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

[Megatron]

Megatron remained at Flatline's side as he assisted Starscream and began the preliminary steps of the procedure, shadowing him but remaining always a step away, neither interfering nor obstructing his way. He would watch intently, but make no comments. Behind the medbay doors, any notions of pride or appearances were not to be considered, not when lives were on the line.

Posture was unnecessary, only the mend itself mattered.

It was just after some nominal treatment had been administered—a painkiller, he assumed—that the old lord dared to answer the doctor's question.

"MECH's crude imitation of our own technology."

He spoke in a plain tone, matter-of-factly.

"Suppressive fire and heavy, energon-derived weaponry were both employed, but above all else, explosive trauma is to blame."

Hopefully, Starscream still had enough strength to answer on his own terms, for Megatron could not have possibly known the details of every injury that had come to mar the silver form of his First Lieutenant. Regardless, he had answered plainly and without his customary pose, further accentuating the gravity of the situation.

All throughout, he would maintain an awareness of the scene, Starscream primarily, only veering off to look directly at Flatline when spoken to or when he thought the doctor could request assistance, though no such demand had been voiced up until now. Perhaps it was an unspoken rule not to burden the Warlord with menial tasks, but Megatron was not above such duties when the call had to be made.

Although, in this particular instance, he would prove to be of little use. He did only have one limb to spare, and the other still sorely called for attention as well. So, for the time being, he watched. His gaze offered little comfort, but showed no signs of annoyance or reprimand. If anything? Megatron seemed concerned, keeping his optics narrow and focused.

Whether it was concern for Starscream's well-being or what his sorry state meant for the Decepticon cause at large remained to be seen. Like as not, it may have been both at this stage.

[Starscream]

There was little to no resistance from the silver Seeker at being immediately moved – a gentle hiss of pain as his arm was pulled up and around the other mech, perhaps, but there were no words of protest nor complaint. His stubbornness had paid off getting him this far, that pride the only thing keeping him remaining upright, though even he knew better than to swat away Flatline's aid in these final few steps.

Before hopefully relief would be found.

Doing his best to assist simply by moving alongside the other mech as best he could, Starscream allowed himself to be maneuvered as needed. Grimacing as he was somewhat awkwardly moved up and onto the side of the berth, he was not given a moment to breathe before he was pushed downwards. A sharp gasp was the only noise at this, followed by a whimper that was quickly masked by a growl – so as not to be heard – as his wings were forced outwards, splaying some so he could lay back.

It was only then that he would try to push back against the other mech's hold. every urge screaming at him to do so to prevent further agony to his wings; his first instinct was to sit upright to spare himself this new surge of blinding pain that'd come with them being angled in such a way, though, in his weakened state his attempts to do so did very little indeed.

The words from Flatline were expected, though almost went unheard completely through yet another pained hiss.

"Turret-" he gasped this out following Megatron's own answer, his voice hoarse - the single word laced with pain. The smaller injuries that littered the front of his chassis and other arm had clearly been done by something with far less firepower, handheld weapons no doubt, to the point he felt they did not need to be addressed.

"It was… Ghn-" his optics closed tightly, a sharp exhale escaping him, gasping as the punch needle pierced into the line near his elbow without warning. "-a turret."

One that Megatron had failed to destroy when it'd mattered most, though hopefully his words answered the question well enough and explained how he had been so badly hurt by human pests. Not many could avoid turret fire, and he was no different- even in flight he probably would've taken a hit or two.

Though would've no doubt made far faster work of finishing off the damn thing himself.

It did not take a genius to work out that the Warlord himself had been hit by that same weaponry, with the shrapnel from that attack impacting the Seeker's own frame– who had then taken the brunt of its assault. It'd been planned, that much he knew, the weapon moved there awaiting the first Cybertronians to seek out the portion of Hymn that'd fallen there. They hadn't sat there awaiting ambush with intent to capture, no.

They'd been set to kill.

Opening his optics as Flatline moved uncomfortably close to his wings, there were no attempts to even begin hiding the look of fear. He knew what was coming next, knew it was needed– knew it was necessary and would help him, though in that moment the thought of further pain to his wings had him nervous. Clawed digits gripped the sides of the berth as he weakly tried to push himself up once more, even with the arm that'd become practically useless, deciding the pain from moving that would help distract from-

"Nngh!"

If it weren't for Flatline holding him down and the fact Megatron was looming nearby, no doubt laying witness to whatever weakness was shown in this moment, he would've jolted upright in a second. Though even despite the initial reaction to the surge of momentary pain atop all the rest, he did well enough; gasping out, with optics opening wide… before settling back against the berth as the numbing agent began to work.

[Ren]

The silver Eradicon stood within the threshold of the Medical Bay, wings held outward in a betrayal of the tension he currently felt watching events unfold before him. Everything happened so quickly that he was certain he would've just gotten in the way should he have tried to help the black and red mech move the Air Commander further. The glare from Flatline was concerning, and even though no words had been spoken by the Medic he had a damn good idea of what it meant, though he did not speak to try and argue his side of things, no.

Speak when spoken to. Do what is asked, when ordered. No more. No less.

To do anything else, especially in a highly volatile situation such as this– and with Megatron himself here, no less? It wouldn't end well.

So he stood. Quiet. Unmoving. Waiting to be called upon to either leave, or assist. Streaks of blue marred the silver of his frame from where Starscream had bled upon him, though he did not seem phased by this any. The V of his optic not leaving Flatline, watching for a gesture– for anything at all that'd indicate just what he was supposed to do here.

[Flatline]

The first stages of receiving medical care after a traumatic injury, or series of injuries, could arguably be some of the worst. The pain was still fresh and surging, no aid or medications having been offered yet, while they were forced to move in ways contradictory to more comfortable angles. It was why Flatline had caged his right hand over Starscream's collar and neck, putting down enough pressure from his body weight to keep him from being able to sit back upright. It wasn't fun for anyone involved, yet it had to be done, and once the medication was delivered? Well, it would only grow easier. If they worked adequately, there would be no flinches or hard wrenches away in agony... it would just be dull aching discomforts and heavy pressure felt when he undoubtedly had to try to fish bullets out from his frame.

Flatline's helm crooked slightly as the other two mechs spoke of the attack.

A turret, one created from MECH. This idea was terrifying, as the damage truly did look like something he would have assumed to be from the Autobots. At least, the largest of injuries did. The smaller peppered gunshots did appear like what he would imagine human artillery would be, yet he didn't know, having not directly treated such a thing yet. Whatever the case, he finally got Starscream settled as much as he could ever be, resulting in his caged grasp being pulled away, hovering only a moment to make certain he wouldn't attempt to sit up before he turned, glancing back at Megatron's arm.

The Warlord needed assistance too... such a thing was impossible to miss... yet his wounds were far less traumatic and were not actively hemorrhaging Energon. Dapples did speckle the ground from the tips of his claws, the luminous blue standing out against the stone-lined floor, though that was acceptable enough. It was not running down actively to create puddles signaling a dangerous line breach internally. That didn't mean damage to motor control was impossible though, the lack of proper movement making it evident enough that something deeper had been struck while avoiding primary fuel channels. In an ideal world, Flatline would want to help him first simply to not receive some sort of backlash by ignoring their leader, but he hardly could. Though... perhaps he could offer some reprieve if the beast wanted it.

Multitasking in a way others could not, Flatline's secondary arms took control of the injector again, a tremble raking the one that had its wrist broken unintentionally before he ejected the spent needle and loaded a new one into it, one of a thicker gauge so that it could breach heavier metals. Proper dosage would be dialed into it, all while his primary arms were working on Starscream, grabbing onto his torso paneling to get a grip so that he could ease his upper frame gently to the side in order to get a better look at the bullet holes.

They were deep, and the mesh lining the inside wasn’t immediately visible, meaning that the combustive force of the artillery had bent and ripped it larger internally. It was no wonder Starscream was losing so much fuel, and as such a red panel on Flatline's forearm popped up, his other hand grabbing onto the resin gun that he quickly loaded a canister into. It was at this time he then grabbed onto the punch needle from his secondary arms, his long limb holding it out with the needle cover still on for Megatron should he want it.

"To alleviate?"

Flatline sounded confident enough, though some nervousness did creep up beneath it all, not sure if it would be insulting or not to give the Gladiator an out while he had to wait as though he couldn't handle pain, and by extension if it was rude to seemingly say he could do it himself. It may be better to assume he didn't need help however, and as such, no eye contact was sent his way, his focus remaining on Starscream as a secondary hand took control and twisted the canister to lock it into place on the resin gun. Passing this tool into his free hand not holding the punch needle, his smaller claws grabbed onto Starscream's nearest paneling to try to hold him steady.

Working as though he didn't need the limb that remained held out to Megatron, Flatline started to use the resin gun to fill the turret holes, the expanding material blocking off the tattered fuel lines with the temporary patch.

As of yet, the Armada soldier wasn't addressed, though that didn't mean it was forgotten, some thought being put into how to quickly give the worthless thing a task to help stop their Warlord's bleeding. Flatline could spare a second to do a small tutorial once Starscream was no longer actively dying.

[Starkrieger]

Frag it all…If there was one thing that distracted him from being burried under tons of rock, it was the shrill little ping. 'You are due for a check up' it so proudly announced. Ridiculous! He’d spent most of the war hopping from one mud hole, or dusty crater to another with field medics as the ‘best’ option. If a limb wasn't dangling from it's wiring, there wasn't time to bother. This was just a waste of resources (and nothing to do with his irrational hang ups, of course). Usually he'd try to put it off, and sometimes Knock Out let him get away with it. Krieg fancied that it was an unspoken arrangement between them. He got to skip out, if not the whole appointment, at least the worst parts. In return, when his medic decided he was 'overdue', there would be no fuss (or as little fuss as possible)

…But Knock Out was still gone, and ‘Second Rate’ probably had enough stress, running the infirmary. Besides, a part of him wanted reassurance from the old medic. Ever since his raid with Coldwind, something was off. Day and night he felt it from time to time, like a film of liquid clung to the walls inside his vents. At random his plating itched, begging his claws to dig around and scrape out the annoyance.

It was all in his processor, right? Flatline would yell at the stupidity, torment him a bit, then toss him out. Once he knew it was nothing, he'd be able to ignore it; so, it'd simply be a quick in and out.

Whatever sounds might have made it through the door, nothing could have prepared him for what he walked into.

Flared wings cut through all else. Starkrieger’s stiffened on instinct, miroring the eradicon’s frame language before even senses reached his processor. Tension shot to his core, the very feel of the room given a direct conduit from the bristling tips that matched the 'drone'. Everything else caught up at once.

Megatron’s presence, looming, was so very out of place, marking just how badly things had gone. What hit harder was the blue, distinct, unmistakable, and flowing far too freely. Not even a nano-click passed, but recognition seemed to creep along as the Seeker put together just who was on the slab.

Not again.
Primus please… not his Lord

Megatron could have physically laid servos on him and at best, would only have driven him to do what he was programmed for, to fight and defend. Starscream’s words might have reached him, but it would have taken time to get through what was building from his spark. So much energon, so many lost... until there was silence, walls closing in. However, there was one that stopped the useless spiral. Optics flicked towards Flatline, the mech's body language was ridgid with the control that only a medic in his element could wield. A measure of sanity prevailed in the way he wove chaos into order, something that kick-stated the soldier's better sense.

Medic. Obey the medic. Focus!
Who was injured? Command.

He wasn't supposed to be here. Soldier’s weren’t supposed to know when an officer was critical. They were too prone to panic, too prone to spreading rumor and fear through the ranks. A quick exit was his go to with any excuse to remove himself from the medbay, but Flatline had him freezing in place without the need for words. Being barked at for needing to be told what to do was infinitely better than acting in haste. Medics didn’t tolerate mecha getting in their way.

Discretion, command needs discretion.

Against self preservation, the Seeker closed the door, hopefully limiting what passersby might see, but also trapping himself inside.

---

Assumptions about KO/Krieg interactions cleared with Ren. Thank you <3

[Megatron]

Megatron briefly glanced at the offered needle. Instead of chastising Flatline for whatever myriad reasons one could imagine—assumptions, posturing, pride—he simply grabbed it with his healthy hand, sweeping it from the claws of his medic with an almost gentle motion, yet one still firm enough to clasp properly the tool. He then slid up his thumb along the length of the injector as Flatline continued with the matter at hand, thus removing the cover. In Megatron's grasp, the tip seemed proportional, perhaps even fragile, whereas for most it would have presented as a brutish tool. He showed little hesitation in bringing it to the mangled limb, and thence punching in the chemical mixture within.

He'd done so just as the Seeker entered the room, saying nothing nor visibly changing in expression or demeanor. Whatever relief it offered was only for him to know, but the fact that he'd accepted its sting in the first place spoke volumes where his words and expression left things unsaid:

Up until now, Megatron had been in agony.

Soon after, he offered the soldier a brief nod, turning in his direction at a slight angle, thus revealing the full extent of his own injury. Though Starscream was the one worse for wear, his form had been greatly marred by today's events all the same.

"I assume you are here to assist the good doctor," the tyrant stated without his conventional bitterness, making a mere passing statement as his attention shifted once more from Starkrieger to Flatline, indirectly pointing to the center of the action—or perhaps the medic himself to the presence of a new arrival. The mech needed direction, orders, and for once, he would not be the one giving them.

This was Flatline's medical bay, and as far as Megatron was concerned? He was just another patient, waiting for the more pressing procedure to reach its end.

[Starscream]

The silver Seeker lay almost motionless atop the cold metal slab of the medical berth. The sharp, unmistakable smell of Energon the only thing he could focus on in that moment, knowing that it was his. Barely paying attention to what Flatline was doing, he seemed to relax some as the numbing agent coursed fully through his lines, dulling the immediate pain, though doing very little to soothe the turmoiled thoughts that wracked his processor.

He stared up at the ceiling, optics dimmed, though averted his gaze to avoid staring into the brighter light above him, seemingly peering straight through the medic as he loomed overhead to do what was necessary.

He wouldn't try to sit up again now that the majority of the pain had subsided into nothing more than an almost tolerable dull ache. He trusted Flatline to do what was needed, to save his wings – as while he hadn't been able to see the extent of the damage himself, he knew they were badly hurt.

Barely focusing on what was going on, his thoughts turned inward, grappling with what'd happened, and what would come next. His wings, a symbol of status- of speed, of his power were marred, and while he did not doubt that he would fly again, the thought of being grounded at all was suffocating to the point he felt absolute dread.

As Flatline worked, there was no resistance as he was moved, just simple resignation as to what was going on. It barely even registered that the medic was doing two things at once, his words scarcely heard atop the buzz-like hum of the overhead lighting which he had chosen to focus on completely as a means to distract.

Only when Megatron spoke, the Warlord's words cutting through the static in an instant to address someone he could not see, did Starscream's gaze weakly shift. He angled his helm as best he could manage without moving his frame, trying to catch a glimpse of whoever it was, venting out a rasp of a sigh as he recognized the other Seeker in an instant.

The pain may have been numbed, but the heavy sting of failure remained acute, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts, even more so now that one so loyal to him was laying witness to this moment of weakness.

[Ren]

AKN-921 remained where he was, frame tense yet unmoving to the point he was almost statue-like - with wings held up sharply behind himself. He was ready to move at a moment's notice, to assist in an instant with whatever was needed of him, even if it was something so simple as helping Flatline move the injured Seeker or hand over some necessary object that was out of reach.

Though even despite the fact things were happening - Starscream eased into a different position, a salve of some sort prepared for Megatron himself – no immediate orders came for him.

He stood, transfixed almost, watching closely as Flatline worked, attention snapping only briefly to the door as it was pushed open once more, almost as if ready to shoo whoever it was away, even if he had no rank nor authority to do much of anything of the sort unless it were a simple Vehicon or Eradicon trooper.

It was Starkrieger - the sight was a relief, almost, as it meant another pair of capable servos should the Medic need them. He paid no mind to Megatron as he turned, not wanting to stare at the Warlord's injury for more than a flickered half-second so as to not draw unnecessary attention to them, though found himself wondering just how big this turret had been to inflict such wounds.

MECH were getting more dangerous by the day, it seemed.

Aside from this brief glance and nod to Starkrieger, the Armada unit was quick to turn his attention back to the medical berth.

[Flatline]

A flicking glance was cast over as Megatron retrieved the punch needle, Flatline not sure if he felt a level of surprise or not. On one hand, the immovable wall of power, the great gladiator who had burned a world to ash, had actually sought out pain management in front of others... while on the other hand, it was true that he was but a mech, and not a god. Pain was pain, and what was there was not something that could be brushed aside as a nonissue. If push came to shove there was no doubt that he likely could have continued his seeming indifference, yet this was not a room for cruelty. So much could LOOK brutish and punishing, yet it was a path that needed to be taken in order to find recovery.

Trauma surgery was the worst of it all... it rather barbaric in comparison. There was no delicate care that could be offered, nor could there be a kind discussion over what treatment would be and just what it entailed. This wasn’t working on replacing a hand or trying to strip melted plating off a limb to start to rewire melted conduits beneath. This was central mass trauma, where some of the most valuable internals could be, and words were not something that could be offered out to give comfort. No. It was time to work, and as such, Flatline's left hand dropped to assist in this, just as he heard Megatron speak.

Dipping down to try to look aside to see just who he was speaking to, Flatline saw Starkrieger who he hadn't even heard enter the room, the mech looking paralyzed in shock or horror at just what he was seeing. In truth, he had forgotten all about the Seeker's set checkup, otherwise he would have hastily canceled it to save this incident from even occurring. This was obviously far more important. Despite this, he then processed just what the Warlord said, dots quickly connecting with what options there were.

Peering back at Megatron, Flatline pulled free a second canister of resin to load into the gun he was using, moving with so much practiced care he wasn’t even looking at what he was doing while trying to come up with a second plan of action.

"Megatron, can you lie on the other slab?"

As much a question as it was an order. If he could lay down, and get his arm up onto the flat surface as well? It would help keep fuel from draining as fast from gravity alone. It was with this Flatline's left hand then held out, pointing at the other two.

"Starkrieger. Soldier. Help him so internal systems in his arm aren’t used!"

A barked order, one that Megatron could choose to deflect or not. In truth, Flatline just didn't want him to try to involuntarily command hydraulics and other cable pulls inside his limb that could put pressure on damaged points or risk ripping things that were hanging on by a thread. If they treated the limb as if it was completely severed? Then good on them. He couldn't linger to watch however, focus shifting down to Starscream as he pushed and pulled the other mechs frame to try to get the best angles possible for the resin gun, patching up the larger bullet holes so that fuel loss could halt, giving him the freedom to then address the gnarled piece of silver that was jutting out from his side.

This was no bullet casing, and it sure as hell wasn't a broken piece of blade or the metal from a human vehicle. Flatline knew instantly what it was, its dull grays pitted and etched by years of trauma that had befell it only to be healed time and time again through a lifetime of conflict. The fact the turret had done THIS was concerning, and the fact he couldn't tell how big the piece was from external views was even more so. It could be a long spear that was lancing deep into his core, or it could be a blunted end like a hatchet that didn’t puncture far and had only gotten snagged. He had no real idea.

A fleeting look was given to Megatron, trying to see just WHERE the part may have come from to figure out how big a chunk it may have been, however so many holes littered him it was hard to say, and he knew he needed to treat it like any normal injury from an unknown source.

Fanning his hand out to press down on Starscream's abdomen just below where a sternum would end, Flatline applied gentle pressure like he had done before to forcibly keep the other mech stationary, his secondary hands grasping onto the top and bottom sides of the exposed metal, almost cradling it like it were a piece of glass that could shatter instantly.

"You will feel a pull that seems worse than it is. Stay still."

Flatline's voice was calm and informative with a kinder edge than he had used with the soldiers, trying to make sure Starscream knew he wasn't going to have his internals made externals with a gutting rip. It was after this warning the Skylord would feel a deeply rooted pulling feeling, like the plate of metal was taking things out from within like a morbid fishhook. As hollowing as it could seem, in reality, profound care was being taken, the secondary hand's fingertips snaking between shrapnel and body to feel and gently peel back metals that may have gotten snagged in the process. He tilted aside burrs and clipped channels. Lifted 'skin' from curved edges that otherwise would have acted like a knife. The focus put into this was absolute, to a point Flatline's gaze almost seemed to haze out and look ahead at nothing in particular.

This wasn't something that could be done via sight. This was something that had to be FELT, and with every passing second, he was loosening the obstruction, something that needed to happen, yet in doing so it removed that which was holding some lines closed from pressure alone. It was as the plate was half retrieved that fuel would start to flow as if the injury was just made, an instant splatter of Energon and oils pouring down that had been starting to fill the central cavity before the plug was pulled aside. It created a sickly sheen of blue that was mixed with darkened oils that curled across its surface in shimmers.

Flatline's jaw tightened at this, yet he didn't change his pacing, the same leveled care continuing with his secondary hands readjusting their grip when needed to keep their smaller digits plunged internally, doing well keeping fans from the T-Cog and adjacent stabilizer system from getting pulled out with. It was after what had to have felt like an eternity, yet was only brief moments that could have passed before the others could get Megatron in place, that the thick shrapnel was removed fully, Flatline's left primary hand grabbing it and roughly planting it down onto the medical tray beside him with a rattle, the smear of blue on it showing just how deeply it had pierced.

Which was concerningly so.

Not once did Flatline look over upon starting this process, his focus remaining on Starscream as his primary right hand that had been on his abdomen then pushed against it, forcing the mech's body to lean aside slightly rather than lay flat. This let him see inside the gaping wound, his left hand dropping to grab onto a pair of forceps to pass them to his secondary hands before his thumb hooked the edge of the opening and roughly pulled it further. With this cleared, the tools would be used, their ragged inner edges gripping onto the bio-silicone primary channel that was the main source of all the fuel loss. This would ratchet closed with a series of clicks, biting off the tubes in a way that effectively severed the fuel line from his primary pumps to his lower side and hip assembly, making it temporarily 'dead', much like how he had ripped the Vehicon's circulatory system in half in the trial not long ago.

At this point, Starscream would no longer be losing Energon beyond smaller lines, though that did not negate the volume that had already been lost.

[Starkrieger]

Him? Assist a medic? Megatron had no idea how far from the truth he was. Starkrieger was, perhaps, too aware of his limitations. He’d never so much as applied a mesh patch, let alone dealt with any of … all of what he was seeing. The state of the warlord’s armor hardly made it any better. Megatron was a force by sheer size, the chunks rend from his frame not as dissimilar to what the Prime’s blaster had done to his own. Whatever had done that to the mech, had likely been a cause for the energon obscured injuries Starscream suffered.

Thankfully, there was no delay in him realizing his best bet was to shutup and follow Flatline’s lead. If the medic needed him, he was duty bound to comply, his own shortcomings be damned. Helm turning to better focus on the old mech’s presence, he willed him to send him away, hoping against the odds that he was not needed.

His designation, the stern tone it came in, prepared him for what was about to be demanded of him; while his rank reminded him of his place and the strength that came from it. Chassis straightening his helm dipped with compliance.

“Sir.” A succinct acknowledgement, with no hint of the way his tank wanted to roll. There was no time for that. As he drew nearer to the indicated berth, he lowered his wings, not with the slow ‘fading’ into hiding from nor a snap from emotion. The movement was pragmatic, getting them out of the way, should Megatron need to brace himself. His servo was certainly massive enough to need the clearance …

Indeed, the obscured focal point of his optic moved the length of the mech’s arm, only slight movement of his helm indicating that he was surveying the warlord. Fragger’s arm was nearly twice the length of his, the bulk of its armor beyond the span of the Warlord servos, never mind the Seeker’s. As the behemoth moved, he gauged his center of gravity. Thankfully the warlord’s seemed structurally stable, better calibrated than many of his mass.

“Whatever you need… I’m built sturdy enough” He lowered his voice, the matter between himself and the Warlord. Megatron, no doubt, felt entitled to such help, and he wasn’t wrong… but that didn’t mean he assumed that an unknown soldier wouldn’t shy from him at the worst moment. Given the size difference between them, it would be a valid concern.

Reaching for the limb, the Seeker let Megatron dictate the pace, the angle he would need to move. If allowed, his right servo brushed mindful claws against plating, seeking seams to tuck their tips into without causing damage. He intended to secure his grip, midway above the elbow. If the Decepticon leader needed him to bear his weight, his own pauldron would be the better option anyway, freeing the Seeker to use his armed side to support the limb further down. Closely watching the injured mech, he was prepared to test bending it carefully. If the elbow joint didn’t stick, he wouldn’t have to put as much pressure on the shoulder.

[Megatron]

As Flatline continued to tend to Starscream, Megatron's optics lingered on the medic even when he gave the command. The Warlord said nothing of his informal address or his blunt delivery. In another time, perhaps he would have taken the chance to do so, and severely at that, but such notions were immaterial at the moment. Too much was at stake. Formality was a luxury. He acknowledged him with a simple yet resolute nod.

The support offered by Starkrieger had not been refuted, though the Warlord did twitch slightly at the sensation of another reaching for his limb with an ingrained sort of caution. Being thus assisted, there was no need or room for the Eradicon in attendance to service him as well, and so Flatline could certainly utilize him in any way he saw fit. Meanwhile, Megatron let himself be guided to the medical slab beside Starscream's without protest. Slowly, he sat down at the edge of it and gave the doctor a wide breadth in order to not interfere with his work.

Once he was firmly seated, Megatron lifted his feet off the ground with a deliberate upswing, shifting them to the bottom part of the table while gradually lowering his torso to lay back. He would do so in the opposite direction of the neighboring slab, sparing Flatline any prospective encounters with his massive, plated boots. He would also not wrestle his arm from Starkrieger's grasp, instead letting the mech put the numb limb to rest in whatever position he saw fit.

It could be that he lost control and sensation in it altogether.

Then, for a while, Megatron simply stared at the diode-light beaming overhead. Sharp and overpowering, casting strong shadows over his marred features. Eventually, he closed his optics for a spell, let out a deep sigh, and only opened them to turn his helm towards the medic and his first lieutenant once again. He was forced to squint with a slight furrow, struggling to make out the details of what exact procedures were taking place.

He did not comment on them, urgent and violent though the words and actions made them appear.

[Starscream]

Despite the urgency that surrounded them, things had been relatively quiet considering the circumstances, and so the sudden, barked order from Flatline made the silver Seeker flinch. He found himself quietly thankful that any further pain incurred from this brief, involuntary movement couldn't be felt, and was quick to resettle. He offered no resistance as the Medic eased him as needed, even if he didn't have the strength to fully watch just what he was actually doing.

There was a flicker of relief as both Krieg and the Armada unit were ordered to see to Megatron rather than himself, as while the two soldiers were steadfast and devoted to him to the point he trusted them, in this moment it was a double-edged blade. Their loyalty was a source of pride, and while they had seen injuries in others, as was common in war, he did not want them to see him like this– and he loathed the thought of them witnessing him so vulnerable. It was bad enough they were in here at all and knew he was hurt, though he was grateful for whatever help they could provide to assist Flatline.

"You will feel a pull that seems worse than it is. Stay still."

The gentle warning pulled him from his thoughts, and his attention and gaze shifted to look at Flatline's faceplate, almost as if searching for further reassurance.

"Wh-"

The half-word was rasped, exhausted sounding - things not clicking until a second later. Wait, the shrapnel… He knew it'd lodged in deep, and logically knew it'd have to be removed so the healing process could begin, he just hadn't expected it to be so sudden. His wings were far, far more important to him- though this injury was certainly more dire.

Luckily, he couldn't feel any sharp lances of pain as Flatline carefully eased things aside to make the process easier, though there were the occasional and undeniably uncomfortable feelings of things being shifted and pulled. The scent of fresh line Energon came swiftly after, the smell made him nauseous - optics closing momentarily to try and focus his thoughts elsewhere.

He wanted to arch his back, to try and help alleviate some of the sensations of being pulled, though refrained - both in part from being almost too weak to do much of anything, but also found himself prevented from doing so by Flatline.

It felt like an eternity, one that he had to wait out.

But then a noise- the rattled tell of metal upon metal as the shard of shrapnel was placed into a medical tray. Only then did Starscream open his optics, helm lazily tilting one side to see just what it looked like and how bad it actually was.

Ah, that certainly explained the cloying stench of Energon.

"Well done." he uttered, weakly - the faintest smirk on his lips. That couldn't have been easy to remove without causing further harm, and to get it all out in one piece? Flatline was certainly skilled indeed.

Shifting his focus back to the ceiling, Starscream fell quiet once more, wondering just how Megatron was faring across the way. He hadn't realized just how large the piece of the Warlord's frame had been until he'd seen it laying there beside him- an unsettling reminder of just how dangerous MECH actually were.

[Ren]

Watching as Starkrieger moved, AKN-921 was quick to follow at Flatline's order. Though he was quick to realize that this probably wasn't a two mech job, and should he move further forward he would only serve to get in the way of the Warlord and hinder the task at hand.

Despite this, though, he would watch, remaining mere paces from the pair - ready to jump in and assist at a moment's notice should Megatron need further help in maneuvering, and ready to take over from Krieg should he need it.

But it seemed like they had things handled, and he'd nod in relief as Megatron eased himself up and onto the medical slab. The Armada unit didn't move back to where he had originally been standing moments prior, though would sidestep, allowing the Tyrant an unobstructed view of Flatline and Starscream, should he wish to observe how things were going.

His own gaze would follow, looking to Flatline- wanting to be useful somehow, though unaware of any initiatives he should take to do so.

[Flatline]

There was a faint flicker then, hesitation taking hold for the most minute of second in this critical instant despite everything that had to be done, Flatline caught off guard at being praised in the midst of chaos. Thanks after the fact could be expected should someone not be too arrogant to admit as much, small moments of weakness offered to give gratitude to someone who worked hard to make sure they were still functional and could see the light of the next day... yet to hear it part way through? Flatline's gaze snapped up to Starscream's features, another pause made before he spoke in a way that was almost... awkward? A form of uncertainty that clashed with his previous confidence.

"Thank you?..."

Confusion wasn't even remotely hidden in these two words, before movement caught his attention, looking up in time to see that Megatron had settled with the assistance of Starkrieger with the Eradicon at standby if something somehow went wrong. This sight made him straighten slightly, trying to figure out how things were going to be balanced at this juncture given the fact that the vast majority of Starscream's fuel loss had been halted, while their Warlord still had active bleeding. The number of the Skylord's wounds meant they were still rather critical however... the shrapnel opening being the one of main concern... yet he had to try to balance, red optics flicking between the two soldiers he had available to him.

Hooking his arm out, Flatline grabbed hold of the monitoring device that was tucked beside the medical slab, pulling it closer abruptly to his side so that he could start to unspool the cables with practiced motions. He would then turn it on, typing in the commands so that the magnetized ends would activate, before planting them down on key points on Starscream's frame. They would keep tabs on his Spark, primary fuel pump, and processor activity, as well as some other critical 'need to know' data that were things that were understood only to medical personnel. With this in place so that if he started to somehow crash he would be well aware, he then placed his hand momentarily on Starscream's chest, to try to draw his attention should his mind have drifted.

"One moment. Things are ok..."

With these words, Flatline spoke with confidence once again, his tone softer and more reassuring than it had been thus far for the other mech. He couldn't afford for him to think he was abandoning him, as that certainly wasn't the case, however, he had to act when he had to, as to do otherwise could cause bigger issues in the long run. It was after this his helm rose, turning about face and moving into a limped walk after grabbing a rag with cleaner on it as he did so, rubbing at the edge of his digits to remove all trace of Starscream's Energon from their smooth surface. It was here he got his first real sight of Megatron and what blighted him, noting just how deeply the wounds plunged despite his aggressively thick armor. It once more brought up concerns on just what MECH was now capable of, yet that wasn't a thought process he could travel in the now, grabbing firmly onto the angular panel that curved over its front.

With this handhold, Flatline tilted the limb some to try to get a better view at the spot where the largest chunk had been ripped free, noting that it was likely the point that found its new home within the other mech. It was while he maneuvered the limb that he felt profound gratitude that Megatron had opted to use the pain killer, as a sort of grating noise could be heard deep within, his movements stopping the instant such resistance was felt before he turned it back and let it down gently where it once was, the faintest flick of a glance given to Megatron, though was scared of what expression he may see. While the sound could seem generic in a way to others to signify something was wrong, to Flatline it pinpointed where a major point of concern was, and by extension a part of what was likely disabling the limb's functionality as much as it had been. With this, he stepped up towards the Warlord's elbow, forgoing the other punctures and ripped components in favor of just what he heard there.

With little warning, Flatline's bladed digits plunged into the bullet hole closest to the hinge, and while his motions were certainly mindful and damaged nothing as he did so, the action looked almost barbaric in nature like he was ripping into things with wild disregard. This resulted in his hand twisting in the process, Energon seeping out from the new obstruction taking the place where it once pooled, before he retreated just as quickly, a mangled bit of metal, catching the light with the fuel-smeared knives that consisted of his fingers. It looked to be a whole casing, though certainly was misshapen, bent from being pinched between the outermost lower disk assembly to grate in between.

While he didn't technically need to deal with this in the now, he knew that he would need to move the limb, and to leave it in there would continue its damage beyond what was already there in the now. It was an investment for future him that he had to pay, and as such, he sat the casing aside with a click against the steel tray.

He would then turn to Starkrieger and the Vehicon.

"You two!"

Flatline pointed briefly at each of them as if there were any chance for miscommunication on who he was speaking to, then grabbing hold of the rolling medical cart that had been preemptively prepared by the berth since the moment he had a heads up of the incoming crisis. Atop it was a metal tray and an abundance of tools, however, Flatline quickly moved a handful of them off to the side so there was no confusion, pressing forward a stack of mesh patches, and a scalpel like blade front and center.

"I am going to show you something and you better pay attention. Okay?!"

Whether they said yes or no, Flatline would likely continue into the demonstration anyway... for as far as he was concerned, they WERE going to cooperate and if they wouldn't? He was going to make it their problem in the foreseeable future. He frankly needed the help, and if one of them did back out and retreat, he honestly didn't know exactly what he would do, a nervous glance cast back to Starscream before looking back at Megatron, only to then move back at the two unexpected helpers.

[Starkrieger]

Megatron twitched, averse to being touched. Small wonder, the old gladiator hadn’t exactly lived an easy life, add to it the endless war, leading a faction that showed little tolerance for vulnerability? Krieg wouldn’t have been surprised if he got rough with him on impulse. But there was no fuss, no aggression; he simply compiled.

Though lowered, his wings flinched against his strut, anxious. He was no medic. The last time he’d handled injured mecha, it was to save them from being smelted on the spot. Speed had been all that mattered then, as there was no thought for care. Fortunately, Megatron wasn’t a hesitant mech. As much as he might be allowing Krieg to lead, the Warlord was, in his way, leading him. There was no time to overthink, no opportunity to over compensate. Instinct and training conditioned him to anticipate and to react to others, to understand where and how he had to move to coordinate with them, even when comms were down, so that was what he did.

Remaining focused on the Warlord, he engaged him in the weird dance of staying out of his way while moving the limb with his frame to support its weight. Careful to avoid pulling, or jerking the limb, he moved it gingerly, as ‘naturally’ as he could, figuring that was the least strenuous for his moving parts. Only once the arm was in place, carefully settled beside his chassis, did the steadying claws unhook themselves.

Frag, he hadn't’ caused further damage, right?

Unsure what else to do, he joined the Eradicon to the side, out of the way, before sparing him a glance. His presence was steadying. The silver plating marked him as one of Starscream’s own. If nothing else, he was likely as out of place as the Seeker himself.

“You Two!”  A sharp digit backed up the call. ‘Yes you’ it answered, before either of them could be stupid enough to ask. Every subsequent move was watched, his optics flitting in the direction of each pass of the medic’s servo, separating desired tools from the set. He understood where this was going, but it wasn’t real until Flatline made his ‘request’. Krieg heard no question, there was no asking. In these situations, a medic overrode any allegiance and all rank. Today, Flatline’s word was law. Without thinking his helm dipped in a quick nod, even as his processor rebelled.

He was just a soldier! He’d never been good enough to be fielded into a science division, nevermind medical. He couldn't be trusted to repair a loose wall panel, nevermind a functional mech. Okay, so he’d never really tried, so set to follow his predetermined path. Any achievement towards other roles was a threat to his purpose, thus he’d paid mind only as it suited him, laughing off failures as the wastes of time that he made them… but he was no longer a youngspark and this wasn't a game. 

Primus, Flatline looked nervous? It took everything in him to not think about why, or in whose direction he’d looked.

“Order it, it will be done.” If the uncertainty that shifted his weight to his right was the source of his low volume, it didn’t touch the firmness in his tone. Starkrieger had resolved himself, no retreat, he wouldn’t abandon the medic, and didn’t doubt the Armada mech would prove just as faithful.