Enter the Complimentary Follow-up
Chapter Three
There were three things Knock Out couldn't stand; four he detested: tedious tasks, dingy spaces, infringed upon liberties, and any blemishes to his meticulously kept finish . . . Currently, he was four for four and it was driving him crazy!
"Gah!" he cried in frustration as a datapad slipped from his strained servos and clattered to the floor, "Why didn't I leave when I had the chance?! Now, I'm stuck here for who knows how long!" he raged, pacing the confined space with all the fury of a caged Energon Eater.
Onslaught had assigned him to prep this area of the bunker for medical use; a mind-numbing chore not met with much enthusiasm by the medic. This makeshift clinic would have the barest of supplies, the tightest of spaces, and the dreariest of appearances at best. Knock Out didn't appreciate the grimy accommodations or the fact he'd been ushered down to the innermost part of the underground shelter. A smart move on the General's part but an infuriating hindrance to the doctor's sense of autonomy—he had already tried sneaking out twice to no avail. Topping it off, he wouldn't be able to find the time to clean himself up, at least, not with the timetable he'd been given.
With another aggravated growl, the mech bent down and picked up the datapad. He placed a servo over the side of his helm as he rose back up. What a time for processor strain. He placed the small device on one of the undersized worktables and, in the act of rolling his optics, caught sight of a figure looming in the entranceway. He jerked, taking a few steps back until he realized who it was. Then, he glowered.
"Something I can help you with?"
Breakdown entered the small space and Knock Out couldn't help but notice the warrior looked . . . uncomfortable. Large servos clasped tightly out in front, optic ridges slightly raised, a small, worried frown on his faceplates; it made the larger mech look downright nervous.
The doctor's expression softened. He crossed his arms, assumed a relaxed posture, and waited for a response. This should be interesting.
"I came to see if you needed any help," Breakdown stated. Knock Out regarded the mech for a klik. Was this a genuine offer of assistance or just another means of keeping an optic on him?
While trying to reconcile the fact Breakdown was responsible for both his rescue and entrapment, Knock Out's more practical side spoke up, winning in the end—that heavier equipment sure wasn't going to move itself.
"Well, you can start by moving some of those things over to the washbasin. Most of it looks like it hasn't been cleaned in eons," Knock Out sneered as he gestured one servo towards shelves loaded with stained apparatuses. He was mildly surprised when Breakdown began eagerly transferring tools down from the shelf to the solvent basin near the far wall. The medic let out a short, noncommittal vent before picking up where he left off—inventorying the insufficient supplies.
They worked in silence for a while, neither addressing the palpable tension building in the room. It wasn't until Knock Out's discomfort and boredom got the better of him that he finally broke the quiet.
"So, did you really come down here to offer assistance or did the General just send you in to check up on me?" he asked snidely, keeping his eyes trained on the datapad. Breakdown lowered another piece of equipment before slowly turning to face the medic.
"Both, I guess. Brawl is still looking for a slot for me to fill and . . . Look, Knock Out . . . I didn't know Onslaught was going to do that. I wouldn't have mentioned you to them if I did."
"Yeah, for all the good that does me now," the doctor said severely, busying his servos with logging away nonexistent items. He didn't want to betray too much emotion, but anger was burning like a molten alloy in his tanks.
"I . . ." Breakdown faltered before continuing apologetically, "I didn't mean for this to happen."
Knock Out's optics constricted with rage. He finally looked up to the warrior.
"But it did! I told you I didn't want to come here. I told you!"
"I really didn't have a choice."
"Yes, I remember," Knock Out said coldly as he returned his smoldering optics to the device's screen. In all honesty, he knew his anger was misplaced on Breakdown. The big bruiser was just the errand bot sent to fetch him for the inevitable—the inescapable choice he'd have had to make sooner or later. It's just, he would have rather it been later and he didn't know what else to do with that.
The emotive atmosphere became choking and the larger mech wrung his servos together again, before quickly heading for the door. The action caused Knock Out's spark rate to spike suddenly.
"Wait!" the doctor called out, pulling the datapad down and spinning to face Breakdown. The look of remorse on the larger mech's face was undeniable and yet confusing at the same time.
Why did he care?
"I wouldn't have told them if I knew. I mean it," Breakdown said quietly; sincerely.
But he did.
It was at that moment, Knock Out made a decision; one he hadn't made in a long time; one he was unconscious of but resolved in. He chose to trust Breakdown rather than suspect him from now on.
"You know what? I actually think you do," Knock Out said with a brilliant smirk. Breakdown was initially stunned by the reply, not used to being believed, but soon his features mirrored the confident expression of the doctor's. The medic continued.
"Besides, if it hadn't been for you, I'd probably be one with the AllSpark by now. Never thanked you properly for that either, so, thank you."
"Well, in the end, you're the one who blasted us out of there."
"True, but I can't be mad at you for trying, now can I?" Knock Out added.
"Hmm. But you're still mad though, aren't you?" Breakdown asked cautiously.
"Mad? No. I'm blowing a gasket here! First, I'm coerced into taking this position, then they have the bearings to pretend like I had a choice in the matter! Now, I'm assigned to some shabby basement closet . . . !" Knock Out ranted until he took notice of Breakdown's disapproving look, "Uh, no offense?"
The warrior frowned and shook his helm.
"None taken. I joined the Decepticons willing enough, but I didn't choose to be stationed here," Breakdown stated with just enough discontent to make Knock Out comfortable enough to chuckle.
"So, I'm not the only one disappointed with the managerial staff around here," he said with a grin. Breakdown's optics widened.
"You really shouldn't say stuff like that," he said quickly, turning his helm towards the entrance as if expecting someone to be standing there. Knock Out waved a somewhat dismissive servo.
"I'll take your word on that. Anyway, how do they expect me to work in these conditions, huh? This place is better suited for storage than an infirmary. And don't even get me started on the equipment down here. Inactive scanners, outdated decontamination products, inoperative tools, oh, and the lack of proper detailing implements," Knock Out huffed as he lightly pushed the datapad on the table aside, "It's a good thing I carry my own."
The medic reached into his subspace. Breakdown tilted his helm, half expecting the doctor to pull out medical supplies or surgical instruments. Instead, he was greeted with the sight of . . . a small rotary buffer? Knock Out noticed his companion's confusion, but attributed it to something else entirely.
"I know it doesn't look like much, but it gets the job done. Besides, you wouldn't believe how difficult it is to pack a full-sized one along with all this other junk I have to carry," the medic said as he produced a full medical kit in his other servo. Breakdown could only shrug. Like he concluded earlier; this guy was a trip, but, somehow, that was alright. The chance meeting with this mech made being assigned to this unpleasant platoon feel worth it to him.
"Well, do you want me to finish up moving these things down for you?" the warrior asked, jabbing a stubby digit back at the shelf. Knock Out nodded as he placed the medical kit down next to the datapad.
"Yes, if you'd be so kind."
Breakdown smiled as he proceeded to complete the task. He'd almost forgotten how good it was to have an ordinary conversation with someone.
"So, when are you planning on using that thing?" Breakdown asked casually, not expecting much in the way of an answer. He was bemused by the smaller mech's enthusiastic reply.
"Well, if you don't mind, I plan on using it right now," Knock Out exclaimed as he turned on the buffer, "I can't stand looking like this."
Before Breakdown had time to consider the response, the other mech was working on what appeared to be a perfectly polished paint job to the warrior. Evidently, fastidious flourish could be added to the list of attributes the little medic possessed.
"Right," Breakdown finally said as he continued emptying the shelves. However, after a while, it became clear Knock Out was having trouble reaching certain parts of his finish; the excessive mumbling and complaining gave it away.
"Uh, need any help?" Breakdown offered lightly. He didn't know how the suggestion would register with the other. The red mech fixed him with a wary glance.
"Don't take this the wrong way, but you don't strike me as the detailing sort," he stated as he continued to struggle with the polisher and contortionism.
"Suit yourself," the warrior said with an amused smile. If only the medic knew, but he didn't. And besides, it was kind of funny to hear how many different ways Knock Out could say 'almost got it' and 'scrap this' in the same vent. Breakdown continued to enjoy the company until he placed the last piece of equipment by the basin and realized this may be the last time he saw...
"Knock Out, anything else?" he asked dolefully.
The mech in question paused for a moment. Despite his reluctance to admit it, he didn't want Breakdown to leave either.
"Um . . ." the medic was racking his processor, trying to find any reason for the other to stay longer. He lowered the buffer and looked at the tarnished equipment with a flicker of inspiration.
"I could use some assistance washing these things off; if you don't mind, of course," the red mech stated as he placed the polisher down and came to stand by the large sink. It was in this slightly frantic request Breakdown discovered Knock Out must be enjoying the company too. He gave a short nod.
The medic smiled and nodded back before facing the basin with a frown.
"Figures. They don't even have enough brushes over here for me to clean these things properly," the doctor complained as he reached a servo over and tried turning the valve that should have allowed the solvent to pour from the faucet. Nothing happened. The tap was rusted solid. He placed both servos on the broach wheel and tried again.
"Primus! Even the sink in this place is a piece of scrap," he grumbled in frustration, releasing his hold and taking a step back to scowl at the handle. Most reputable medical facilities had ped pump sinks, but that would be asking too much of this particular Decepticon base.
"Let me try," Breakdown stated as he twisted the valve. Blue solvent shot out of the spigot at the same time the knob broke free from the wall. Both bots stared at it for a moment, Breakdown looking distinctly mortified. Most saw him as nothing more but a clumsy oaf due to incidents like these. It wasn't true, but sometimes he didn't know his own strength and now all he could think was that it was happening again.
Knock Out, however, noticed the blue mech's embarrassment and wouldn't have any of it.
"Ah! Come on! You barely touched the thing. This place isn't winning any points in the engineering department," he huffed as he tapped the end of the spout with a digit. Breakdown smiled. For the first time in a long time, he was set at ease.
"Yeah, they should really get a handle on that," the larger mech quipped as he quickly screwed the tap back on. The medic gave a small amused smile. Mission accomplished. As the two went to sanitizing the utensils, Knock Out found himself fairly impressed by Breakdown's apt at clearing the rust and grime away, especially since they had such limited scrubbers at their disposal. He was just about to comment on it when a mech with charcoal-colored armor plating came running up.
"Uh, Doctor?! Wounded out front! Onslaught wants you there immediately!" he exclaimed from the entranceway. The medic dropped everything.
"Here, take this! Grab that! Follow me!" Knock Out ordered as he seized his medical kit, shoved a few things into the other two mechs' servos, and zoomed out of the room. The soldier gave Breakdown a questioning look. Breakdown simply ran after the doctor.
As they raced down corridors, the blue mech found himself smirking again. He had been right about Knock Out mapping the base earlier as it didn't take long for the medic to start leading them towards that exit. Unbeknownst to the red bot, it wasn't the bunker's main entrance.
"Hey, Knock Out!" Breakdown shouted as he and the other mech paused near the start of another hallway; the doctor traveling another few paces before stopping to look back, "Front's this way."
"Oh," Knock Out said with a nod before turning to follow closely behind them the rest of the way.
When they reached the end of the corridor to a set of enormous hanger doors, Knock Out let out an uneasy vent. He still didn't know exactly what he was dealing with here. Were there other medically trained staff like him? How much did they expect him to do? Were they going to force him to work as a field medic out in open battle or keep him trapped in this bunker like their own private pet practitioner? Was this a test to see how useful he really was? Or a chance for him to slip away?
As they stepped across the entrance's threshold, his questions were answered at an overwhelming rate.
Troops were hauling in the injured on hover-stretchers or carrying them in manually from the field. There had to be at least fifty mortally wounded cybertronians already present and more were still coming. It was an inundating number for any fully staffed hospital. They just let him know he's the sole medic surrounded by recruits with no training higher than an orderly. Gunfire was blasting in the distance while fiery ash blew in all around them creating a sense of urgent doom. And there, standing in the background, was General Onslaught and Air Leader Thundercracker; watching. No escape.
For an instant, Knock Out panicked.
He'd never done anything like this before. Any prior emergency training was handled on an individual trauma basis. This was a full-blown disaster scenario! Everything within him wanted to shrink back; go with his first impulse and run. However, upon spotting the cruel smirk on Thundercracker's face, he just as quickly channeled that insecure stress into fuel for his self-preserving determination. If he wanted to get out of this on top, he would need to prove himself. His mind fixated on the word triage and he was going to make slam sure everyone else's did too.
"Who here has medical experience?!" he tried shouting, but his voice was lost in the disordered throng. His optics darted to the two leaders; zero approval in their stances. He couldn't afford this. His sights settled beside him; his only support thus far. He hoped it was enough.
"Breakdown, would you mind getting their attention in that ever so charming way of yours."
Without hesitation, the larger mech let loose an audial piercing whistle. The whole assemblage quieted.
"Listen up!" Breakdown shouted boldly until all optics turned towards him. He realized he wasn't sure what else to say except, "Um, doctor in the house?!"
It had been enough.
"Thank you," Knock Out said with a grin before fixing a stern look on the horde in front of him, "Those with medical experience of any kind come stand next to me."
No one moved, choosing instead to give each other curious looks. The doctor growled.
"Chop! Chop! I don't have all solar cycle! I want those injured who can still walk to move to the west side of the building, now! You six, if they're unconscious, leaking profusely, and still venting bring them to the east side. If they're offline and not venting at all, leave 'em and move on. Everything else goes to the north end. Snap to it! I want this place organized!" Knock Out ordered. He was relieved when they began scrambling to do as he said. It didn't hurt either that Breakdown was scowling down at the crowd too.
The medic then turned to address the five mechs who came to stand by him.
"This is going to be a stretch," he wavered before straightening up, "Alright, I'm assuming you only have basic first aid training. You four, stay with me but you there, go to the west side. Inventory and stabilize their conditions before reporting back to me," he said handing the grey mech a datapad and a diagnostic reader, "However if any of them worsen let me know immediately, got it?"
"Uh, yes, sir, doctor, sir," the mech replied running in the direction of the walking wounded.
"The rest of you, I only have one other analyzer with me. I'll diagnose and prioritize. You simply treat who I tell you to and for what I tell you to, understand?" Knock Out demanded. As the four bots nodded submissively, the medic realized he was really in charge here; like all the doctors he'd seen before; worked with before. It was both frightening and exhilarating at the same time, but he had to keep it together. This was still a test and he had to keep his focus.
"Breakdown, I need you to grab a few soldiers, head back to the infirmary and bring every last bit of outdated equipment we have back out here," he directed.
"You got it," the larger mech responded happily. For the first time since arriving at this unit, Breakdown felt like part of a team again. It didn't take the warrior long to return and once the medical equipment was in place, it didn't take the doctor long to begin giving out more instructions on how he wanted injuries addressed.
Critical energon loss requiring immediate surgical intervention was labeled priority one for him to deal with alone. Any other energon loss cases were assigned to three of his impromptu assistants. Patients involving less severe ailments such as blaster burns became a priority two and fell to the other volunteer responder for treatment. All other functional soldiers available relayed messages and supplies between the three triage areas. Everything hinged on Knock Out's delivered instruction and it was all working beautifully . . . Until the medic realized halfway through his procedures, they didn't have any way of inducing stasis.
It hadn't been an issue so far thanks to most of his critical patients being too incapacitated to notice a little thing like surgery, but the next batch would be cognizant. Even with pain receptors turned off, hardened soldiers found it difficult to sit calmly under the pulse of a laser scalpel while wide awake. The last thing Knock Out needed was someone thrashing about in this environment. His anxiety started to climb with each completed weld; red optics instinctively shooting up, roaming the area in search of the only genuine advocate he felt he had.
"Breakdown!" he exclaimed once he spotted the familiar blue.
"What do you need?" Breakdown asked as he came beside the surgeon. Knock Out looked back down at his work. Honestly, he needed about twenty more servos and a shot of high grade, but this would have to do.
"I can't induce stasis. I'm going to need you to hold the next twenty or so down while I splice their lines together and weld their plating shut. Think you can manage it?"
There wasn't an immediate answer and the medic's anxiety returned. It was too much to ask for, wasn't it? As he thought before, not many liked watching a live surgery and he couldn't blame Breakdown. But he wouldn't be able to pull this off alone and he was too nervous now to look up and confirm if that were true. The medic's frame gave a brief, involuntary tremor.
"Breakdown?" he queried apprehensively as he dared to glance up from the seal he completed on the last of his inert patients. To his elation, the larger mech was already in position over the next subject; firmly holding the less than pleased mech in place.
"Ready when you are."
"Right," Knock Out said with near giddy assurance as he set to work.