He had no tools that started with Z.
Knock Out had been alphabetizing his tools. There was nothing else to do but organize things nowadays. He had already gone by shape, size, and number of blades. He hadn't considered arranging them by first letter until today, and the biggest disappointment this week was that he had no "Z" tools. He couldn't even think of a "Z" tool.
Knock Out tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling.
Well, this was it. This was his life now. No more heated battles, no more fetching relics, no more having the pleasure of dissecting his leader's enemies. Just sitting and waiting for a mech to need light repairs, and that rarely ever happened.
The hotrod propped his peds up on his desk and leaned back in his chair. His arms hung loosely at his sides.
First Aid wasn't there at the moment. He had gone to help with the city's repairs. Knock Out scoffed. It would be a miracle if he was of any use. The guy barely came up to Knock Out's shoulder. Knock Out had considered helping. Truth be told, there were plenty of things to do other than sit in the medbay and rust. He was never ordered to stay here, but something always kept him locked away. Aside from a few newcomers that knew of Knock Out's "mad doctor" status, no one had been particularly unkind to him; wary, but not unkind. Still, he couldn't shake the sense that he wasn't wanted. It wasn't like Knock Out to feel insecure, but being surrounded by once-sworn enemies was definitely jarring. Interacting with them was strange and something he didn't take joy in.
So, here he stayed unless ordered to do otherwise. He had never been fond of solitude until now, and it wasn't like anyone visited him. Ever.
He craned his neck back to peer at the doorway as it opened. The pedsteps were light, but lighter than First Aid's. "Knock Out, we need you! Now!"
Arcee stood urgently in the hallway, waiting for him to respond. He hung backwards over the chair for a second or two then shook his head, tumbling out of the chair. He awkwardly picked himself up and hurried to follow Arcee out the door. What was his problem with coordination, lately?
At the exit to the base, Arcee somersaulted into vehicle mode and raced off. Dazed and confused, Knock Out quickly did the same and caught up to her easily. Before he could say anything, the motorbike answered his question.
"A ship arrived. The passengers have some kind of disease."
Knock Out stole himself from his befuddlement and tried his voice.
"What symptoms?" It came out sterner than he had planned, but it made for a good recovery after falling out of a chair.
"They're covered in dissolving welts. Whatever it is, it's literally eating them."
Literally eating them? Wait, did she mean…? Knock Out resisted the urge to slam his breaks in exasperation.
"What you just described to me is Cosmic Rust," the sports car said slowly, flatly. "One of the most easily-cured diseases known to Cybertron. I have barrels of Corrostop gathering dust! There's no need for the rush!"
Arcee didn't answer him and Knock Out huffed his engines. He was one quick Corrostop scrub down away from going back to doing absolutely nothing.
The wing tips of the clumsily-landed ship came into view as the two arrived at the scene. It was a small craft, almost the size of an escape pod. Knock Out transformed and approached the pod leisurely on foot, his signature smug posture taking shape. The pod was already sealed shut and three faceless mechs lay on the ground. First Aid was already there, crouched over the largest mech; possibly the leader.
"We can help you," First Aid was speaking in a soft but firm tone. "But you need to let us do our job."
"No…no!" the mech croaked, shielding his face weakly. "Get back! Don't touch me!"
Knock Out stood over them, arms folded. Smokescreen and Bulkhead were standing a measurable distance away, Arcee joining them.
What, afraid of a little rust? He thought.
"Dramatic bunch, aren't they?" Knock Out mused to First Aid. Aid and the three infected bots glanced up at the CMO. At face value, the issue indeed looked like a rather violent case of Cosmic Rust. The three mechs were covered in dark blue blotches that seemed to slowly get worse the more Knock Out looked at them. The other two bots seemed to be on their way out of consciousness, obviously exhausted from being in so much pain. But, their leader was fighting to stay awake, eyes wild and frame tense.
"Please," he choked out. "Just leave us alone! You'll be infected too!"
The leader gazed up at Knock Out, searching his optics for some understanding, but Knock Out offered him a patronizing glare instead. The medic thought of something equally patronizing to say, but he wasn't up for gracing this mech's misplaced terror with further response.
"If you had just commed me, I would have brought some Corrostop along," Knock Out said to First Aid, prepared to send the nurse to go and fetch some. First Aid was about to reply when the leader made a frustrated and fearful noise.
"How many times do I have to tell you? Corrostop won't help! This isn't what you think it is!" The large mech's voice climbed in pitch. "I'm begging you, leave us!" A patch of blue rust started working at the leader's face.
First Aid looked up at Knock Out again and held out a small canister of Corrostop, reminding Knock Out yet again how the remedy for this illness was such a commodity. "I've used up the entire thing on just this one, but there hasn't been any improvement," Aid said. "They'll need a complete wash down at this point, but they obviously can't make it to the medbay on their own."
The leader's voice was now a frustrated and hopeless tone as he grabbed feebly at Knock Out's ankle. "P-please, talk some sense into your nurse! Don't you understand!? You're all in danger by just being anywhere around us!"
If Knock Out didn't know better, he could have sworn the 'bot speaking to him was on the verge of tears. "Please…please just-"
"Will you shut up already?" Knock Out groaned, deciding that he had heard just about enough sniveling from this one. "Take this one back to base, First Aid. And you, Bulkhead," he called out to the large green bot. "Take the other two and follow First Aid back."
A little slower that Knock Out would have liked, Bulkhead approached with Arcee and Bumblebee in tow, the same look of concern with a hint of resentment across their faceplates. Bulkhead was noticeably hesitant in transforming and Arcee and Bumblebee were even more hesitant to keelhaul the other two nameless 'bots into Bulkhead and First Aid.
They made it back to the base and the three newcomers were quickly shut inside a chemical shower room. Three gurney slabs had to be moved into the room to unload the immobile bots onto. The first bout of Corrostop dowsing included Bulkhead and First Aid as well, seeing as they were the transportation for the infected 'bots. Afterwards, First Aid looked the three others over for any signs of improvement. He found none. They were doused again, a little longer this time, still with no improvement. They were washed down again and again, and as Knock Out oversaw the procedure at its unnatural length, he finally began to grow a tad concerned as well. The patients weren't responding at all and just continued wasting away. First Aid emerged from the shower room again, giving a confused and worried glance to Knock Out. They had been at this for quite a few hours and it was getting late.
The Aston Martin turned his sight to the shower room and at the patients, who had slipped quite agonizingly into unconsciousness forty five minutes ago. "How much Corrostop do we have left?"
"About another full barrel," First Aid replied. "But, I think we should give them a break. We might be overmedicating them."
Knock Out nodded. "Move them into quarantine. We'll check on them in another hour or so."
The two of them rolled the three 'bots into quarantine and left them the sleep of their ordeal. Knock Out trudged back to his quarters, begrudgingly thinking of new ways to organize his tools.
"Knock Out!"
First Aid scrambled to Knock Out's quarters, visibly shaken and on edge. Knock Out followed his nurse quickly towards quarantine and looked inside.
There in the sealed room, the three patients were gone, and in their place were sprinklings of cobalt dust.
The red rings in Knock Out's optics dilated as he realized that the three 'bots had completely disintegrated.
Word got around quickly about the three newcomers and their disturbing fate. In a sluggishly-growing community of 800 or less, even the smallest news spread like fire across an oil lake. Everyone was concerned, shocked, and confused. Some stayed far away from Knock Out's little clinic, while others flocked to it to witness the dark cerulean remains of the patients.
Of course, the ever noble Team Prime was jumping through hoops to calm everyone down. They were even more swamped with curious and worried 'bots as Knock Out and First Aid were.
Knock Out wasn't part of Team Prime. He hadn't been invited to be, and he was actually okay with that. Many would have assumed that the flashy and grandstanding Knock Out would obviously want to be part of such a social scene, but such was not the case, at least not now. Knock Out saw First Aid more than anyone, and First Aid was pretty easy to talk to. They had never met before the war and didn't have the sour taste of rivalry between them to deal with.
Still, First Aid wasn't nearly as keen on racing or things of the like, neither was he involved with cosmetics as Knock Out was, being an ambulance and a nurse and all. Ambulances weren't very, well, aerodynamic. So, conversations on such topics were very one-sided.
The two doctors had finished clearing out the clinic and Knock Out felt wound up and tense from all the questioning. After the daily crowd left, Knock Out almost immediately transformed and took off for a nice, long drive. The night air felt good as it rushed over his exterior. It was just the right thing for a cluttered processor. He sped to his maximum speed for a while until he decided to slow to a smooth cruise. He even drifted from side to side, working an even, wavy line into his tire trail. He could never do this on Earth, too many other cars and way too many suspicious human onlookers.
After an hour and a half, Knock Out turned and headed back home. He drove in sweet, sweet silence for a while until something caught his eye. In the distance another, smaller vehicle was rolling at an even pace. The moonlight caught the other 'bot and Knock Out got a better look at them. They were a motorbike, the color of the night sky.
Arcee.
Knock Out and Arcee were a good 200 feet away from each other, driving at the same speed. Knock Out caught himself staring and didn't stop his wheels from veering in her direction. He approached her in an inconspicuous manner, which would have worked if they weren't in the middle of nowhere. A lot of Cybertron could be categorized as "the middle of nowhere" now, actually.
He expected Arcee to speed up or turn away, but she didn't seem to bother with it. Knock Out pulled in alongside her. Neither of them spoke at first.
"…long day?" Knock Out quipped, not expecting a reply.
"Yeah," Arcee said, flatly. "You, too?"
"Yeah," Knock Out returned. That's when he realized that was suddenly very bored without conversation. "So…what happened?"
"The usual," the motorbike said. "Questions everywhere, people anxious for answers I don't have, that sort of thing."
Knock Out made a noise of acknowledgement. "I know the feeling."
"We're bridging Ratchet here in the morning. Maybe he'll know what's up."
"Ratchet!?" Knock Out exclaimed, and then realized that may have not been the smartest move. "I mean…why Ratchet? He'll probably be just as baffled as I am."
Arcee's mirrors rolled as if she were rolling her optics. "Ratchet's been in the medic business longer than you. Plus, he was good friends with Perceptor: the mech who invented Corrostop."
"Yes, I know who invented Corrostop," Knock Out replied, irritated. Everyone knew Perceptor, Mr. "I deleted my own personality to make room for more knowledge". What a blowhard.
Knock Out wasn't at all pleased by the idea of sharing a workspace with Ratchet of all 'bots, not again. Nothing like a patronizing old geezer to make you feel inadequate at your profession.
They neared the base and Knock Out began to feel drowsy. He had burnt out the last of his energy on the drive and could really use some recharge. As if on que, Arcee let a stifled yawn escape. Something about Arcee sharing his exhaustion made Knock Out feel a little less awkward. While he actually enjoyed Arcee's company, he wasn't sure if the feeling was mutual. She was just another member of a commanding group he had no interest of being a part of, but driving with her reminded him of just how lonely and drab his life was now. He would have almost missed his job on the Nemesis if every nook and cranny of that damned ship didn't remind him of…someone he had cared about a long time ago.
He suddenly grew tired of Arcee's navy paint job. Good timing, too. They had arrived at the base and it was time to go their separate ways. They transformered and headed to their respective wings of the base.
"G'night," Arcee murmured as she walked away. Knock Out was more surprised by her words than he should have been.
"Good night, Arcee," He replied, watching her go. The moon still bounced off her features. He tried to remind himself of how weary he was of her color, but it still made his spark lurch.
As the night dragged on, Knock Out was plagued by dreams. But, they weren't just dreams, they were memories; memories Knock Out had tried to suppress and forget. But, the all too familiar large, dark blue mech was still a vivid stain on his processor.
He woke up periodically though the night. But, when the blue figure in his dream became smaller and their optics suddenly became the color of the sky, he didn't go back to sleep. Instead, he just stared at the ceiling, trying to ward off the ache in his chest and the tightness in his throat.
He was so sick of cobalt.