It was interesting to write Knock Out, as while Breakdown tends to demonstrate a more honorable and loyal side, Knock Out, by contrast, is more self-serving.

Some background: At age thirteen, I suffered from insomnia, and would often be plagued with visions of darkness, or apocalyptic scenarios. The scenes involving Polyhex, Tyger Pax, and the mines are ripped from my nightmares.

Breakdown being "gunked" is a reference to black lung, the unfortunately common disease suffered by coal miners.

The filmed scene that Knock Out and Breakdown view at the drive-in theater is from the 1956 version of "Invasion of the Body Snatchers."

I want to make something perfectly clear: I DO NOT HATE JACK. Jack is actually my favorite human character in the show. The reason I included the scene of C.Y.L.A.S. clinging to the imagined vision of beating him is to show how pathetic Leland Bishop is; he finds comfort in beating upon a defenseless teen, rather than facing up to what he has done to land himself in his predicament.

The uncut version of this is on A03.

The view would have been nice, Breakdown thought, if it had been centuries ago.

Sitting on the edge of a piece of intact flooring, his legs hanging over the side, he leaned back, and rested his weight upon his servos. The building's front had been gutted, its windows nothing more than broken glass upon the ground far below, and the wall a pile of metal. Both had been recovered by scavengers as resources for the war, after the surrounding area had become less hot. However, what remained of the roof and upper flooring still cast a shadow over him and his companion, hiding them from plain view.

Knock Out sighed, and shifted his weight from where he lay curled under the thermal blanket. Breakdown turned his helm to look back at him. "You still with me, doc?"

"Somewhat," Knock Out grumbled, snuggling deeper into the blanket, "If you're going to tell me that we need to change location soon, I'm not moving."

Breakdown smirked. "Guess you'd rather die?"

"I'd rather be warm," Knock Out replied plainly.

"We should be all right for a day more. Any longer, and I'm not quite sure," Breakdown replied, turning his helm back to stare out over the desolate surface. Gunfire and explosions erupted out in the distance, with smoke billowing into the air. He whistled as a burned-out husk of a building, visible due to the light shining through its skeletal remains, fell, leaving a large cloud of dust behind it. "Problem is, we're running out of places to run to."

"We have a place today," Knock Out commented with a hint of grouchiness, "Come sit by me." The palm of his servo tapped the floor invitingly.

Breakdown scooted backward. Knock Out rose up on his elbows, and lowered his helm onto Breakdown's lap, turning so that he faced the building's opening. Breakdown reached out a servo, and stroked one of Knock Out's horns. The medic nuzzled further into him, and groaned in pleasure. Breakdown figured he could see it from Knock Out's point of view. The building had been like a museum, in that it was filled with corpses from different eras of the war. Mangled soldiers from more recent attacks lay strewn, some bearing pieces of debris from dragging themselves to shelter. Laying under piles of debris were much older, charred, and broken corpses of civilians, victims from the initial attacks. They were nothing more than pieces of the scenery now.

But then again, Breakdown had been considered as such, after his regiment had been destroyed. Lying upon the hard, unforgiving concrete, the last, agonized groans of his comrades filling his audio receptors, he coughed heavily, unable to breathe from the energon that was pooling in his mouth. It splattered on the ground beneath him, his armor smoking from several gaping holes. He couldn't move his legs, and his systems were shutting down one by one, his processor reading red. Coolant leaked. He reached out a servo, its fingers broken, in vain pushing at a faceless that corpse that had once been Dirt Boss. The corpse was suffocating him, and shutting out the light. It couldn't end like this, with him forgotten among so many other corpses, not able to see the light. He'd taken his energon ration, and shared a joke with Crankcase, whose legs were laying in one place, and his torso laying in another.

Pedes thumped, or, at least, Breakdown thought he heard them. Was someone alive? Was it an enemy? It didn't matter. He hit his servo against Dirt Boss, creating a clang of metal on metal. It didn't matter, so long as he wasn't buried. The pedes paused, and a mutter was heard in the stillness. Breakdown hacked, his throat burning, and gasped, thumping his servo again. His vision was fading into darkness, and he wondered if he would even be around long enough to find out. His alarms clanged inside his helm, and he off-lined them immediately to keep his perception from shaking further.

Metal groaned loudly, and light exploded into his optics, forcing him to offline them as well with a harsh cough. "Got a live one," a male voice commented, the light mercifully being broken from the wounded mech's vision by the newcomer kneeling before him. Breakdown tensed as a servo slipped under his chin, and drew back his helm, his dentals gritting. Lashing out, he snapped at the air, the sharp jerking of the motion causing him to cough up more energon. "Hey, hey!" The newcomer hissed, drawing back his servo, "That's my servo, not an energon treat! Do you want help, or not?"

Breakdown groaned. "My burst transmission?" He croaked, "You got it?"

"No, I just like hunting through piles of corpses," the newcomer replied sarcastically, "Of course I got your transmission, and just in time, from what I can see." He sighed in annoyance, much to Breakdown's chagrin. "Broken, battered, but not unsalvageable. Looks like I have my work cut out for me."

Breakdown was tempted to feel relief, but dared not hope. "You're a medic? What faction are you with?"

"Your servos," the newcomer commanded, and Breakdown held them out for him. Grasping his wrists, he tugged him out. Breakdown slightly rolled on his side, and came face to face with dull red paint. Staring carefully at it, he registered that it was the side of the mech's leg. The mech turned, his legs shifting as he rose to one knee, and grasped Breakdown's arm to fling across his shoulder. Breakdown groaned, realizing he had little choice in the matter, and weakly tried to rise, his pedes shifting but not generating enough traction. "Don't strain yourself," the mech chided, "You'll just rip your wounds open further, and I'll have come here for nothing." Grunting, he started forward, dragging Breakdown along. "So, to answer your questions, yes, I'm a medic, though I'd rather you keep that to yourself. Since I haven't seen fit to take you apart yet, I suppose we can infer that I'm a Decepticon, then, yes?"

Breakdown spat a wad of energon away from the medic. "Wonderful berthside manner you have there. I assume your patients must be raring to get better so they don't have to be near you for long."

"Cute," the medic replied, grunting as he lifted him slightly over a helmless corpse that had been Misfire. "You have a name?"

"Breakdown," he replied curtly, "You?"

"Knock Out. Now, as much as I'm enjoying this pleasant conversation, save your breath. You're going to need what precious little is left of your energy."

Breakdown snorted, and turned his helm away. He didn't have to be told twice. The motion of Knock Out's pedes soothed him, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

The next thing he recalled was Knock Out instructing him to slowly get up, and the medic's servos guiding him to a sitting position. He stared at the patch job Knock Out had given him, flipping his appendages over to reveal welded metal. "It's not perfect," Knock Out commented, wiping his servos on a rag, "but it should do the job for now." Breakdown tilted his helm at that, and Knock Out smirked. "After all, we haven't discussed your payment yet."

Breakdown shook his helm. "If you're after energon, you can dig through the pile of dead we just left. Might be spoiled, though."

Knock Out laughed, and stored the rag away in his subspace compartment. "No, not what I was thinking of. Rather, I'm looking for a shield."

"You have a weapon. Protect yourself."

"No thanks," the medic waved a servo, "I'd rather not get all hot and sweaty when I don't have to."

"Oh, pardon me, then. I didn't realize that getting killed was optional," Breakdown hissed bitterly, drawing away from Knock Out.

"Relax, I'm not twisting the knife in you," he replied reproachfully, "You lost your regiment. I can understand that. You're on your own, now. You won't survive long without someone watching your back."

"Apparently you have," Breakdown replied curtly.

"And yet I've been looking for someone to accompany me," Knock Out corrected, "I'm offering my services to you as a medic. Would you, in your right mind, turn that down?"

"We're on the same team," Breakdown replied suspiciously, "You're obligated to protect me."

"I'm not affiliated with a regiment." The finality of Knock Out's tone implied more than he was letting on, but Breakdown could hazard a guess. "If you stumble around, looking for another one, odds are you will be gunned down, especially in an area like this. Everyone is shooting first, and asking questions later."

"Hence, you found a wounded one," Breakdown finished. Knock Out nodded. "All right," Breakdown agreed, wincing from the pain, "I'll play your little game. But if you try anything, you're dead."

Knock Out swept to a mock bow. "That won't be necessary. It'll be a pleasure to work with you. Oh, and just one more thing."

Breakdown's optics narrowed. "What now?"

Knock Out clasped his servos together, and rubbed at them. "I have been seeking an assistant, as well. Since you'll be with me, maybe you'll learn something."

Breakdown groaned. "Oh, wonderful."

XXXXXX

Shelter, due to the constant shifting of their environment, was difficult to come by. An empty civilian store, reduced to near-rubble. In the shifting shadows, provided a half-enclosed space. It kept both on edge, however, when pedes stomped by in the distance. Knock Out polished himself vainly in the darkness, nearly drawing a laugh from Breakdown at the sheer pointlessness of the act. Seeing his reaction, Knock Out scowled at him. "At least I take care of myself," he growled in annoyance.

Breakdown's learning had come along quickly, though that was to be expected. While his skills were not even close to the level expertise as Knock Out held, he was quite useful in dragging wounded bodies out of the line of fire. Of course, he'd had his own form of training for it. "Big mechs like me, we were stuck in the mines. I'd drill and haul tons of material. The strain on my body was immense. My vents," he placed a servo to his chassis, "were gunked, as were a lot of mechs', so it was painful to breathe. It wasn't until the uprisings that I finally got the slag cleaned out of my system. Still, nothing compared to being able to walk around in broad daylight. In the mines, I'd go years without seeing the light of day." Breakdown shook his helm as he pushed the unhappy memories away.

"Try decades." Breakdown turned his helm at that. The medic sighed, indicating that it wasn't an empty boast. Placing his servos upon his bent knees, he explained, "You and I both know that miners don't last long underground; it's too hazardous. However, you also know that the drivers of the mines tried to wring out whatever was left of the miners before they were spent. That's where I came in." He raised a servo, and rubbed at the side of his helm. "There were a few of us, deep underground. We patched and dragged every injured or dying worker back to the line. The patients I had didn't last that long, and most of them were gunked like you were. Truth be told, I learned more about taking mechs apart than I did fixing them," he shuddered, "especially covered in dust and slag." Returning his gaze to Breakdown's, he explained, "Hence, you can be assured that I'll be able to drag you, kicking and screaming, back to life if I get there in enough time."

"Any of the mechs not want to be 'saved?''' Breakdown asked, deliberately using the term loosely.

Knock Out narrowed his optics at him. "The most common plea I received from the wounded was for death. I couldn't blame them, really, but I had to do my job. If not, well," he shrugged, "I could be easily replaced."

"Why didn't you?" Breakdown asked before he could stop himself. At Knock Out's blank reaction, as he had been caught off-guard by the question, the warrior pressed, waving his arm, "You could have put at least one mech out of his misery!"

Knock Out stood, and pointed at him. "And you could have put down your mining tools, and refused to continue on. You could have tried to instigate a riot. Megatron is leading a revolution, and he was a slave in the gladiatorial pits, for Primus's sake!" Lowering his finger, Knock Out finished bitterly, "In the end, we valued our own lives more than anything else. We're both self-interested, but without that, I'll wager that we wouldn't have survived this far. I suppose that makes it acceptable."

Breakdown was about to make a rebuttal when Knock Out caught a yawn in his servo. Shaking his helm, the medic cut him off. "I'm tired. Evening watch is yours. I'll take dawn." He walked off a short distance, and lay down, curling in on himself. Breakdown made no move to wake him, as the conversation had been unpleasant enough. Perhaps his comrade was right, to an extent, but could the same have not been said for the Autobots, who served under Optimus Prime? They had been complacent, as well. Breakdown clenched his fist. Unless that was Knock Out's point.

However, as he stood, and leaned against the retaining wall behind him, his arms folded, Breakdown realized the question that had gone unasked between them. If he was on the brink of death once more, and begged Knock Out to kill him, would the medic refuse him? For a moment, the thought crossed his mind to eliminate the possibility altogether. The next moment, however, he turned his helm away. He hadn't spoken of the past with another, at least, not in such vulnerable terms, due to a lack of relevance. Wallowing in the past would prove to be nothing more than a distraction. Suffice it to say, he had shown weakness toward the medic, but Knock Out had rewarded him in kind, as opposed to insulting him. Staying his servo, Breakdown realized how unsure he was of this, but he was willing to try his luck. He had no one else.

XXXXXX

Whoops and cries of jubilation filled the air. Fire burned bright, consuming debris and the corpses of Autobot soldiers and civilians. Autobot banners were thrown onto the pyre. Polyhex had fallen to the Decepticons, who were reveling in their victory. Shots from firing squads popped in the distance, and new bodies were dragged over to be unceremoniously flung onto the pile. Knock Out leaned heavily upon his spear, the triumph of the moment tempered by his exhaustion. Dried energon was crusted on his servos and wrists. With Breakdown at his side, he'd operated on scores of Decepticon soldiers, leaving him half-compelled to offline in the aftermath from lack of proper fuel.

"Hey, doc!" He turned to see Breakdown walking toward him, and his optics widened at the two cubes of energon he held up. Tossing one over to him, Breakdown declared, "Celebratory stuff. Savor it if you can." Plopping down beside him, Breakdown groaned heavily, and cracked his neck. "Slag, what a day." The big mech was covered in bits of concrete and shrapnel, some pieces of which had torn jags in his armor. He'd positioned himself between Knock Out and the projectiles whenever possible, leaving the medic to crouch low, and intensively work on the wounded that had been dragged before them. Having to change location often, they'd fought their way through, Knock Out electrocuting soldiers, and blowing their processors, while Breakdown bashed in faceplates with his hammer. Tugging Knock Out's arm, had Breakdown yanked him backward, and swung him back around out of the path of a blade.

Knock Out's spear fell to the side as he collapsed beside Breakdown. He leaned heavily against him. He'd gotten used to having him by his side, and curling up with him for warmth. Breakdown smiled. "Gotta buff you later, darling. Looking a little dirty there."

Knock Out smiled back. "At least you're honest." Breakdown wound his free servo around Knock Out's waist, possessively tugging him closer. Knock Out had been slow to open to him over time, and Breakdown had understood why: medics didn't take sides in war, officially, anyway. Knock Out's first affiliation had been with the Decepticons. When asked why, he'd cited their emphasis upon individual freedom as his reasoning. "After having my decisions so often made for me, I don't want to rely on anyone else."

As it turned out, they had inevitably been. A failed pre-emptive strike made him, as well as the few surviving members of his squad, prisoners of the Autobots. Upon recognition of his skills as a medic, Knock Out was employed by the Autobots as their medic. "It was strange, really," he commented, rubbing the side of his cheekplate, "I was healing the same mechs and femmes who we had helped kill." He'd tapped his shoulder. "They tried to give me a logo. Glad that didn't go through; it would've been pain to take off."

"How'd you leave?" Breakdown had asked.

Knock Out had smirked at him. "During the same battle I found you after. It's easy to get lost when lines break."

"Ever get tempted to go back?"

"No. I don't agree with them for many reasons," Knock Out had replied simply, "Most principally, the notion of the 'greater good' that I've had the displeasure of a few choice Autobots expressing has brought me nothing but trouble in the past." He had waved a servo. "I should be grateful that I'm still alive, but given how often I'd been sent to front lines, it wouldn't have taken long for that to change."

In some ways, he figured that Breakdown had it in the back of his mind that he would, at one point, be taken back, or leave of his own accord, hence the possessiveness. But, all the same, he hadn't found himself disliking the contact. It had saved him on more than one occasion, after all. Knock Out had shoved Breakdown against a wall riddled with bullet holes, and kissed him deeply, his frame feeling as if it was burning from the rips and tears into it. Breakdown, while surprised for a moment, had reacted by grasping his aft, and lifting him into the air.

A servo flopped on the pyre, and Breakdown put down his cube. "Knock Out?"

"Yes?"

"You see that?"

The medic shrugged. "It was probably from the pyre collapsing inward. Gravity is making the bodies fall on top of each other." However, Breakdown couldn't help but notice Knock Out's servo shaking slightly as he raised his cube back to his lips for another drink.

XXXXXX

The sunset cast the sky in an ominous blood red. In the distance, a sea of Decepticons marched quietly toward Tyger Pax, bearing banners and broken weapons. Slight limps stuttered the steps of the uneven lines. Broken chants in favor of Megatron and the Decepticon cause rose from the crowd. Knock Out stepped back from the shrouded side of the round building, the empty wide window well previously allowing a vantage point for snipers. The first wave had answered Megatron's call, broadcast widely over the transmissions of all soldiers that fell into line behind him. This was to be the final battle, the turning point of Praxus having come and gone, splattering Breakdown and Knock Out with gore, and leaving cries of agony ringing in their audio receptors. Yet, the adrenaline rush of It all fueled him in an addictive manner. An energon bath was to occur, and that would be the end of it. There would be too many bodies to burn and melt down.

And frankly, that was what scared him. While it would be the final battle, it would be the most horrific, taking all involved with it. He didn't want to be taken with it, not when he was so close to freedom. He was surrounded by bodies, kneeling in a pile of them, and bathed in the red light, and the spilled energon, with broken limbs sprawled upon him. One body lurched forward, and grabbed his shoulder. Jumping, Knock Out cried out, and thrashed against the massive arm that held him back.

"Easy, easy! It's just me!" Breakdown chided. Knock Out sighed, and relaxed. Breakdown released him. "When the second wave departs, we should go."

Knock Out clenched his fists. "I'm not going."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Knock Out replied quietly. "This is suicide, Breakdown, and you know it. There are too many troops engaged, and just look at them," he pointed out at the limping soldiers, "They're all damaged. We're getting too tired to carry on with this war."

"Then what, you'll run again?" Breakdown hissed.

"And what will you do, shoot me?" Knock Out demanded, glaring at Breakdown, "You owe your life to me!"

"We both owe ours to Megatron," Breakdown replied firmly, "Or would you rather we both have stayed down in the mines, to be killed by a collapse, or an accident? Damn it, Knock Out!" The medic winced as the warrior drove his fist into the wall, denting it, "I didn't even have a fragging name before this revolution!" His shoulders heaved, and he breathed hard from the exertion of anger, his arm falling to his side, sending chunks of metal falling. Taking a breath, he continued in a deflated tone of voice, "B-46, that was my designation. That was all I could ever be. I could think, I could feel, but no one cared. I…I…" His voice trailed off, and he stood, dejected, his helm down.

Knock Out started forward, and, despite his better judgment, grasped Breakdown's servo in his. Squeezing tightly, he gently scolded him, "Hey, enough of that." Breakdown slowly raised his helm, and Knock Out continued, "You have a name, and you can do what you want now. No one can stop you."

Breakdown smirked, running a thumb over Knock Out's fingers. "But you don't get it, do you?" The medic's optics widened as he continued, "I'd want you to come with me."

"You'd lead us off a cliff," he replied, sighing heavily, "As I've told you before, I've seen how factions work. If the Decepticons fall, we'll be taken with them."

"I know that," Breakdown replied sharply, "But if it comes to that, I'll pull you from the fire. You wouldn't have to worry about me. It's my decision, and I'll take the consequences for it." Knock Out paused at that, and Breakdown slipped his servo from his. "You can leave if you want, but if you do, I can't guarantee that I'd spare you, if I saw you again."

Knock Out folded his arms. "Then you've chosen your side." He shrugged. "I didn't realize you wanted to get rid of me so much, but," he smirked, "I suppose I can change my mind."

Breakdown waved an arm dismissively. "Not for me, I hope."

"No," the medic replied curtly, pacing and twisting his servo in the air, "Forming a third faction would be too difficult; not enough support, with everyone being as polarized as they are these days. I suppose the Decepticons would be better; more freedom offered, and they are, after all, the winning team." He stopped before him, and smiled knowingly. "You wouldn't have shot me."

"Don't look so smug," Breakdown corrected. Knock Out's smile faltered as he added, "I could see it on you. You thought I would." He shrugged, dissipating the tension. "You can't fool me that easily."

"Well then, I am stuck with you." Stepping forward, Knock Out grasped Breakdown's chin, and lowered it to his level. Leaning forward, he caught the warrior's lips. Breakdown groaned into the kiss for a moment, only to grasp Knock Out's shoulders, and pull back out.

He ran the back of his servo over the medic's cheekplate, remarkably smooth despite the war due to his handiwork. The corner of his mouth curled up as he turned his servo around to cup it. He stroked the surface with his thumb. "Guess you're lucky, then." His spark hummed in its chamber, much to his embarrassment at its heat.

Knock Out smirked at his reaction. Wrapping an arm about Breakdown's shoulder, he beckoned, "Come on, Breakdown, we've wasted too many years."

He had such nice optics, bright and expressive, widening at the slightest of sounds. Right now, they were narrowed playfully, and Breakdown found that he couldn't say no. Tugging Knockout's helm forward, he kissed him hard, dragging his glossa across his lips before driving it into his mouth, and licking against his dentals. Knock Out's servo blindly felt along Breakdown's shoulders and neck before finding his cheekplate. He nodded, and his servo slid down to Breakdown's spark chamber. "Open for me."

"Of course," he replied, releasing the lock on his chamber. Knock Out's optics widened at the light for a moment, and then the next, he released his own lock. Breakdown lowered himself toward it, the electricity and heat driving into him, and firing through his systems as their sparks twisted and merged. Knock Out cried out, arching his back. Breakdown grinned at the sight. "Primus, you look gorgeous." Knock Out's self-satisfied grin was the last thing he saw before his vision plunged into darkness.

Breakdown was lost in the mines again, without a name, and told that his only purpose was to dig ore for the rest of his days. His path was lit by bare bulbs, and bathed in darkness in spots. He glanced about, searching for a way out. He wanted to see the stars, just one more time. Descending further into the darkness, the lights flickering out, he felt so utterly alone, the mine dead silent. Headlights clicked on before his vision, burning his optics for a moment. Reaching up his servo, he shielded them, only for his servo to be grasped and gently lowered by Knock Out. "Found you," the medic declared.

Groaning, Breakdown lay back against the wall, Knock Out sprawled in his lap, and tracing his servo lazily over Breakdown's exposed spark, its light blue glow casting over Knock Out's face. The white glow of Knock Out's own spark was broken by Breakdown stroking its warmth. Knock Out's servo fell as he off-lined, his pleasure whispering over to Breakdown, and giving him a moment of reprieve. He smiled, and shook his helm. "What am I going to do with you?" He whispered softly.

Descending the building the following morning, with the echoes of gunfire and explosions roaring in the distance, Breakdown and Knock Out joined the second wave en route to Tyger Pax.

XXXXXX

Through the cockpit window of a jury-rigged passenger ship, Breakdown stared at the broken husk of Cybertron, his utterly floored expression reflected at him in the glass. Knock Out stood just behind him, his one servo placed upon the seat just behind Breakdown's helm. Centuries of Breakdown's own existence upon the planet played through his mind, the frustration and agony at being kept underground, and the thirst to be free, and enjoy the world above, as so many others had. But for it all to come to this?

"You still with me, big guy?" Knock Out asked quietly, his voice betraying a slight shake, and his fingers tightening upon the cushion of the seat.

Breakdown sighed heavily. "Yeah." Staring at the controls before him, he began, "Haven't gotten a message to regroup yet, so we're on our own for now. Everyone must be too scattered. Maybe I should check—"

Knock Out placed his servo over Breakdown's as the warrior was reaching for the transmitter. "For right now, let's not think about it," he soothed, "If Megatron needs us, he'll reach us. Just take us far from here. We'll go anywhere we want."

Breakdown sighed. "Doc?"

"Yes?"

"We helped cause this. Think it was worth it?"

Knock Out hesitated for a moment. Breakdown sensed his bondmate's inner turmoil, and knew that it mirrored his own. When the medic spoke, it was to ask a question of his own. "What do you think?"

Breakdown met his optics in the window, and realized how utterly tired and sad Knock Out looked. It struck him, in that it was so starkly different from the usual zeal he conveyed. "I honestly don't know," he replied in a lost tone of voice.

Knock Out stroked his fingers. "Then there's nothing more to say." Breakdown, their fingers still interlocked, reached forward, and commanded the ship to depart for deep space.

XXXXXX

"Oh for—someone clean that up!" Knock Out exclaimed in annoyance, backing away from the operating table as C.Y.L.A.S., his skin pale and his dark veins sticking up just beneath his flesh, vomited to the side. A Vehicon dutifully rolled over, and began to wipe at Breakdown's splattered husk, and the floor. "Disgusting," Knock Out hissed down at C.Y.L.A.S., who fixed a bloodshot glare upon him, his teeth gnashed. Foam leaked out of the sides.

"F-Fuck you!" C.Y.L.A.S. snarled weakly, devolving into a heavy cough. His shoulders remained unmoving, and he stared up perpetually at Knock Out, the medic having jammed a rod into his spine to paralyze him from the neck downward. He'd nearly killed the human by mistake then, having to scramble to save his necessary organic parts.

Knock Out had felt Breakdown's death, but hadn't wanted to accept it. A tool had slipped from his servo to clang upon the floor, and Knock Out had fallen to one knee, one servo grasping his desk, and the other gripping at his spark chamber. He had off-lined his optics at the sheer pain and utter gloom he felt. His servo had slipped off the desk to hit the floor. Bringing his optics back online, he'd coughed, and grasped at the air, hitting against the legs of the table like a madman when he had been trying to catch Breakdown's servo instead. Breakdown's spark had called out desperately to him, and he'd reached out in vain, trying to keep him in the living world. Sucked into the darkness with him, Knock Out felt his systems beginning to power down, with warnings of power failures flashing at him. With a gasp, he had collapsed upon the floor.

Coming to, he had been surrounded by four Vehicons. "Sir?" One had asked in concern.

Sitting up, and placing one servo to his spark chamber, Knock Out had inquired, pausing in-between words to take heavy breaths, "Breakdown, has he reported in yet?"

"No sir," another replied, "Though Lord Megatron wishes to speak with you. There has been a complication involving Airachnid."

"I see." Grunting, Knock Out stood up, and brushed past them.

"Do you need further assistance, sir?" Yet another inquired.

He waved one servo dismissively over his shoulder, and kept the other placed to his spark, willing the residual pain to go away.

He hadn't realized until recently how truly foul human beings were. The Autobots' defense of such depraved life forms was beyond him. What sort of race wore the skins of other sentients, and paraded about as them? However, part of his ire was directed toward Megatron, as well, for allowing this human to try and curry favor with him in the first place, even though he did throw him to Knock Out in the end. As for Airachnid, he decided that it would be quite fun to saw her legs off, one by one, when, not if, he caught her. Oh, she'd get hers soon enough.

Parked next to Breakdown at a drive-in movie, the warmth from his bondmate ghosting over him, Knock Out watched as, in black-and-white, a human male dramatically kissed a human female in his arms, her eyes closing. As they began to open slowly, her eyebrow quirked, and the corner of her mouth turned up, much to the male's horror.

To hear that—that thing's voice come from Breakdown's vocalizer…Knock Out heavily considered rebooting his processor to avoid a system-wide crash.

C.Y.L.A.S. had proved himself to be nothing more than a paper tiger in the O.R., screaming in agony as Knock Out filled him with chemicals that corroded his internal systems. He pleaded for death's embrace multiple times, and pleaded still as Knock Out picked up a small surgical blade. There was a method Knock Out had learned quickly in the mines to help him fulfill his necessitated duty, despite mechs begging in his audio receptors and shoving at his servos to put them out of their misery. It was such an easy file to access now. C.Y.L.A.S's eyes stretched wide, and he let out a guttural scream of agony as the blade slowly ripped through the tissue of his right lung.

Just.

In his mind's eye, he saw himself stroking the side of Breakdown's helm, bearing a gaping hole where his optic once was. "You're lucky they didn't take more of you," Knock Out had admonished.

Shut.

C.Y.L.A.S. wheezed in a breath, but felt blood building in his throat. It was as if he was drowning. Above him, Knock Out's scarlet optics, wide with excitement, hovered. The heart rate monitor jumped, and staggered, the lack of oxygen disrupting his blood flow. Knock Out carefully gauged it against his internal clock. A few seconds more, and he'd hook C.Y.L.A.S. into Breakdown's ventilation system to keep him alive. A bubble of blood rose in C.Y.L.A.S's mouth. Theoretically, it should, anyway.

It.

The bubble of blood burst, and blood streamed from C.Y.L.A.S.'s mouth and nose. Knock Out shook his helm in disapproval, and shut off the surgical blade. C.Y.L.A.S. envisioned himself grinding the head of Jack Darby, the teen's eyes swollen shut, and his teeth knocked out, into the dirt with the heel of his boot. He clung to the vision like a lifeline as his vision darkened, his control slipping away. Raising his helm, Knock Out called, "Drill please!" He smirked at the exhausted look on the human's face. Poor bastard thought it was over.

Out.