[ti]Ep 3.5[/ti]Skip Tutorial [Closed]

[Soundwave]

Episode 3.5 | Week 3 | Day 2
Directly after The Common Good


The first thing that Starscream would see upon his weakened walk through the Space Bridge was a modest team of three Vehicons, two Eradicons, and one of the Skylord's Armada who were already assembled within the Control Room neatly aligned out of the way to the side, a testament to the response times of their army when an incident was to occur. They stood at the ready, stances straight and formal, seemingly awaiting the arrival of their Warlord and Second in Command to assist them to the Medical Bay, only... that wasn't what they were there for. Not initially. They did not instantly flood forward to help, nor say anything to seek guidance on what to do. No. All they did was remain a steadfast element to be exploited should it be deemed necessary, beyond them an additional figure who was muddled in a darker spot within the room, tucked even further out of the way, though able to observe what was traveling through the gateway with no obstruction.

Soundwave.

The Navy mech's helm was squared off with Starscream as he first entered the room, quickly assessing his injuries and just what had occurred to the best of his ability. He was no medic, and as such could not weigh in on the severity or potential lethality of what was displayed, however the sight that the other mech was walking on his own accord said much right on its own, the injuries not looking like a center mass strike anywhere close to his Spark. This was a relief, as even though they could clash with one another at times when their ideals happened to turn in opposite directions, it did not mean Soundwave had any desire for him to be swept off the chessboard that was the Cybertronian war.

This attentive look lasted until Megatron himself followed shortly after, an inky visor shifting ever so slightly in his direction to observe what ailment befell him. While someone could argue that Soundwave should show more concern when their leader was wounded given their long history, he didn't seem particularly bothered. Oh, it bothered in the sense that it wasn't ideal to see someone from their team injured at all, especially with what looked to be deep arm punctures with pieces of metal splintered off in a garish display, yet it was their Warlord, and if such an ailment could come close to sending him to the All-Spark? Well... he would have been cast there eons ago from other torments he had endured. Countless years before he and Orion even crossed paths with one another on their once active home world... fallen beneath the whirling blades of the Gladiatorial Pit.

No. He was mindful yet he wasn't particularly concerned.

So, why did he assemble a small team with such haste If they were not here to assist the wounded?

Because they were here for that as much as they were not.

To outright throw soldiers at the leaders... it could convey a level of frailty or weakness that was unbecoming of the Decepticons. If they wanted one for help? They could call upon them as a convenience simply because they 'happened' to be there, yet Soundwave did not tell any to step forth. They were a display of each of their available soldiers, ones that had shown promise with their previous missions in one way or another, rather than fishing from the broader pool of those who had not shown such capabilities in the past.

Giving only a brief window for Megatron or Starscream to take their pick should they feel the need, Soundwave then moved, raising his arm to point at the portal that still lay open to order whichever ones remained back to the site of the attack. Beyond a sideways gift of aid, he had summoned them to secure the scene and make certain the vultures did not return to salvage what belongings they would like to keep after their tactical retreat. The entire site in question would be locked down, and whatever MECH soldiers remain either be tended to or potentially captured should an opportunity present itself. While he doubted that they would be so foolish after seeing a rather profound display of power and force... the order was there, and Megatron's target beneath the tents and tarps would remain untampered with until he deemed the time right to continue.

If he wanted it salvaged on his behalf, this would also be organized with a simple directive to the mech who's arm then lowered, helm squaring off once more as he stood off to the side.

Waiting.

Watching.

[Flatline]

The life of someone stationed in the medical field seemed to have two speeds when you were higher up on its hierarchy of command. Many days held the normality of the mundane... mending minor injuries from burns to breaks and the even more mundane of general checkups to try to root out any gradual problems that could compound if left unaddressed... yet all it took was the turn of a moment, one call or one step through the door to transition it to a high energy environment where one's entire state of being took a complete 180 towards madness and struggle. To some, the shift could be exhilarating! A flash of energy and interest with a heavy challenge behind it to abolish the previous boredom and monotony! Yet, there was tending to a miner who got their legs smeared between a rock and a piece of heavy machinery...

And there was tending to the two highest ranking individuals in the entire army.

Feared on the best of days... paralyzed in terror beneath their shadow on the worst... while Starscream had started to shift away from this framework, acting as an anchoring point that commanded but did not torture beneath his claws, Megatron was on the more vicious end, acting as a perpetual shadow that loomed above him. A threat of death that could happen at the most flickered moment of annoyance or sense of weakness. There was no room to be useless beneath his fierce gaze, yet his lofty expectations felt like insurmountable hurdles that were placed before him in a morbid course, waiting for his ped to clip the top edge and send him crashing to the ground an instant after.

He couldn't afford to fall. He couldn’t let himself slam against the ground where what tattered shreds of his psyche lay scattered like a broken mirror, showing him the uselessness of what he now stood as. He had to stay upright, had to keep trudging forward, no matter what he was subjected to.

And today would be a rather difficult jump.

No... Primus no... It was only a matter of time before the Warlord obtained injuries, whether from an accident or the Autobots themselves, yet its arrival felt so painful and horrible that Flatline didn't even want to see what befell him. He didn't take it as a moment to flex and show his worth. It was bad enough that this new trial was being thrown upon him, while it was another to have that AND Starscream on their way. If Knock Out was around, it wouldn't be as traumatic a situation, letting them split up their efforts to deal with both at the same time, yet he was alone. No one to watch his back, no one to deal with more time-consuming things so he could focus on issues that were more lethal in comparison. While he lacked a second pair of hands to assist him in that regard, he did have a second pair of hands in a more literal sense.

Finally reattached. Finally having electrical and nerve function bonded in full mere days previously with Starscream's assistance. All of the bracing that had once immobilized and supported his secondary limbs had been removed, allowing their full weight to fall upon finally grafted struts that had taken hold after far too long. They worked, yet were not a hundred percent functional, new problems showing themselves after so much time had passed between removal and recovery. It didn't take long to build back general mobility, having spent a lifetime with them, yet damage had been done, and stress continued to impair. It was these additional appendages that were now put to the test with a far more frantic set of motions.

Preparing for Megatron and Starscream's arrival.

Flatline was acting as fast as he was able to, given his physical limitations, moving about the Medical Bay promptly to prepare for anything that he could think of. Before he started such goals however he pulled out an injector gun, and loaded it with an appropriate dosage of painkiller, lining its punch needle up with his leg just above his knee at a downward angle, before pulling the trigger to send the localized concoction deep into the assembly. It was a less-than-healthy means to deal with the largest of his limitations, yet he did what he had to in order to survive, before he then ejected the needle into a dirty container, and loaded up a second one with a full cartridge of a more wide-spreading mix of chemicals. It would be swiftly placed upon a tray with other tools, a matching set then sat against a second tray that looked a little more beat up than the other, making do with what options they had available.

Two monitoring devices, two sets of tools, a neat stack of mesh patches and gauze, as well as an extra cartridge of expanding resin that could fit in his inbuilt medical supplies. On the cabinet to the side sat a tidy row of line Energon containers that were ready to be loaded into an injector, or put into a distribution device as a form of mechanized IV for a more gradual release of the life-giving liquid. Flatline was trying his best to prepare for what wounds may be coming his way because he didn’t necessarily know what WAS coming. It could be a simple sword strike where deep lacerations were on one of their forearms from a defensive attempt to block, or one of them could have their arm ninety percent amputated at the shoulder hanging at a twisted mess held on by only a sliver of the external triceps cover.

He just didn't know.

Having done what he could, Flatline stood at the ready off to the side out of the way, not sure if the other two mech would be entering of their own accord, or with the assistance of soldiers who were carrying an unconscious frame within. To try to bleed off some level of energy, he roughly wiped down his forearms and hands with two separate cloths for each set of limbs that had been soaked in cleaner, using far more force than was necessary to a point his claws scraped at his paint to peel tiny pieces off. Some of the chemicals dripped to the stone-lined floor below with soft taps, its compound adding a film from the elbow down just in case he had to shove his limb inside of an internal cavity with all their mechanized organs in a worst-case scenario incident like the Vehicon in his trial.

An anxious glance was cast back to that soldier... his monitoring device ripped off as they only had two, though he was still in stasis and had been stable long enough that Flatline knew he wouldn’t... well... flatline during its absence. The memory of his trial, and the bubbling uncertainty of what was to come, caused a tremble to form, gaze locking back on the doorway as everything around him felt like it stretched on for an eternity.

Just... focus on what happened and not who it happened to.

You have to.

[Starscream]

Starscream staggered through the swirling vortex of the bridge, each step clearly a laborious effort - though one that he fully intended to see through himself. A trail of Energon was left behind him as he moved, and his wings were still held low behind himself, continuing to involuntarily twitch; causing him to quietly hiss as he focused on not only remaining upright, but continuing onward.

Briefly, his gaze met that of Soundwave - sparing the other mech a gentle shake of his helm that probably told much, even without the need for words. While they had not failed – at least, not in his eyes – it'd certainly cost far more than he'd wanted to give, and in front of Megatron, no less.

Behind him, the rhythmic thrum of the Warlord's pedes could be heard, the silver Seeker making a point of moving forward enough to get out of his way, even at the cost of walking a little faster than was comfortable, given the pain that wracked his frame.

A quiet, uttered 'You' was barely heard - the single word strained, though no doubt recognizable in an instant as a directive for the Armada to assist him. While he certainly had his pride, he knew better than to struggle all the way to the Medical Bay, though could not bring himself to ask his Master for help.

[Ren]

A strange sort of heavy silence hung over the Control Room of Blackridge Hold in those few moments between when the bridge had been opened, and the two high-ranking mechs began making their way through.

The order from Soundwave had been straightforward and to the point, and AKN-921 – like the others beside him – had been swift in their arrival. They'd been quick to stand at attention, awaiting their next order, be it to aid with helping either Megatron or Starscream to the Medical Bay, applying medical aid right here and now, or moving through the bridge itself to finish whatever had been started.

It didn't bother him either way, and a steely gaze watched the portal itself, waiting to see signs of life.

Ah- but then, there. Movement.

Starscream had been badly injured, though the injuries themselves did not look like they had been inflicted by another Cybertronian. He was no expert on such things, of course, nor did it particularly matter - the Air Commander's wings had been damaged regardless, and it appeared as though he was losing Energon and struggling some in his footing.

Though even despite this, he did not rush forward nor move to assist. Standing tall, silent - though his attention did not waver from the silver Seeker, only sparing Megatron a momentary glance as he followed a moment later. He, too, was hurt - though it seemed Starscream had taken the brunt of whatever it was.

Then, a directive. A single word - not even his designation, nor an actual order, though it said much indeed, and AKN-921 was quick to move forward to aid the Winglord in whatever way was needed of him.

[Megatron]

In contrast to Starscream, Megatron entered the Control Room with an unburdened step, at least as far as the physical aspect was considered. Yes, his brilliant silver armor had been torn, dotted with shrapnel still embedded within and bleeding faintly. Chunks of his own plating were torn off in what must have been a violent explosion, and streaks of blue continued to trickle down the length of his left arm, emanating from below the heavy pauldron and several smaller gashes along the rest of the limb.

But other than that? There was nothing in his stride that indicated weakness or exhaustion, or even the obvious injury. If anything, he seemed upset. His step was quicker than usual, his brow ever so slightly lowered—and his optics narrowed to a point. So, burdened after all, though not in ways that affected the body. Had the injuries not been plentifully apparent, one could surmise only one thing about Megatron:

He was not in a good mood.

In the spirit of such, he passed the gathered entourage without so much as sparing them a glance. Only Soundwave's assessment was noted, though with no pause nor consideration beyond a brief exchange of looks. The Spymaster did well to keep to himself. A lesser attendant may have rushed to aid Megatron and Starscream or sent drones to swoon after them. Such recourse showed weakness. Not just of the leaders, but of said lieutenant's faith in them. Soundwave knew better. He was different—discreet and respectful. Such qualities had earned him more than a position within the ranks, but also trust.

Mutual trust. Megatron's trust.

Such scrapes wouldn't impede the grand design in the long term. They have seen each other in worse conditions, after all. Bled in the arena and on the battlefield—sometimes even under one-another's hand. Few could claim to know a person and their limits so well, especially when it came to Megatron. Yes. The Warlord would recover, given proper attention, and neither of them showed concern. This attention would soon come, were they to proceed further.

And so he walked on, letting Starscream deal with his minion as he saw fit. Had he been in a better mood, perhaps he would have found it within himself to harry the Second-in-Command over any assistance another mech would render—but not today. The humans had exacted their toll, and on Starscream far more than anyone else in quite some time. Anyone else that lived, at least.

Megatron understood.

All he could do now was frown and let out a low grunt. Starscream wouldn't ask for assistance if it wasn't a necessity, but even then, the thought of others seeing his Second-in-Command in such a sorry state disgusted him. Had they known that humans caused this, it wouldn't make MECH appear more threatening. Instead, it would make Starscream appear weak—and by extension—it would make him appear weak also.

Clearly, the cost of success was too high to be acceptable, adding salt to the wound. Without speaking a word to anybody, the Warlord proceeded deeper into Blackride Hold in the direction of the Medical Bay, expecting that Starscream—and whatever assistance he felt was needed—would soon follow after him.

[Soundwave]

Ah, things were worse than he thought.

As Starscream continued forth into the room, Soundwave was able to see things a little more clearly when it came to the plethora of injuries that befell him, quickly making him re-evaluate his previous assessments of how bad everything was. This was not just a couple of deeper strikes to a wing or arm, whatever MECH had been using was far more destructive and hit far more times than was acceptable. It left its mark and then some, this quiet observation continuing until the other mech was almost past, where a new revelation then hit.

There was a second then in which Soundwave almost made a double take, noting a flash of all too familiar gray metals that were sticking out of the Skylord's side among the smears of blue. While bullet holes and blast marks were standard fare when it came to battles, followed up by bludgeoning impacts and a sword's edge, to see pieces of another lodged into someone else was not terribly common on the landscape that was Earth. No major mortars or bombs being dropped... no massive combustions that could send bodies' worth of remnants out as additional shrapnel while taking down a building... While Patch had suffered such a fate at the cost of an unfortunate soldier, it still was surprising, Soundwave's helm twitching back over to look at Megatron's arm, noting just where the metals had come from.

What had happened? What had even DONE this? A full report on what occurred would be needed, one that would be paired with whatever the field team may be able to find when they eventually combed the site. It was an answer that could help dictate future events and how they handled things when dealing with the scavengers, however, it was an answer that could be given later, there were far more important things occurring that well surpassed such queries at this juncture. It was with this thought that an inky visor shifted back up to Megatron's feature just in case there was more to be 'said' between them, though in truth it was more to just not watch the Armada Eradicon directly as they were summoned, as if blind to the movement out of the corner of his vision.

To further keep Starscream's weakness 'hidden'.

After the soldier reported and the two made a handful of additional steps, Soundwave's visor would level out once more to the room as a whole, waiting patiently for them to all officially pass. It was only once eye contact was no longer possible for any form of silent communication that the navy mech truly moved, his stance shifting to then look over at the vortex of the Space Bridge. With a quiet activation of his visor, a couple of lines of data scrolled across it before the gateway closed, swiftly plunging the area into suffocating silence in comparison. Each footfall that much louder, each labored step accented among the stone-lined walls... Thankfully they would not have far to traverse, though it would no doubt feel miles longer.

A quiet ping was sent out before Soundwave returned to the terminal to manage both what was now occurring out on the field, as well as tend to his previous duties.

[Starscream]

Limping forward as quickly as he could manage – which admittedly wasn't fast at all – the silver Seeker continued onward, barely acknowledging the Armada unit as he made his way over. While Starscream had called on assistance, he would not utilize the help to the point of leaning on another immediately, at least… not here, not within view of not only Soundwave, but two of their soldiers as well.

As such, a dismissive servo was flung toward the other flier as he moved a little too close for comfort, a grumbled snarl the only noise - a warning to keep his distance until absolutely needed. MECH had destroyed his wings, shattered his pride, and made him look a fool, though he could – and would – regain and hold onto some of that dwindling dignity for a few more steps at least.

Perhaps there was a lesson to be learned here. That the once mighty team of Megatron and his Second in Command had unraveled some – a breakdown in communication when it mattered most, a failure to work in unison - a failure to hit that damned turret… the thought made him bristle, hissing sharply in pain, a wary glance to the Spymaster was given following the noise, only to find some relief in realizing his gaze was elsewhere.

Though it did not matter, for Soundwave saw all regardless.

No further words were spoken, no comments nor barked orders were given – his attention turning forward, watching as Megatron moved deeper into Blackridge Hold. Slowly, he would trail behind his Master, and only upon leaving the line of sight of the others gathered, would he quietly accept the assistance needed as they made their way to the Medical Bay.

[Ren]

AKN-921 knew better than to speak, as while he was one of Starscream's trusted elite – there was certainly a time and place for quiet words of concern. To speak in front of both Soundwave and Megatron would be foolish indeed, and so the flier was deathly quiet.

Though he still rushed to the Seeker's side regardless; moving perhaps a little closer than what was necessary in an immediate attempt to try and offer aid in helping the other mech walk. However, he knew quickly to back off upon the dismissal, falling into line behind the Second in Command, slowing his own pace and being mindful of the dappled Energon that fell upon concrete.

Megatron was not pleased, that much was evident - and the silver flier watched as the Warlord moved with a far quicker-than-normal step, with little to no regard shown for Starscream.

What'd happened out there?

Answers that may come in time, he supposed - though for now, he remained silent through what was no doubt an agonizing walk of shame for Starscream through the Control Room. Pride was a funny thing, something even he himself knew well, and it was only once they had turned the corner and were out of sight that he would once again try to offer some sort of assistance - which this time, was accepted.

Letting Starscream lean on him, AKN-921 was careful with his movements as they walked.

[Megatron]

Proceeding further into the depths of their underground fortress, Megatron continued to navigate the long hallways towards the Medical Bay. Along the way, he remained mostly silent aside from the rhythmic stomping of his pedes. Naturally, he thus heard the shambling in tow—one of Starscream's pets used as a crutch. Humiliating. It was almost as demeaning as the Seeker's state itself.

This is what they have been reduced to.

The burden of shame weighed heavily on his shoulders. As their leader, he would ever carry the lion's share of the blame for what had transpired tonight. He intended to make it spectacle, a show of force—a lesson in the folly of preying on superior beings.

He had measured his enemy by human terms, but clearly, such terms were no longer applicable. MECH had become something beyond human and he had failed to fully grasp this. They stole and they ambushed the unsuspecting, and by doing so quietly, they have become more than mere scavengers.

It provoked in him a quiet rage and it thrashed wildly just below the steely exterior.

Perhaps focusing on it offered a convenient distraction from his own condition and what it truly meant. He'd been hurt by human hands. Megatron had been hurt by human hands. And that was the greatest indignity of it all; to be burned so badly by the butchers' fire—by lesser creatures playing god. They struck with something they should not have possessed.

No more. No more truces and quiet investigations and secret battles waged in dark corners as more and more of their technology and biology slipped into enemy hands. Megatron would see MECH suffer a reprisal. Somewhere down the hall, he stopped suddenly, when they were all alone. He'd wait for Starscream to catch up to him—then he spoke.

"What happened today must never again be repeated. We will speak more of this later."

The tyrant's voice shifted from rasp to a growl as he stood there, not once turning to face Starscream. He felt his injuries keenly still, even as he made an effort to conceal the effects with anger. His words were spoken decisively. Surely, Starscream would understand. He had heard Megatron speak like this many times before. The Warlord has already begun forming a plan—one that would be shared in a more private environment once Starscream could walk under his own power again.

Then, he resumed his march and said nothing more until they would arrive at the Medical Bay.

[Starscream]

Watching almost in dismay as Megatron moved forward at a pace that he had no hope of matching nor catching up to, Starscream continued on as best he could. Even with the Armada unit assisting him now they were no longer being watched, every step hurt - every footfall sending gentle, yet painful vibrations up and into his wings, the exposed nerves stung against the cooler air of Blackridge Hold to the point it was all he could think about in that moment.

That, and how disappointed the Warlord must be – not only in the failure of the mission itself in that they'd left empty-handed against MECH, but also in his Second in Command, and perhaps the role he himself had played in the outcome they now faced. Missing that turret, a failure to warn or communicate… it was plenty convenient, even if Starscream would never dare to speak those thoughts aloud.

While he'd admittedly shown strength in making his way through the bridge and Control Room alone in an attempt to appease and downplay things, it'd faltered in that he had needed assistance. Assistance that Megatron himself would lay witness to, no doubt, when and if he turned around to see just what was keeping the silver Seeker.

Ah, but then something strange happened.

The Tyrant stopped- and waited.

Pushing himself forward with another gentle hiss of pain, Starscream felt somewhat rushed in that moment, almost in an obligation to hurry things along - and while he hadn't lingered too far behind to the point he'd lost sight entirely of the other mech, Megatron had put enough distance between them that this new walk to catch up to him felt all the more humiliating.

While it probably took him longer than he'd wanted, eventually the injured Seeker was close enough now to have his presence known. Yet, despite this, Megatron did not turn. Did not look at him, nor truly regard him, even as he spoke with growled words.

"Of course."

Strained words of his own in response. He'd expected as much, and the look from Soundwave moments earlier had all but confirmed there would be a discussion later to talk about just what'd happened, and what'd gone so wrong.

His processor spiraled then, wondering just what, exactly, would be said in that meeting. How much blame would be put on him for the lack of progress, and what sort of punishment would be the outcome for his role in things. Unconsciously, his wings sagged at the thought- only to be met with a growled yelp that pulled him harshly back into the moment, a noise that was paired with movement as he suddenly pulled himself away from the Armada in an attempt to walk on his own once more so as to not show further weakness.

Continuing on, he would follow the Warlord in silence - thankful the Medical Bay wasn't too much further from here.

[Ren]

Remaining silent as they moved, AKN-921 would simply do what was expected of him - and nothing more nor less. One arm carefully around the Winglord while being mindful of his injuries, moving at a pace that wasn't too quick, nor slow. His gaze remained forward, keeping note of where Megatron was, watching how the Warlord's march was far faster than the struggling steps of his Second in Command.

Even as the larger mech stopped, the Armada unit was silent. While part of the words spoken could be taken as being aimed partially at him, as even this walk down the corridor shouldn't ever happen again - he knew they were meant for Starscream alone, though would gently nod regardless, probably only because Megatron did not turn to face them.

It was what happened next that was surprising, and moments after the silver Seeker replied, did AKN-921 find himself pulled away from in an instant. Ah, it was that pride thing again, no doubt… and as such no motions were made, no words spoken to gently insist that Starscream could really use the assistance.

No, he knew better. Though was ready to quietly – and carefully – catch the other mech should he be needed to.

Falling into pace behind the Winglord once more, just in case this momentary burst of familiar stubbornness was quick to fail, AKN-921 would continue to follow quietly.

[Megatron]

Megatron let the words hang heavy in the air, leaving Starscream to contemplate them in silence.

He proceeded further down the hallway until they had finally reached the door to the medical bay. He was the first to step through and enter its premises. By now, his bleeding had dwindled to a mere trickle, thick with natural coagulants, but such a slight improvement did nothing to address any possible underlying damage. Even now, the limb hung limp, its lack of purchase and function clashing wildly with Megatron’s unflappable demeanor and powerful stance. He had been tried, but not checkmated, and all that permeated through the cold-iron surface was a constant frustration manifested in a locked scowl.

Were he the only patient for tonight, things would have been difficult enough for Flatline.

But he wasn’t.

“Tend to Starscream first,” he issued an effortless command, and much like the doctor before him, stepped aside and awaited the Seeker’s imminent arrival. He and his drone would no doubt enter shortly thereafter. When they did, the Warlord remained silent, letting Flatline get accustomed to the circumstances first.

As one could gather from his posture and the curt tone of his voice, he would permit no emergency care upon his own body for as long as Starscream remained in critical condition. Even though his arm required treatment, he knew who required Flatline’s expertise the most, and risking his limb was well worth saving his first lieutenant. In spite of all their differences, in spite of the circumstances, Starscream was ever an invaluable asset to the Decepticon cause, and the value of his life had been measured in excess of Megatron’s own comfort—or even of his arm, should it come to that.

[Starscream]

These last few steps felt like an eternity when compared to the others taken thus far. So close, and yet seemingly so far– Starscream trudged onward at a pace that was manageable, yet excruciatingly painful all the same. He couldn't slow, nor would he, for fear of stumbling to the point he'd only feel further humiliated.

He just had to keep going.

He did not hear the command given by the Warlord from where he was, merely focusing on walking these last few feet toward the Medical Bay where he'd find some sort of momentary reprieve. The weight of it all would no doubt settle upon him once he had stilled, the harsh reality of his injuries– especially the ones to his wings– would indeed be a lot to deal with.

He could only hope that Flatline would be able to fix things, though he saw no reason to doubt the Medic's skills. He'd worked a miracle on that idiot Vehicon with little to no resources, having to make do with what remained in the room itself, including the overhead lighting, and managed to walk the silver Seeker himself through the reattaching and rewiring of his secondary arms. He knew what he was doing, and Starscream knew to trust him.

Eventually, after what felt like forever to him, the injured Seeker pushed open the door with his good arm, staggering forward and into the room. It did not even register that it seemed Flatline had been made aware of their arrival beforehand; not noticing that things were set out prepped and ready, with two sets of monitoring devices set up, along with two sets of tools and whatever else would be needed. He barely even noticed where Megatron stood, tired gaze shifting upward, looking to Flatline for direction of where to lay down and rest.

[Ren]

Closely following Starscream came another, and as the silver Seeker pushed open the door, the Armada unit was quick to move forward and hold it open behind him, just so the Winglord didn't have to push himself further in the struggle to remain upright.

This was going to be a lot for one mech to deal with, even for as one as skilled as Flatline - and so he knew better than to immediately turn and depart upon the Second in Command's safe arrival to the room. Soundwave and the others would have things handled, should they opt to continue on with the mission that'd been started, and AKN-921 had a feeling he would be far more useful here.

So he waited.

Sidestepping away from the doorway once Starscream had made his way fully inside the room, the Armada Unit stood to one side, helm held tall - ready to assist with whatever was needed of him to the best of his ability.

[Flatline]

Flatline wasn't sure how he would feel when they would come into the room... Would everything feel normal as can be in any other emergency? Or would there be a level of terror overtop it all that could threaten to choke him out? He didn't want to lock up. He didn't want to feel a wash of horror that could make his hands tremble and his mind stutter... yet, he felt like it was inevitable and it was a challenge he didn't know how to square off with. A foe he had no experience in properly fighting. Never in his long life before Blackridge did he ever have to perform medicine under true terror. Fear of losing someone? Yes. He feared a great deal when it came to such things, both because of the failure involved and because of the threat of losing those who he did befriend... yet this would be a different type of emotion. A different form that could cloud his judgment and make him underperform at medical tasks he normally excelled at.

Footfalls.

Not any footfalls.

HIS footfalls.

Red optics that had been cast aside quickly shot back up to the doorway, the thunderous stride almost able to be felt through the floor itself. It made Flatline lift his bad leg slightly, nearly pulling the pronged hoof-like ped off the ground from the faint tremble, before planting back down nervously as the door swung open and the Warlord entered. Bloodied. Beaten. Yet far from thrown down... the wounds along his arm were impossible to miss, large ripping openings and torn-out chunks looking like a spray of artillery had been run across it. While he was not close enough to truly see, Flatline could already tell that they ran deep, especially with the way that the limb was being held almost as though something had been severed when it came to actual motor control. No proper swing to counteract the motion of his stride, nor the faint lift and tuck that most would do to try to keep it close to their center mass in an effort to shield it. There was none of that, and already it told him where he needed to start first, only... an order was made. One that was as telling as it was simple.

That Starscream had to be far worse.

Flatline's immediate step forward that he had started to make was halted at this, his helm whipping back up to the doorway just as it parted and the Skylord entered, followed quickly by an Armada Eradicon. The wounds present... there were so many... and instantly a wash of emotion flooded over the black and red mech. Not terror like he had expected to feel at their arrival, but almost... anger. Anger that he didn't have help. Anger that he didn't have an assistant. Anger that Breakdown wasn't there to use his strength for what it was damn well good at in this environment. That white-plated worthless soldier had simply let Starscream walk in here on his own despite the absolute trauma his frame had undergone. This resulted in Flatline's lips parting back into a sneer, gnarled dental plates bared as a sharp glare was cast in the Eradicon's way, before he strode forward quickly to cross the distance, the painkillers coursing through his knee giving him a far smoother gait than normal.

Dipping down, Flatline pulled Starscream's uninjured arm up so it hooked over his boxy shoulder cage, not giving him an out for pride or arrogance to try to argue otherwise. There was no real room for such a thing in this room, as he apparently already paid his dues by pretending he was ok enough by walking here on his own which... should never have happened to begin with. It was almost another cruel trial by Megatron, as while expecting the Warlord to assist his Second in Command himself could be argued as too trivial a task for the demon, he should have still ordered someone else to play a more active role in actually helping where help was needed. That was irrelevant right here in the now, however, and after a hard pull forward Flatline was having to pick up the damn medical slack again. Always given the short end of the stick. Always given the difficult jobs. Because others couldn't be relied upon to do what was needed to be done to care for not only themselves but for others around them.

Flatline thought he would feel fear at seeing them both...

He felt rage.

Not giving Starscream a chance to try to pull back or slow down despite any pain, Flatline would push onward, getting to the nearest medical slab where he would turn around and half sit down himself so he could get the angles needed to force the Skylord up as best as he could. It was awkward, he was not strong in the slightest... but when push came to shove individuals had to do what they had to, and this was one of those moments where he knew he couldn’t afford to drop anything both metaphorically and literally. This ended with Starscream sitting upon the edge of the table, where Flatline then pulled free from under his arm, his hand grabbing onto his collar to try to push him back to lay on the table. He knew it would hurt, how could it not? It was not only moving his damaged arm and punctured chest plating... but it would force him to flare his wings out to either side so the engine of his alt could rest flush against the flat surface. As painful as it could be however, as horribly EVIL as someone could paint him being, taking this action despite any agony it could cause would keep the silver mech from injuring himself further if he were to fall sideways or even forward off of the table.

"What caused this."

Straight to the point, no 'things will be ok' or other assurances that would be senseless bloat. Flatline needed FACTS and he wasn't in the mood to deal with irrelevant filler, casting the question out to whoever would humor it. It was while he said this however that he was already moving, his right hand remaining caged over Starscream's collar assembly with the blades tips against the medical slab so he physically couldn’t pull himself back up into a sit, while his free arm snapped over and grabbed onto the injector gun, passing it into his secondary arms that took hold and started to twist the dial to an appropriate dosage. It took only a flickered second to complete before the device was grasped once more in his left hand and he lined it up along the primary channel on the inner bend of Starscream's elbow, the tool letting out a loud click as it pierced and dropped a large dose of painkillers straight into the line.

The punch needle was a rather brutal means of delivering medicine, literally creating a new hole in what could already be a damaged frame, yet its speed of delivery and quick results couldn't be argued, there far less 'finesse' and lost time compared to setting up a longer IV which he could do later on when things settled. It was because of this he passed it back to his secondary hands for only a second to reset it before he took hold and pulled it up, pressing the maw of the gun just below the largest of wounds on Starscream's wing.

After the first needle strike, the Skylord would know what was coming next... how could he not? And that knowledge could be rather nerve-wracking when a device that would cause pain was pressed hard against a plate of metal that was sensitive on the best of days and on fire in the now. No time would be given however for there to be a 'wait', or any other declaration to stop, as Flatline pulled the trigger and the needle slammed in again with a louder pop into the hollower structure, dropping the concoction not only in the primary line of his arm, but as a more targeted region of his wing.

In a couple of moments, the pain would start to be washed over with a dulling warmth and numbness, one that would spread fast once it circulated to his pumps.

Permission gotten to push Starscream around