... I need to stop getting ideas.

This was inspired by countless pictures on deviant Art, most of which were by The-Starhorse. Her art rocks, you must go look at it. She makes the cutest Knock Out and Breakdown. And the funniest photo comics.

PSSSSST. I might do photo comics. END PSSSSST.

Anyway, they were all sad pics and comics of Knock Out, and I was all "Knock Out's life sucks." Because seriously, it seems like every episode, something happens to him. His paint gets scratched, he stops a train with his face, his best friend dies, Starscream's an asshole, and not to mention none of the other 'Cons give him little to no respect. BOOOOO. I think Megatron would have thrown him out of the Decepticons a LONG time ago if he wasn't their only medic.

At least this way, he gets a bit of dignity, eh? Makes his own choices! 8D You go, Knocky! We support you.

I'm doing a different way of titling the chapters, after lyrics in songs. This first chapter title is from the song "Spark" by Tori Amos. Good song, if a bit depressing. But depressing is EXACTLY what I needed for this first chapter. (Also, about the song in the beginning... I needed to use it for SOMETHING. And it seemed to fit, so teehee.)

... Mostly it's just Knock Out angsting. AND I LOVE THAT.

Enjoy, guys! More *gasp* PLOT to come soon.

There's no explanation or forewarning underneath all the crimson linings

We approach the streets with a clear conscience, we'll survive

Let it all fall down... let it all fall down...

It's one way to afford a horizon, and not to mention

It's one way to say we're abandoned

And we don't belong here at all...

~"Romance Is" by LIGHTS

The only sound that echoed through the now-empty Med Bay was the cold, ritualized clink of the doctor putting away his tools.

That was how Knock Out liked it. He was alone now, and there was nobot to disturb him. His last patient for the day, Soundwave, had made his exit joors ago, leaving the medic to his own company. He'd had to patch up the silent mech's blank screen of a face before he could even process about fixing his own damage. And now there was no more time for that; the deep scratches on his finish would, regrettably, have to wait until tomorrow. In the meantime, all he could do was take some pain reliever and hope he could recharge. As bad as it looked - which was awful - it hurt just as badly, if not worse.

He vented heavily and swallowed the far-past-medical-grade energon, offlining his optics for a brief klik. All these aches weren't doing anything for how unbelievably tired he was feeling. "It's been a long day," he muttered, leaning back in his chair. "Too long, if you ask me," he added, opening his eyes and staring at the ceiling.

He pushed himself up out of the chair and looked down at his desk. A digital hologram frame rested on the corner by the computer, and he carefully picked it up. His claws curled around the sides as each holographic picture drifted past it. There were so many photos. Most of them were of him and his medical/combat partner. His assistant. His comrade. His... friend. "Breakdown," he vented, optics moving rapidly over every detail of every picture.

There was one he remembered from a long time ago, when they were still studying to be medics. Back on Cybertron, when life had been simpler. They were holding up their first top mark, from a medical laboratory assignment. He couldn't quite remember what the assignment had been, but he did remember that the mark their teacher had awarded them was the highest in the class for that particular lab. So of course they had to go be idiots and take a picture of their lab datapad with a big blue "A" on it.

Things had been different back then, in a lot of ways. In school, he'd always remembered being... happier. Breakdown had been too. Back then, everyone had expected Breakdown to become the full medic and Knock Out to be his assistant. Of course, who could blame them for thinking that? The way Knock Out remembered it, he'd been lazy back then. He chuckled, shaking his helm. "I think I even cheated off some of your papers, Breakdown," he mused, flicking a claw over the screen to change the picture. "And I don't believe I ever said thank you, either."

More pictures, more memories. Most of them had been taken by Soundwave's cameras, and Knock Out had persuaded the communications officer to transfer them to the holo-frame. (After all, Soundwave knew what it was like to have someone you never wanted to forget. In his case, though, it was Megatron.) He couldn't remember the occasions of a lot of them - and he had no idea how he'd obtained the one of himself and Breakdown racing together. But he liked to have them anyway, especially now that Breakdown was gone. All of his time with his friend was over; he only had the memories, even if he couldn't remember a lot of them.

He gently put the frame down and rubbed a servo against the side of his helm, accidentally touching a couple of the scratches. "You're getting old, Knock Out," he mumbled, pushing his chair in. "Soon you'll be forgetting your medical tools inside some unfortunate Vehicon's spark chamber..."

He walked over to the exam table, to make sure he'd cleaned it well after Soundwave had left, but a sudden wave of pain washed over him because of the scratches. He gripped the edge of the table, gritting his denta and waiting for it to be over. It was excruciating, like a sharp burning all over his body; like a knife digging into each and every cut, reawakening the initial agony. It wasn't bad enough he'd gotten hit with a train, was it? His body had to make him keep reliving it.

Once it passed, he cycled his vents deeply a few times and leaned wholly against the table. "Primus..." He felt so much like crying. How was this fair? Soundwave probably wasn't even hurt that badly. He was hurt on one part of his body and had been given the best care possible, while Knock Out was still in pain in at least fifty different wire paths and would have to wait to even repair himself. He was the medic and he had to wait because Megatron's precious little spy had to be patched up right that klik.

He let his helm fall forward onto the table, offlining his optics. It wasn't fair. He never got any respect around this slagging ship. He never got any respect among the other Decepticons. Airachnid probably got more respect than he did, and look at that hot mess. She had defected, probably been captured by Autobots, had offlined his best friend, and still everybot thought more highly of her than they did of him. And he was their medic?

"Somehow I pictured this differently," he commented to no one. "Being a medic is supposed to be a noble profession. I'm the one who takes care of every little complaint they all have. The faceplate cracks. The detached limbs. The life support, for Primus's sake!" He reached up and rubbed at the back of his neck. He was suddenly feeling so very tight and sore all over, worse than just nanokliks ago. "And what do I get for all my trouble? I get scolded because I attempted to climb the ladder. I get barked at to attend to everyone else and ignore my own problems. I get ordered around like I'm everyone else's maid."

He carefully pushed himself up into a standing position, wincing at the pain the action created in his back struts. Primus almighty. Why did he put up with all this? It wasn't like he was getting anything from it anymore. The only really good thing he'd gotten was that he was with Breakdown, his best friend since medical school.

Fluid tried to spill past his optics, but he just shook his helm to clear the feeling. He missed Breakdown; there, he admitted it to himself. He didn't just want to honor his partner's memory. He wanted Breakdown back. There was no reason for that sparkless glitch to offline Breakdown. She deserved to have been executed, and she knew her termination was coming. She could have run. She could have fought. She could have done anything but kill him.

He wished she was the kind of person to actually have friends. Then he could hunt down her friends and brutally murder them so she knew how it felt.

Knock Out straightened up a bit more, ignoring the stabs of pain. He now had a bigger problem to contend with; the scratches were itching. Like some little scraplet was crawling all over him. "Urghh..." His claws moved stiffly, he wanted to relieve this stupid sensation so badly. But he couldn't even, he knew, because all that would do was make the cuts worse. That would cause more pain, and he was reluctant to take more of his medication. He didn't have much of it left, and going to look for more was such trouble.

He contemplated taking another vial, but thought better of it after a glance toward the drawer he kept it in. It wasn't worth it, after all. If he could manage to control himself, the itch would go away soon. Then he'd just have the pain to deal with. "I'm sure it'll start working soon," he reassured himself softly, lightly rubbing the side of his faceplate. He just wanted to fall into his berth and recharge for an entire deca-cycle.

He walked into his quarters, turning off the lights for Med Bay. Today felt like the longest cycle of his entire life, and he was simply ready for it to be over. Maybe - though he didn't have a lot of hope - tomorrow would be a little better.

As he closed the door, he admitted one thing to himself, even if not verbally. Since he'd come to work on the Nemesis, his life had slowly fallen apart.

Working for the Decepticons... kind of sucked.

AWW POOR KNOCK OUT! *hugs* OF COURSE WORKING FOR THE DECEPTICONS SUCKS. POOR BABY.

Everyone give Knock Out a hug. Feel bad for him! X'D

So yeah. Hopefully more to come, and bleh. Stuff. Maybe if you review, life will get better for Knock Out. SHALL WE TEST THAT THEORY, LADIES AND GENTS?

Lol, thanks for reading! ^^