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Knock Out observes the green liquid in the vial, smiling proudly to himself. It took a bit of trial and error, but he was finally able to recreate that foolish Ratchet's formula for the synthetic energon. All with naught but a single drop of the original batch. Really, Knock Out should receive more credit for what he does.
After managing to retrieve one of the Omega Keys before the Autobots could, he had decided to use the little free time he had now to finally test it out while the final location was being decrypted.
Looking over his shoulder, Knock Out observes the transformer on his operating table. Though his frame screamed Breakdown, in actuality it was the human, Silas. Or rather, Cylas.
Breakdown was dead, and the humans at MECH were sick enough to defile his body for their own benefit. It was both horrific and a scientific miracle that the human was still alive. Now Cylas was puppeting around in his body, once foolishly thinking he could work alongside the Decepticons.
And Megatron had given Knock Out the green light to do whatever with him.
If Knock Out were any other bot, he'd probably want revenge for the one who killed his fallen partner. Luckily, Knock Out's name wasn't Arcee and Cylas’s wasn't Airachnid. The latter was the one who killed Breakdown. From what Dreadwing had said, he had been found, ironically enough, broken down into pieces. Revenge wasn't something Knock Out was interested, either. He was sad about his late partner's murder, but that was to be expected during times of war.
Knock Out begins walking over to the table, in which the human squirms in place trying to break free of his restraints once more.
"What is that?" he asks, eyes fixed on the synth-en.
Knock Out smirks. "Scared, Cylas? Afraid of what's going to be put into your body. Actually, let me correct myself." The smirk fades, his expression shifting to something more serious. "In Breakdown's body?"
Cylas glances from the vial to the medic's face, gold staring at crimson. There was scarring over Breakdown's right optic from where his eye had been forcefully removed. It was MECH who had done that. It was MECH who had Breakdown on their own operating table twice now.
Breakdown would be laughing about the irony of it all if he could see it now.
Knock Out's hand grabs onto Cylas’s arm, to Breakdown's arm, as he gets the synth-en ready to inject.
"If it makes you feel any better," Knock Out continues. "I don't know what this will do, either."
He feels Cylas tense up as he injects the vial in his arm, synth-en getting into his system. The first sign of its effects is how Breakdown's optics change from yellow-orange to green. Just like how Ratchet's had looked all those cycles ago. Soon, Cylas falls unconscious. Knock Out wonders at first if he killed the human.
"GRAAAAH!!!"
The scream takes Knock Out aback as Cylas sits upright. His eyes glow brighter with rage and he pulls against his restraints with a bit less resistance.
"Release me!" Cylas screams.
"It looks like the synth-en is working as it should," Knock Out notes, ignoring the human's demand. He wasn't worried about the restraints breaking, as they were strong enough that even Megatron himself couldn't break them, but the idea of being attacked by a powered up Breakdown wasn't appealing either.
"If you don't get me off this table in the next minute, I'm turning you into scrap metal."
Knock Out clicks his tongue. "Oh, I'm afraid I can't do that. Lord Megatron doesn't just want powerful soldiers. He also needs them to be obedient. Besides, I just got this paint job done before arriving."
"I obeyed him, and this is how he returns the favor! Now let me go or I'll do worse than ruin your stupid paint job!"
Now that wasn’t going to do at all. Not wanting to make the threats of harm a reality, Knock Out walks back over to the table and trades the vial for a device that resembles an Earth crustacean. Tapping the top of it made it jump up and transform into his Energon Prod, which he catches as it’s about to land back on the table in one clean motion.
Walking back over, Knock Out says, “I would say I’m sorry for this, but...” The prod lights up with sparks.
Cylas glares daggers at the prod. “Go ahead! I’m sure Breakdown would appreciate a fellow Con treating his body like a lab rat—”
There’s more said, but Knock Out catches none of it. He then plunges his weapon where he knows it’ll hurt most.
ZZZZT
It was just as satisfying as when he did it to him the first time, if not more so.
Green optics go offline and Cylas falls back on the table.
THUNK
The noise reverberates throughout the room and Knock Out’s audials. Once the silence settles in and he’s sure the organic isn’t going to wake up right away, he unceremoniously throws the prod towards the table, not even bothering to transform it back. It lands with a funny noise.
Knock Out’s optics don’t dare break from the table. Cylas’s final comment had, admittedly, made him lose his cool a bit. Not a good look on the medic’s end. That mattered less to him, because how dare the human assume Breakdown’s feelings. He had no right! Knock Out had known his departed partner longer than the MECH leader had been alive.
No one would be upset or complain if Knock Out killed Cylas right now. A scan of his vitals earlier showed that he was already dying, with the only thing keeping him alive being Breakdown’s modified corpse. He’d be doing everyone a favor. Breakdown would certainly want it.
But again, Knock Out wasn’t for taking revenge for his fallen partner. He also needed a test subject for the synth-en. Plus, he had to admit it was impressive how the humans were able to figure out how to pilot one of their own, like they were a spark chamber with no spark.
Ok, there were plenty of reasons to keep Cylas alive for now. But one day he will be of no use. One day.
Knock Out loosens up his shoulders as he ex-vents, not realizing how tense his posture had gotten. His optics still don’t drift from the human. From Breakdown. He was unconscious, but a faint muffled sound from inside his chest indicated that he was still alive and breathing.
That’s part of what made human bodies so weak, aside from their fleshy forms and frail bones. They needed a beating heart and the right atmosphere to inhale in order to live. Bot or Con, all you needed was your spark. Breakdown should not be breathing. Yet in a way, Knock Out was glad that part of Breakdown was still here.
When Dreadwing had reported his demise, Knock Out was ultimately sad about it, but had to accept it and move on. So many lives continue to be claimed as the war for Cybertron rages on. All he could do was briefly mourn and then move on with his day.
Except the mourning part never really stopped. Not with Knock Out, not over Breakdown.
Knock Out never was close with anyone before the war started. He also was never the nicest of bots, preferring to speak with sass and cause just a little bit of drama. Thus no one was fond of him. Didn’t help that rumors had spread about how he interfaced his way to being a medic. Maybe Knock Out was a bit flirty (and shallow) when complimenting a well crafted frame, but he wasn’t interested in interfacing at all. Learning how humans did it only made him desire it even less.
So Knock Out continued to live his life like this until war broke out. That was how he and Breakdown first crossed paths. The blue grounder had been brought into his old medical bay needing a patch up. Knock Out was doing his job, all while Breakdown tried to start a conversation with him. It annoyed the medic, but he talked along. He didn’t try to be anyone else, giving this soldier his usual Knock Out special. To his surprise, Breakdown wasn’t annoyed with him after only a few words. They held a conversation until the medic was done. After that, they kept crossing paths until they decided they liked working with each other and became work partners.
There had never been another bot like Breakdown, and there never will be.
Knock Out still remembers being surprised when he learned his partner was once a combiner. Breakdown had been part of a group of grounders best known for their stunt based driving and combat, later dubbed the Stunticons. He had been the right leg of Menasor, a name Knock Out first made fun of. Hearing Breakdown talk about his old teammates made Knock Out a bit jealous, only because he didn’t have anyone like that.
Then the atmosphere changed. The talk had reminded Breakdown that they were all gone now, and that he was the sole survivor of the former Stunticons. There was no more Menasor, no more Motormaster, no more of any of his old crew. He had even exchanged his one-of-a-kind t-cog for a regular one, as there was no use for a combiner that was just a right leg.
In the present, Knock Out finally understands how Breakdown felt that day. It can be one cycle or a million cycles since the death of a close companion. The wound it leaves behind can reopen at any moment, and no amount of medical procedure can fully close it back up.
That’s what the corpse in front of him right now was. A big, infected wound. A constant reminder that the one transformer Knock Out even gave a scrap about was gone.
Back then, Breakdown only had Knock Out to assure him he was no longer alone. Knock Out, meanwhile, had nobody else. He was alone once again.
Why? Why did it have to be Breakdown?
Why couldn’t they have met sooner? Before the war?
Maybe they would’ve hit it off the same way, but this time Breakdown just had a mere accident instead of a war wound. Knock Out would’ve fixed him up, and every single injury he got afterwards. He could show Breakdown the best racing spots on Cybertron, or even share with him some hot juicy gossip. Neither of them would have to worry about saving their planet, finding Energon, or Earth and its gross human customs.
Maybe Breakdown could introduce his crew to Knock Out, since they’d still be alive. He was always curious about what they were like and how they’d react to him. Maybe they’ll like him, perhaps even consider him an honorary Stunticon. Or honorary member, as there wouldn’t be Decepticons. Or Autobots. Cybertron would be without war, vibrant and alive as it once was. And he would be able to view it all from the balcony of his shared home, right next to—
Knock Out’s optics go wide.
Oh.
Of course. How could he be so oblivious?
Breakdown had been everything Knock Out ever wanted. Someone he would’ve wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
Knock Out loved Breakdown.
The realization makes Knock Out laugh with a hand over his face.
“Oh, I’m such a fool,” he laments.
No doubt Breakdown would be laughing at him too for taking so long to realize.
But he wasn’t, and he never would. Breakdown is gone, reunited with the Allspark. No amount of modern medical training could ever fix that or the wound left in Knock Out’s spark.
His hand falls as the laughter dies out, along with his mood. Looking at the corpse again, Knock Out takes in its features. Breakdown was never bad looking, even when he had that eyepatch. The faint sounds of breath coming from him make it look like he’s simply trying to rest like an organic would. Like those human stories about a princess deep in slumber who needed to be awoken with a prince’s kiss, regardless if they wanted one or not.
Knock Out leans in closer to Breakdown, tilting his head so that it was facing him. Though it looked like that’s what was going to happen from an outsider’s perspective, he wasn’t going to kiss the corpse. The reasons should be obvious.
“It’s simply not fair,” Knock Out says, feeling more vulnerable than he ever has in his life. His thumb rubs against the other’s cheek plating. “You weren’t supposed to die.”
The unconscious frame doesn’t answer.
“Is this what it felt like every day for you? Knowing there’s supposed to be something, or someone, there by your side, only to find nothing? I don’t know how you lived like this! It’s awful!”
His optics eye Breakdown’s facial scars. He was almost tempted to try and patch them, and maybe give the rest of the frame a buff and polish. Again, almost.
“I don’t know if you can hear me, Breakdown. Probably not, but if you can...” His gaze flits down to the other’s bound wrists, then back to his face. “I’m glad I got to know you as long as I did. The halls of the Nemesis aren’t the same without you around.”
Whether Breakdown would’ve reciprocated Knock Out’s feelings or not, he would never know. In a way, he was fine with not knowing. As much as it would hurt, Knock Out had to accept that he was late to realize his feelings. He was the fool, and he’d have to live with that for as long as his spark still crackled. And he would keep on living.
Knock Out’s face then shifts to a scowl. “As for you, Cylas, you better enjoy Breakdown’s body while you still can. Once I have no more use for you, then that’ll be your final day. So consider yourself lucky that making you my lab rat is the nicest thing I can do for you.”
“Knock Out!”
The doctor flinches at the comm from Megatron.
“I require your presence. Immediately.”
“Yes, Lord Megatron,” Knock Out comms back. Guess the final location had been decrypted, he presumes.
It was best not to keep his leader waiting. Certain that Cylas would not be waking up trying to escape anytime soon, Knock Out heads out without any further delay.
At least not without looking back one last time.