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You’d think being a certified medic would garner some level of respect from my fellow Decepticons, but then again, such an idea would be too optimistic. Ah well. What can you do? We are in a war after all; craving something like respect from my patients would be too greedy.
But it is highly aggravating to have half torn apart ‘Cons come to my med bay demanding to be fixed and be sent back out to the battlefield just to get blown apart again. I never will understand these gladiators and their almost lust-like need for violence. Too many risks, and I’d hate to be constantly priming myself after every scuffle. My beauty should be shown at all times, not just after a battle.
No, keep me safe and sound here in the med-bay, where the air reeks of energon and the company is always less than pleasurable. It beats being out in the war forsaken battlefield that was once our home. Let my so-called colleagues die for our freedom; I’ll still be here to deal with their mess afterwards.
I look over to one of the drones coming in with a stretcher. At first I thought I’d be dealing with another patient to add to the ward, but as I see the energon-stained sheet (there isn’t any time to have luxuries like clean cloths, much to my disdain) move from its perch, I take note of my new package.
“More scraps from the battlefield?”
“Affirmative. Commander Starscream thought it’d be best for me to collect what remains of his Class-8 armada.” The drone passed off his d-pad to me. Yup, this tone of writing was definitely the work of that rude seeker. “In my…scavenging, I managed to snag some of my old comrades remains…I don’t want anything done to them in terms of burial, but if they could be of any help to future patients-“
“Say no more, I’ll see to it that their sacrifices are put forward.” I’m lying in all honesty. Drones that come in here rarely come out functioning. I have to put my priorities to the mechs worth my time and effort. The ones that contribute more than just being the Autobot’s target practice. But these parts can be re-forged for other soldiers, so I might as well add them to the scrap pile. Still, it seems my words made this poor fool lighten up just a bit.
“I appreciate it, doctor.”
He leaves, and I can only roll my optics. The few Decepticons that do show me respect and they are always my lessers. How typical. I watch him go and I laugh to myself at the image of him becoming the next scrap pile to be sent to me.
What? A war is no place to get attached to people.
Most of what he left me with was garbage anyway. And I can just tell that when Starscream says “use these for future seeker patients” he really means to say something among the lines of, “the next time Megatron pounds me into scrap, use these parts to fix me quicker”. Arrogant fool. How he ever managed to climb the ranks to his prestigious second in command stature is beyond me. Although the idea that he interfaced his way up to the top was a humorous notion spread across the troops. It’s hard to play a serious roll when your frame is blindingly stunning to the masses.
And I am no exception to that. In fact, it’s probably why no mech can take me seriously.
How many times have I reported something just to have my higher ups wave it off like it was nothing? And how many times have I told those thick headed fighters to rest for a set time only to have them push me aside and tromp right back out to the war? Those idiots tend to end up in pieces before too long, how many times has that-
I notice a familiar neon green paintjob on one of the disassembled arms in my new scrap heap. Ah. It’s happened forty seven times now.
I exhale. This war has just been nothing but a pain. Looking at my near empty med-bay, I can only envision every med berth occupied by another soldier, another ache to my processor thinking too little of me and too much with their fists rather than their own processors. I mourn no one. I have nothing to gain or lose from this war aside from my own spark’s functionality. And that’s fine by me.
“Hey doc! You got room for another patient in here?”
The sudden booming voice only startles me for a moment. Most Decepticons don’t know the idea of knocking anyway, so I’m already very used to rude arrivals such as this. I turn to face the inevitably brutish display who called for me.
“Yes, yes, just place the patient over- sweet Primus, what are you doing?”
This large ‘Con was carrying a good three, maybe four, yes four, mechs on his shoulders and in his arms. Sure, their frame types were in variety (ironically one of them a seeker. Thank you earlier delivery), but to carry that many Cybertronians from the battlefield to the med-bay? This was either a ridiculous stroke of luck for their sparks, or Megatron just made a new post for someone to collect the bodies and this guy just happened to be new.
“Just over here, right? I’ve got it, don’t worry. I’ll be out of your way soon enough.” One by one the blue mech placed each unconscious soldier on a berth, treating each like they weren’t a trembling mess barely clinging onto life. I can’t really put my servo on it, but it’s almost a kind gesture the way he treats them. “That Autobot scum…they blew up a building a few klicks from here and these fellas got caught in the crossfire. I couldn’t just leave them there to go offline, so I thought you could help.”
“Well. That is my job after all. Or did you think I’m just here to stand and look pretty?” I give him a look as he placed the last ‘Con down. I already know the answer. It’ll be something rude, I might get heckled a bit and then he’ll leave just like-
“No, I know you’re a great medic. It’s Knock Out right? You fixed up a few of my pals from the Stunticon division. They kept babbling on and on about this pretty red medic that saved their hides.” His optics glanced to the side. He looked a bit embarrassed. “They definitely weren’t wrong on the looks department that’s for sure…”
“At least I’m remembered for something.” I move towards the nearest new patient. A drone, huh? Lucky fellow. “Do you need anything else, or shall I get to work?”
“Uh, no! No, I’m gone. Gotta get back to fighting Autobots after all!” He made an awkward laugh, clearly flustered. It was almost adorable actually. “So, uh, yeah. A real honor finally getting to meet you, doc. These guys are in great servos, I know it.”
I scoff, but I do appreciate the seemingly genuine compliment. I’ll take what I’ll get at this point, even if it means having to assume that flattery from facing-deprived soldiers actually account for anything-
Wait a fragging second, I recognize that sound.
“Hold it right there, mister.”
He freezes mid step and awkwardly shuffles around, his frame clearly not made for any graceful motions. “Somethin’…up, doc?”
“You give me four new patients to deal with, and you think I’m not going to notice you leaking energon from your busted leg all over my med-bay?” I point to the still bleeding limb, and he pitifully tries to hide it only to cringe as I prodded at the wound with a servo. “Despite what you might think, I can hear an injured joint from a mile away.”
“…you really are somethin’, huh? Ya got me; I might’ve gotten a bit scuffed up before I found these guys. Energon bombs, what can you do?”
“Sit.”
“You’ve got enough patients as is, and I can still function without-“
“SIT.”
I point at an empty berth before deciding to just simply grab this spark-too-large-for-this-war idiot and drag him there myself. He stopped trying to argue and sat on the berth silently, his gaze ever hesitant…and not directed at me I notice. His embarrassment was really quite cute, I’ll admit it.
Getting some nanonites and welding equipment, I decide to start with this guy. He was the only patient online to let me know what was wrong with them and well, frankly I was just starting to get curious. Besides, he probably couldn’t have hurt himself too badly. I’ll be done with this wound in no-
“…oh for the love of- did you try to weld a blast shot wound yourself?”
He winced as I traced over a rather shoddy welding job on his torso. That would be a definite yes. Ugh, it’s going to be a right pain cleaning a half treated wound, I can only hope it’s not already virus ridden…
“I didn’t have the time to go to a medic nearby. The guys had some stuff hanging around so I just thought I’d-“
“I’m a trained professional for a reason. Half-done jobs like these can lead to all sorts of problems, it does you more harm than good.” I gave him a very stern look to which his optics widened at. “Pull that kind of stunt again, and your pieces will end up in my scrap heap.”
I gestured to pile of discarded remains near the door. Starting to tear away at the poorly done welding, I glance up once before doing a double take on his face. He looked at the scrap heap with such sadness…and a touch of fear I reckoned.
“All those are…our guys?”
“Yes.” I said flatly to him. “Not all my patients come out of here functioning. And the ones that do tend to come back in pieces one way or another. Not that you have to worry, you don’t have any life-threatening problems. At least, to my knowledge.” I try to keep working away at his injuries, but Primus be damned, I keep getting distracted by his charming but distressed face plates. “What, do you know any of them?”
“Well I hope not, I mean-“ He finally manages to look me dead in the optic. His are such a lovely gold. I rarely get to see those kinds of optics in Decepticons. “Doesn’t this stuff…bother you? It’s like you’re a medic and a deliverer to the Well at the same time.”
“One of the first things I learnt as a medic was that once a life is lost, that’s it. There’s no return for an extinguished spark.” I remember my training fondly. My teacher being a right jerk, but several of my peers to be excellent berth mates. Good days. “Once you’ve detached yourself, you’re able to work in any field…and mine just so happens to be a war medic that has far too many impatient patients. They come in living, they come in gone, it doesn’t matter to me. I just have my job to do and that’s all there is to it.”
“Wow… you’re really incredible.”
I don’t really think he wanted me hearing that comment, but needless to say I did. My cheeks may or may not have radiated a bit of heat, so sue me! It was nice to be recognized for a change.
His injuries were simple to fix, but a diagnosis from my scanners had me noting several internal injuries. This idiot clearly overworked himself a lot as of late, and from his first impression carrying four injured Decepticons, I can probably guess a lot were from pure empathy. He really won’t last long in this war if his spark is as soft as I think it is.
“I’m going to start checking in on the others now. You should be alright, but rest for at least the rest of the cycle. A lot of your self-repairs need to be done resting. Go recharge and you’ll be fine in no time.”
The last mech I told to stay still and recharge nearly blew my head off in his rage. He claimed to have been insulted at the notion that his body needed to do anything aside from helping “their glorious cause”. I kicked that neon green arm on the floor. Well, so much for him.
“If that’s what you recommend, I guess I can power down for a while. It’ll make a nice change.” I give him a small nod. Rest can do wonders, I’m near positive that both sides of the war have forgotten what true rest feels like. “But doc, if things get too chaotic in here, I’d be more than happy to lend you a servo. If you, uh, need one that is.”
I ponder at the notion. An assistant…that would be ideal. Sure, his medical knowledge was lacking, as clear as day in his self-welding, but really, I doubt many would be picky so long as someone could patch up a wounded soldier to fight another day. I don’t have pride and sympathy like an Autobot medic would; I can live knowing that my repairs might save a life and not will. And really…this mech was quite interesting to say the least. His personality refreshing in the swarms of arrogant brutes and annoying commanders I’ve had to face as of late. Maybe I could give-
“Oh slag. Wait, before you power down, I-“ And within seconds of looking at him, I froze. My spark was fluttering when I looked at those golden optics again. Suddenly it felt like our roles were reversed and I was the embarrassed mess. Geez, that’s a first. “I don’t recall catching your designation.”
“Oh. Breakdown. Breakdown’s the name.” He gave me a smile, and I couldn’t help but return it.
“Well then…I’ll let you know if your services will be required when you’re done recharging, Breakdown.”
This war may be chaotic and annoying…but I guess finding pleasant surprises like this guy can be a bonus. I’m interested to see how it’ll all play out in the end. With me functioning of course, but, I wouldn’t mind this Breakdown fellow to be with me when we win.