbine 'rotting' down here, as it were. The other mech may have been locked up, but he was still an Autobot. One slip up, a hint of a new scrap of intel given via conversation where interrogation attempts had failed? And whoopdidoo, brownie points for the traitor.

Optimus wasn't stupid, he'd been put back down here for a reason - they knew he craved conversation, especially so after what'd happened to him upstairs, and what better person to talk to than a disgruntled Autobot who could gripe alongside him.

Perhaps it'd even work, depending on how much time passed - of course.

Mm, no- this position wasn't working either, and the leg would once again move, pede easing down to settle on the floor, the sudden cracked word catching his attention and gaze.

"Please tell me I don't have to explain that word to you, too…" he droned this, delicate digits tapping on the berth next to himself. He was restless, antsy - wanting to get up and move, while also not all at the same time. At least on the wall, he'd had no choice in the matter, as uncomfortable as it was, but now he felt even more stuck.

The mention of Windshield was met with a gentle shrug. Oh, he knew him - though he didn't quite understand the other mech's obsession, and he watched the tightened fist curiously. He did not hear the rumbled growl that followed the motion, or if he did? It was chalked up to the general ambiance of this lovely little room and ignored. Leaning forward to feign some sort of interest in what'd been said, he'd prop his chin up on the knuckles of one servo. At least Carbine had the right idea, fuck tire tracks indeed - the less he had to talk about those, the better.

"He turn you down or something? You seem to care an awful lot about him, to the point of infatuation, almost. Bringing him up days ago, and now here- days later. What gives?"

Give a little, take a little - perhaps if he learned the juicy gossip behind this situation he may find it interesting enough to talk about, if only to confirm that Carbine's unrequited love – or whoever the hell Windshield was to him – was still very much alive and well.

[Carbine]

"What gives...?"

Oh... nothing else mattered now. Fuck Patch. Fuck the Nemesis. Fuck the damn tire tracks! No... Carbine suddenly latched down, and while it wasn’t the bite that others wanted out of him that could get useful information? He had sunk his teeth in nonetheless and had very little intention of letting go. There was just something about the way that things had been asked that caused suppressed feelings to bloom all anew as if a switch had been flipped in the mechs processor, not caring to even give their previous discussion a second glance. Perhaps the idea that it was an infatuation was what set him off... because it was anything but love, though it was still an unhealthy obsession that swung violently from feared revulsion to unbridled hate and everything that swirled in between.

"I'm sure w-when you did ̨yo̢ur͏ l͢ittle entry͘ scans into the Decepticons y-y-ou noticed he ha̡ş ͘s̕ca̡rr͏ing around his neck be-cause his head ain't his original head."

Or more, Carbine assumed there HAD to be scarring. There was no way something like that would be so seamlessly integrated, no? Yet what did he know...? All he knew as fact was the reality that Windshield had somehow gotten hold of the Warden's head, and let his processor get lodged in that rancid cage for reasons only known to his demented little processor. That process would have left some kind of mark in its wake, there only so much welding, buffing, and epoxy fillers could do to hide the nightmare that lay below.

"That face y-you saw is Garrus' v-very own wonde̢rful͏ Ward̛en w̨ho oh ̢s̴o̡ d͘elightfully controlled me for... a fair lo̴n͏g ͏wh̀ile..."

An understatement and a half. A huge portion of his life pissed down the drain in what was effectively a perpetual torture chamber where they all had to scratch and claw to make any corner for themselves that was slightly less horrendous than it was for others. Where doing 'really bad' was considered the best it could ever get and you would become the envy of the cell block to say as much.

"He's a vulture. W-weari̧n̵g ̧a mo͏n̕st͞er̕'s̀ mask. One I DE͜LI͠ǴH͟T̴ÈD in punching so hard I peeled m-mesh from frame like rot̵ off a corpse."

Carbine's tank churned at this, a nausea swelling at the back of his throat with a taste of bile and rust. Disbelief. Horror. How something that felt so good to accomplish, brought so much agony and mental torture just as quickly. How he was a monster. How HE was the bad guy by becoming the very demon that haunted his own nightmares from those dark days in Garrus... Yet, despite his self-hatred, there was still that snaking joy that slid beneath the surface he had been trying to suppress and ignore, a nagging voice that terrified him whispering out of his line of sight while he tried to cope with what type of horrible person he was.

A single quiet question.

"It was still fun though, wasn't it?"

"I w-want to speak wit̡h h̴im ag̕ain. Talk. Find ou͢t jųst w-what kind of person finds it fun to hide bęh͜i͏nd̡ suc͢h ̴an ́ug͝ly mask."

Cooler words. Calm. There was almost a chill behind things now as Carbine shifted gears into a new form of individual that had yet to be revealed. The joking rebellious troublemaker who had unintentionally found his way free from his cell, replaced by something that possibly very much deserved to be within it.

"I want the joy of w̛atch̴in̵g the light flicker out of the Wardens' eyes. I don't ca͜re i͞t is̵n't ͘h́i͟m... I can pretend... Strangling him s-so hard his throat co͏lla̕pse͘s an͘d Ȩn̷e̷r̶g͜on lines crimp closed. Watching him realize th-that even if I were to let go... even if I wer͟ȩ to ͟ha̡ve̡ a change of nonexistent heart... that there is n-nothing that cou͡ld ̕k̶eep t̛he̛ ͘ínevi̶table at bay."

Yeah...

That... probably explained why nobody wanted to deal with Carbine just yet.

[Knock Out]

It was interesting how Carbine spoke as if Windshield was still alive. Did the other mech know for certain that it was fact and this whole thing had been some sort of test to see if he was truthful? Or was he simply hoping that he was, for whatever reason?

He hadn't been expecting the other mech to actually reply. A snorted scoff, a vague comment perhaps about how he was a random Decepticon who'd hurt Carbine's feelings or killed somebody he liked and so was deserving of some weird grudge – or maybe it really was a story of jilted lovers, that'd be amusing enough to the point he'd possibly entertain some sort of romantic reunion.

Wouldn't that be funny…

Oh, but within that first sentence, Knock Out found himself listening with actual interest. They'd given Windshield a checkup upon his arrival, of course they had - it was protocol after everything he'd endured during his time here, and he was sure the Autobots were no different, though he couldn't remember specifics regarding his head - at least not to the point no attention nor concern had been drawn to it. Empurata was a thing, Shockwave himself had gone through it, after all, so having a replacement head wasn't exactly some big, shocking secret.

But it seemed it was who the head belonged to that Carbine had issue with.

Garrus? That didn't exactly narrow it down, and he wondered which one the other mech meant – momentarily finding that little detail far more curious than the story being told, given most if not all were Autobot ran prisons. Then again, it wasn't like it mattered, though it was interesting how Optimus had taken Carbine into the fold despite that part of his history.

There were no outward reactions as the other mech continued, no visceral horror at hearing how the punch was described. Having dealt with far worse, or at least the aftermath of such things, during his time as CMO, it took a lot to truly phase him. He did, for a moment, wonder just why and how this guy had made it so far as an Autobot, though it wasn't as if it was his place to judge.

Only once Carbine was done describing all the wonderful things he wanted to do to the other mech did Knock Out react. Despite how quickly things had escalated in the conversation there, the cherry-red mech was far more subdued. A gentle movement, both legs pulling up so he could sit cross-legged on the berth. Propping one elbow atop his leg, he eased his cheek on his servo, gaze not leaving the other mech in the other cell.

"Well then." he chuckled, finally breaking the momentary silence. "That's quite a grudge you have there. A little ridiculous, given it's not actually the Warden you seem to despise so much, though I can see how it'd be satisfying to slowly watch the life fade from his optics either way. Poetic, even." he tsk'd, smiling.

"You'd be perfect as a Decepticon, with thoughts like that-" he mused quietly, though just enough to be heard.  "if you could follow through on them, anyway."

Then again, anyone was allowed a little bit of hellbent revenge now and then, and he was sure there were Autobots out there who'd done far worse things than any Decepticon he knew.

Clicking his tongue momentarily in thought, it seemed as if a decision had been made, and while he didn't move, one slender digit would tap the side of his helm before he hummed quietly.

"I mean I could do the big reveal on if I know who he is or not, but where's the fun in that after such a romantic story - care to enlighten me on which Garrus you were at and why? You can't leave out that tantalizing little detail, after all." his tone showed no hint of going either way with what he knew - though was playful enough to possibly show the answer wouldn't be hard to get, should Carbine cooperate.

The fact the other mech wore a police uniform only added another layer to this whole thing, and he'd certainly vagued around the answer when asked what he'd been put into this cell for days earlier. Then again, he hadn't known then that the mech before him was a bonafide convict.

Carbine just got a little more interesting.

[Carbine]

Ridiculous? Hardly.

"Eh. He ain't the Warden, b-but I can pr͞eten̨d̴. ͘T̕h͘e li͠tt̀le squ̵ir̕rely fuck also goaded me int́ó tha͟t punch to get me into t-trouble. I mean... don't get me wrong... I bit the l-l-lure knowi̛n̶g̸ what it was... but it just means he is ǹo̴w a two f-for one special, and I am ready to order."

He had asked for permission to punch him. One therapeutic little action... one moment of greatness that could give him a wonderful memory to cherish for days to come... and it was granted! That may be part of the issue, however, where it wasn't a random assault he could blame on his less-than-great impulse control. He didn’t swing out from left field to sucker punch, which made the explosion that followed feel so dirty and impacted him so hard. Looking for the first opportunity and then taking it despite what kind of backlash could come from it... just as he waited until the right moment where a cheap blow could do as much damage as possible before help would arrive. Oh, it felt so incredibly good! Until he saw the aftermath. Until he saw the mangled face that made him feel like he was looking at a funhouse mirror of his own visage.

"You'd be perfect as a Decepticon, with thoughts like that-"

"Do̕n'̧t̨ try to p-pander to me."

He wasn't going to get starry-eyed that he possibly had a home away from the team that made him feel so uncomfortable.

"As for follow-ing through? You d-dón't̴ kn͞ow͏ ̵mé well at all."

Carbine's words were laced with amusement, a sort of smugness heard in his voice as if he knew a big secret that Knock Out didn't regarding just how willing he was to send someone to the All-Spark. He didn't clarify further though, letting it drop at that so that he could focus on things he cared to talk about that didn't have some hurdles to overcome.

When further questions followed, asking about what prison he had been a part of after a baiting commentary that borderline confirmed where Windshield was, Carbine's entire posture took a shift, his spine straightening while his chest puffed out, a form of near pride seeming to display itself that brightened his entire mood. The bottom edges of his optics crooked up with this change, his following words chipper and almost pleased as if the million-dollar question had been asked, and they were suddenly talking about his favorite thing ever.

"I am a t-tried a͏nd ͞tr̶ue bon̢afi̢de product of Garrus-1's criminals to Autobot can̢n̛on foddęr for probation p̕rog̡ram!"

That was a damn mouthful he was impressed he managed to actually spit out.

"Jokes on m-me, if only I knew̧ a fęw ͝th̛ousand years la̛ter th͏ę De̵ce͢p̷tic̕ons p-probably would have raided it an͜y͡way͏, am I right?"

With a flick of the wrist, Carbine held the back of his hand up on the far side of where his mouth would be, his voice dipping into mused tones with the flippant inflection about a profoundly dropped opportunity. While that length of time would be a continuation of his seemingly never-ending suffering, he wondered just what his life would be like if he had held out and managed to be liberated to serve the Decepticons in turn. Granted, he may be dead by now if that happened, if they even recruited him to begin with and didn't just cull the place... though it was fun to ask what-if sometimes. It was then his voice would pitch back up to the prideful state once again.

"Thrown in w-with full co̧p aţtiŕe fo̧r̀ being the dirty fuck y-you are imagining now. Taking b̷ri͏bes, s̢elli̢n͟g patrol routes, g-giving alibis, ste̡al̴ing f̴rom evid̶ence, and guarding less than legal ship-ments that may or m-may not have been still alive wheń s͜en̨t for proc̕essing..."

Why was he being so open...?

Why was he saying all that...?

The first examples were givens, things that were simply expected norms on any dirty cop's checklist. He often left it at that, however, not continuing to anything else... not even slightly touching on the even darker side which was why he was shoved into Garrus and not just reprimanded and put on unpaid leave for a while. He had to do some repulsive things to end up where he was, and for a change, he was dropping it not just casually... but with continued smugness? As though it was something to feel GOOD over? Something shared with a STRANGER?

Perhaps it was due to who he was talking to, a Decepticon more likely to be impressed rather than disgusted at what had been said. That idea was for sure a generalized stereotype, as he had never sat down and chatted with one of them during this long agonizing war until now, yet it seemed real enough that his declaration just happened to be dropped out in a way where he didn't feel a need to instantly backpedal.

No flickered thought of 'maybe I shouldn't have said that'.

An additional part that was likely playing a role, was the reality that he WAS expected to be a bad person here. A monster. Unlocking the darker elements of his psyche because it was a game he was ordered to play to appeal to who was seen as a monster in turn. The line between acting and reality blurring beneath a commitment to a role, and the true poisonous actions he had taken a lifetime ago that once felt so justified and REWARDING due to the coin that was given back. Blood money that he was more than happy to wash any guilt off of under greed and the facilitation of selfish vices.

"Such w-were the g̨oo͏d ̨d͟ays..."

[Knock Out]

Keeping his legs crossed, Knock Out would scoot backward just a little so his back was pressed up against the wall as best he could. He could see the other mech slightly better from here, plus it was certainly more comfortable having something to lean against. Primus, he missed that stupid chair.

Scoffing gently at the other mech's words, he'd smile.

"If only we could all be so fortunate as to meet someone wearing the head of someone who wronged us, hm?

It was almost laughable how easily Carbine had been provoked into punching Windshield by the sounds, though Knock Out didn’t know the specifics of what the helicopter mech had experienced to harbor such a deep-seated hatred for the Warden that could've made it all the easier to do. As curious as he was, he knew better than to even attempt to pry. Some things just weren't talked about, and he assumed that topic was one of them. After all, discussing past traumas so openly wasn’t exactly a casual pastime - even if it would be entertaining indeed to listen to.

He probably would've done the same should he have been in Carbine's position – and probably for far pettier reasons – and so couldn't exactly judge too much.

"As for follow-ing through? You d-dón't̴ kn͞ow͏ ̵mé well at all."

"Mm, no - but I do like what I see, and I'd hardly call it pandering." he purred. "Simply… ah, easing you into the fact we are the winning team and you'd be far better off for a multitude of reasons. Could certainly use someone like you, too."

Gently rubbing one delicate digit across the smooth surface of the berth, if only to have some sort of movement - he chuckled at Carbine's next words. Garrus 1. Was that the really, really bad one? Honestly, he didn't know, only that there were what- nine or ten of them? Did 1 mean it was for petty criminals, or did the ranking work backward?

He didn't exactly care.

"That we would've. Violent criminals turned soldiers, primed and ready to go against those horrible little Autobots who'd locked them up in the first place? It was perfect. Good things come to those who wait, I suppose, and there's a lesson there somewhere I'm sure about not taking the first deal offered."

A lot of them had been cannon fodder just like the ones released to the Autobots through more official means, to be fair - though plenty had survived, and it certainly boosted Decepticon numbers in those earlier years of war. Windshield, it seemed, was one of those lucky few who had been liberated - and things were slowly falling into place a little there regarding this oh so dramatic hateship.

Had the Warden annoyed Windshield to the point he'd actually had the guts to do something about it? Or was he simply caught up in the Decepticon raid?

Even though his interest was still on the other mech and what he was saying, his gaze briefly shifted up to look at the ceiling. It was a sight he should probably get used to, given there was no end in sight to this fun little vacation, so why not start now?

Dirty cop? Cliché much..? Not that it was a bad thing - he certainly knew a few of those back in the day that'd helped fund his own lifestyle via buying his not-exactly-legal weaponry. Though Carbine seemed to have dialed the whole thing up to eleven, and it was the last part of what was said that drew his gaze back to the other mech.

"Well weren't you a busy boy. No wonder you were locked up - I bet those prisoners loved you. You probably had a hand in putting some of them in there!" he laughed.

Was that why the Warden took issue with him? Because he was supposed to be the face of justice or whatever? Or was he doing it to prove some sort of point? Those types were usually all mad with power, anyway - beating a mech when they were down, showing they were the law. Carbine did seem the type to invite it - after all, he'd been fighting the whole way down here when he'd been first thrown into his cell, and he was sure back then was no different.

Not wanting to push things by commenting that those good days could still be ongoing if he simply switched sides, the cherry-red mech would vent outwards - making a point to be semi-dramatic about it.

"Well, I suppose you answered my questions - and I am a mech of my word." a servo would raise to splay across his chassis.

He honestly assumed the Autobots already knew the answer. Prowl had seemed so damn certain, so it wasn't like he would be revealing anything too lucrative. Of course, there was the whole Patch thing- though he honestly had no idea who that was, only having cleaned up the aftermath of the ambush.

Not that he'd let those details slip.

"He's very much alive. Let me out of here and I'll let you talk to him - you can even punch him again, if you want, or do all those lovely little things you talked about earlier! Well, so long as I can watch, anyway. He's an arrogant little shit indeed."

[Carbine]

"-Could certainly use someone like you, too."

"What, don’t go͞t yǫu̴r ͘o̕w͘n p-pursuit officer? Don't blame you! I'͞m oǹe ͜o̴f a kind!"

A quick quip back, a sarcastic statement. If Knock Out meant they could use him in particular, it somewhat implied they didn't have an individual of his build or the form of training he had as a police officer. While much of that didn't line up with what would work out in War, as you didn't need narcotics searching these days, it still could be interesting if that was what was meant. Or, it could just be 'any soldier', where he was one statistic. He tried to reply flippantly enough, to act like he wasn't prying for information when he was, even if said information wasn't that valuable. Anything was better than nothing though, right?

Whether or not this landed him any minor intel, he let out a sound of contemplative thought at what was said next. It made him think back to those days, how it was his idea to take the offer that had been laid out. Why wouldn’t he? They could have easily defected at the first moment, and if it weren’t for Thundercloud's pesky honorable thoughts and good intentions, he would have still been fucked off to the edge of the universe to hide from it all and live how he wanted to live. This in mind, if he truly knew for a fact that if he held out he would be freed to the other side? It was questionable if he would have done so, as they could have told him he had to sacrifice his entire left arm and he would have considered it just to get out sooner rather than later.

Anything to get out.

"-I bet those prisoners loved you.-"

"Yeahh... it... w͜as̀n̴'t ͝ǵreat̢..."

While Carbine had sounded carefree and borderline proud of some of the things he had done, and the fact he was a product of the absolutely horrendous prison system that was Garrus One, there was a shift in how these words were spoken, a level of unease manifesting itself.

A level of realness.

Those first years were probably the worst ones there were, other than isolated incidents like the day in which he had his processor smeared across the floor. Being fresh meat within that system was already damaging enough to the best of them, prisoners trying to sink their teeth and shake the new victim to see just what they were made of, and just how they could be exploited. It wasn't really like that for him, however. They didn't just try to make him a bitch gopher, nor wanted to recruit if he had a trait that'd serve their own agendas in their weird little distorted economy... no. His frame was the interest, and not in that way. He was a fantasy for most. Much like how he wanted to maul Windshield even if he wasn't the real Warden, many others made him the easy substitute for their own officers who put them into their new home.

A stand-in. A stunt double. Something to dump rage into then left to lick wounds until healed enough to endure another assault as a therapeutic release. Over time he did learn how to survive better, got minimal allies including Thundercloud as a partial shield, while also cultivating a hair trigger personality to beat down others as an unstable element not worth the trouble, yet at the end of the day? He was always 'the cop', and trying to scrape the shields off his shoulders against their concrete-lined cages did nothing to erase what he was.

So yeah... Knock Out's words seemed to hit a mark, Carbine falling momentarily quiet as his mind rewound to darker days, before he snapped back to where he was.

Just in time to catch onto the wonderful news.

"K̛͇N̴̳̖̠E͓̦̥̝W I̪̫͔T!̣̣̝̬͉"

A crackle-laced barked reply that held way too much excitement behind it, Carbine going so far as to slam his open palms down atop his knees in a solid strike that resonated with the noise of impact. He was downright THRILLED, and it wasn't so much 'Aha I finally got information and confirmed Patch was taken by the Decepticons!'... though that was a bonus... as much as it was an 'I now know I have a chance in the future to play out my weird revenge!'. That idea would be something he needed to unpack later on, as he truly was taking after those he demonized, yet right now he was on a mission, and he had something to distract so he didn’t keep replaying Garrus' greatest tracks in his processor.

"I doubt you actually w-want me to pun̶ch̛ hi̶s f͏ące in... again... but thanks for let̵ti͢ng m̕e d̡a͏ydre͜am that you are legit-it-leg̷ít-i͠ta͏-͟kzzţch-seriously offering d-despite the fa͡ct ͏y̧ou'ḑ háv̛e to fix it."

A smile was easy to hear in his voice.

"Unless yo̴u'd j̨-j-̶ús̀t sh͡o̵ve it onto what-ever bitc͜h ͜b̀oy ͡medic you t-talked about?"

[Knock Out]

"Do you think the Decepticons really need a pursuit officer?"

He tsk'd at this, shaking his helm. Their small army of Seekers could outrun the majority of the Autobots without trying, he was sure - though then again, he wasn't exactly sure just who the enemy faction even had among their ranks these days. Just as the Decepticons had brought in many new arrivals, he was certain the same went for the Autobots, even if he'd yet to see them.

Prowl and Sunstreaker were new faces, and he would be sure to tell Soundwave that upon his return to Blackridge Hold - if the Spymaster didn't already know of their presence, anyway. Then, he'd heard more than a few voices while being led back and forth through the base - though couldn't tell just how many, nor did he actually recognize any of them to the point he could put names to them.

"No," he answered his own question. "But your whole…" he loosely gestured to the other mech with one servo. "Je ne sais quoi, as it were, is refreshing - and I feel your talents are wasted among the friendship brigade."

Primus only knew how exciting things would be with an actual Autobot defector among their ranks, one who seemed to have had a couple of run-ins with several of his own team already. Shaking things up a bit could be exactly what was needed, though he knew the likelihood of that ever happening was slim. Decepticon turned Autobot? Sure, it was plausible - conditions back at Blackridge weren't exactly the greatest. But here? Here with their hot water, and – well, up until Carbine got it removed – lovely furnishings for even lowly prisoners... they had it pretty damn good.

If he wasn't so attached to the Decepticons, or at least some of those within it, perhaps he'd switch for the shower alone, and the thought made him smile.

He wouldn't poke nor prod about Carbine's time in Garrus 1 and the comment made that indicated that he was correct in his assumption. That was all in the past, and the only part he really cared about was just what the Warden possibly could've done to have that hatred translate onto an entirely new mech, though even that was so long ago now it'd probably be a waste of time talking about.

Though the instant, way too excited reply was interesting, and he'd scoff again, smirking.

"You and everyone else here, please, I am almost positive Prowl knew it for a fact already."

He'd certainly pestered him enough about Windshield, and even if Knock Out hadn't given anything away, he hadn't been too sure just what they actually knew of the whole situation.

Easing his servo to rest on his knee, he found himself gently rolling his shoulders some, his frame was still awkwardly tense after his little excursion to the wall, and even the warm water hadn't truly helped now that he'd been sitting for a few moments.

"Oh, no, I would love for you to punch him again - if only because it'd be hilarious to watch. Fixed it once, can fix it again- well, unless you finished the job properly this time." there was no bringing someone back from the dead, after all. "I'm not that good."

Inhaling sharply, he barked out a genuine laugh at the description of Flatline.

"Bitch boy medic? Look, just because your own Ratchet replacement is a prime example of mediocrity at its finest, doesn't mean the Decepticons follow the same rules. I assure you, things are still running fine in my absence - and even if I were to shove it onto this 'bitch boy'-" Primus he wasn't sure why the nickname was so funny, probably because it was anything but true. "Windshield would be in perfectly capable servos. Unlike you, should he happen to get the upper hand whenever you get around to punching him."