Chapter Text
The summer heat in Kaon was as fierce as the furnaces that lit up its skies in the evening, and there was nothing that could make bots quite so aggressive as that oppressive swelter. The gladiator pits thronged in summer, the roars of the crowds and the clash of metal on metal could be heard from streets away, and within the circular construction it was almost deafening. All who worked and lived there were used to the noise though, and Knock Out was no different in that regard, though in most others he stuck out like a broken wing. His crimson, gleaming plating set him apart from the scratched and battered gladiators in the pit and the smaller, drab cleaners and attendants that scuttled around behind the scenes, and he liked it that way. He didn't want to be mistaken for either, after all, certainly not after he'd seen the fates of so many in the ring.
The roar from beyond the tunnel where he currently lurked reached a crescendo, the announcers gleeful voice booming out from speakers as it died away, too distorted down here to be understood. It didn't matter; Knock Out knew the result of the bout. Everyone knew what the result would be, the moment Megatronus stepped into the ring. He sighed and stood up from his spot against the wall as less amplified voices approached, uncrossing his arms to eye the unfortunate bot being dragged out of the ring by two attendants shorter even than Knock Out. “Don't think there's much to be done for this one doc, unless you've got a good line in reattaching heads!” one of them called, and the other cackled nastily. Knock Out found himself smiling; you developed a cruel sense of humour working here.
“He'll do for parts I suppose. You know the drill by now. Just try not to make too much mess, hmm? Waste of energon to get it all over the floor.” he replied smoothly as they passed, mouth curling distastefully at the glowing blue trail leading back the way they'd come. Not that they ever sent anyone into the ring with even a half-full tank; fuel was too precious to waste on the doomed here. The pair made vague agreeing noises and left him standing alone, and he resumed his leaning spot for a few minutes before changing his mind.
When he'd first struck his deal with the pit owners, he'd watched every bout he could when he wasn't occupied with patients, considering the free entertainment a perk of the job. Before, he'd never had the credits to afford to go and see a match, but they quickly lost their appeal. When you had to put the professionals back together the life of a gladiator definitely didn't seem glamourous. Nowadays he only really bothered with the amateur fights. They reminded him that at least he'd never been that badly off or that desperate. This one was no different, though he almost felt a twinge of pity for the small, orange-faced bot that had been paired against a much larger, bulkier opponent. Even from here he could see his hands shaking as they clenched into fists, standing across from his massive adversary and looking decidedly fragile. There was little doubt how this fight would end, even if unassuming bots sometimes had something unexpected under their plating.
Knock Out didn't really listen as the announcer introduced the two; the story would be faked anyway, something about a grudge or fighting over the affections of a mutual lover depending on how creative they were feeling today. The two in the ring probably didn't even know each other, were probably both just after their next meal. The bell rang to signal the beginning of the fight and at first nothing happened, the smaller bot circling away warily, trying to spot a weakness he might somehow be able to exploit. His opponent was slower, but the wrecking ball he transformed from his arm would compensate for that; he suspected one blow would be enough to decide this, and the big bot knew it too. He didn't bother chasing after the smaller one, just turned to keep him in view and waited for him to crack.
It didn't take long. The smaller bot feinted left, charged right, and his fist connected somewhere around his opponents waist. The fickle crowd roared at his bravery, then again louder when that wrecking ball collided with his chassis hard enough to throw him off his feet to crash to the ground several lengths away, energon oozing through a crack in his plating. Knock Out caught himself wincing as he stood up from the wall. If he was smart, he'd stay down, the fight would be called and he'd probably survive a wound like that even if he couldn't pay for treatment.
He wasn't smart. With a grunt of effort he forced himself to his feet, bringing his fists up as though that might protect him from another hit and facing his opponent. The bigger bot, to his credit, didn't seem all that enthusiastic about hitting him again. He hung back and said something in a low, indistinct rumble that Knock Out couldn't quite catch, holding up a hand, but the smaller bot bared his teeth and lunged for him again as though angered by any suggestion that he might give up. His effort was for nothing though, another blow putting him on the ground before he could land any of his own. The medic was certain he would stay down this time, by choice or otherwise, but he was proved wrong. He stood, attacked, was thrown to the ground again, one arm sparking and hanging on by a few cables, and still he forced himself up again. And again. And again. The crowd ate it up, their noise and their stamping feet vibrating the stands above Knock Out’s head enough for dust to rain down on his head. Normally such an affront to his paint job would be his primary concern but he was as transfixed as they were, spark in his throat as every time he willed the small bot to stay down. He'd thought him brave at first, but this was the kind of iron-willed insanity you usually only saw in seasoned fighters and bots with nothing to lose.
It felt like the fight- if it could really be called that- dragged on for an eternity. The ground was splattered and streaked with energon, matching the glowing rivulets running from dozens of cracks and crushing dents in the smaller bots armour. The arm had been ripped off at some point and lay wrecked on the other side of the arena, his other hand crushed, and Knock Out didn't know how he was even still conscious after some of the hits to the head he'd taken. But even now, it seemed, he was going to get up. He dragged one leg up under him, the other dangling as a useless prop at best, and he even stayed on his feet for a moment before his knees buckled and he keeled over onto the ground.
There was stunned silence for a moment before the crowd erupted, the victor’s massive hand thrust into the air by a far smaller official while the attendants scurried to clean up his mess. The bulky bot didn't look entirely enthused about his victory, but Knock Out had already turned his back on the scene. That was none of his concern now. The squeak of wheels and a shout of his name behind him made him look back, his scarlet eyes bright in the dimness of the tunnel. “What?”
“Reckon this one’s still alive, doc.” one of the attendants called, prodding the body of the fallen bot on their cart, which elicited a staticky groan. “Vocaliser’s still workin’ at least.”
“You want us to finish him off so you don't gotta?” the other attendant added, engine revving at the prospect.
“No.” Knock Out strode back to them, shoving the first aside roughly to get a closer look. He could hardly believe it, but they were right. The faintly flickering amber glow of one optic was still visible beneath the lid, and a pulse fluttered beneath his claws when he touched them to the bot’s battered chestplate. “Bring him to my office. I think he might be more use to me alive.”
It would be a lot of work, a test of his skills like no other, but Knock Out could only imagine what that stubbornness, that refusal to surrender, could do in a body able to take the punishment. He could use a bot like that, especially one that owed him…
The attendants were gawking at him, disbelieving. Knock Out didn’t do anything for free in their experience. “What? Don't stare at me, move!”
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Waking up was like trying to swim through crude oil. His body felt heavy, limbs like chunks of unresponsive lead dragging him down, and he didn't know how long he lay there unseeing and unhearing, aware only that he was aware. It took a while for his memory to reboot, and from there he managed surprise that the was aware at all, and further surprise that, considering, he was in very little pain. There was an ache that nagged at the edge of his perception, but beyond that all was well.
Was he dead?
If so, being one with the Allspark was a lot more boring than he'd expected.
Gradually he became aware of a voice, muffled as if through water at first but becoming more distinct as his audio receptors warmed up, and he tried to open his eyes and see who was talking but found the lids far too heavy to move. The strange calm that had held him since he'd come online began to fizzle at the edges with anxiety, spiking as the owner of the voice moved closer to him. Talking to themself, by the sound of it, technical language that he couldn't even place, let alone understand. Where was he? The last place he remembered was the gladiator pits, but that couldn't be right. He should be dead. Right?
The voice was humming to itself now, deep and melodious, and even if he could have moved he wasn't sure it was a good idea to show any sign of life. There was only one reason he could think of that someone would have kept him alive, and he was pretty sure he didn't want to be around for that. Maybe if he played at stasis, this bot would leave him alone and he could figure out a way to escape.
A slender, cool hand touched the side of his head and, despite everything, his eyes snapped open and he flinched away, then immediately squeezed them shut again against the bright light. Great, worst time for his motor functions to kick back in! The hand disappeared with a sharp yelp of surprise from its owner, and he caught a flash of red when he dared to crack open an eye again. “Well! Welcome back!” The voice said, a pale face looming into his field of view, bright red rings peering curiously at him. “I wasn't expecting you online for a few days yet… if ever… I'm not quite finished. You're welcome, by the way.”
That was an awful lot of words to process all at once, and he squinted at the other bot for long enough to make him start fidgeting nervously before managing a staticky “What?”
The red-eyed bot cocked his head at him and leaned against a table a few feet away. Racing frame, he thought dimly, real shiny for Kaon. He looked so small though, maybe a two-wheeler?
“What's the last thing you remem- no, no, don't try to move yet or you're going to-” There was a clang and a spike of pain and it took him a moment to realise that he'd tried to lift his hand to his face only to misjudge the distance horribly and smack himself. Through his fingers he saw the other bot wince and get up to help him. Were his hands always that big? Urgh. “There's still some calibration to be done I'm afraid. Take it slow and think, what do you remember?”
He frowned, “The Pits… I was in a fight… Bulkhead!”
“Oh, you know him?”
“Yeah! We were on the same crew, I thought… frag. He… he beat the scrap outta me, I thought I was gonna…” He tailed off, because evidently he hadn't.
“You nearly did. It took a lot of work for me to put you back together you know.” The red bot moved around behind his head, and he tried not to flinch as those slim fingers started tinkering with something that sent waves of tingling sensation rolling down his limbs. “What's your designation by the way, I never caught it.”
“Who wants to know?” the response came automatically, though he immediately felt sort of stupid. Still, the red bot seemed unruffled by it.
“Call me Knock Out. Relax, I'm a doctor.”
“...Breakdown. You don't look like a doctor…”
“Hmph. I fixed you, that practically makes me a miracle worker. Try moving your fingers. Just your fingers mind. I don't want to alarm you but… well, there's been some changes.”
Breakdown shifted his gaze back up at the so-called doctor’s face, sceptical. His fingers still felt heavy and clumsy, but they moved when he curled his fist and straightened it out again. Knock Out’s expression was carefully neutral, fingers tapping against his chin, and for the first time Breakdown noticed his claws. What kind of doctor was this bot? “What changes?” He asked warily, trying to lift his head only to realise he couldn't see past his own chest. He wasn't imagining that. He'd never been that bulky. He felt as much as saw the medic squirm, “What did you do to me?”
“Well…look. I don't exactly have a great selection of spare parts, and most of them come from bots a little.. bigger than you are. Er. Were. So… congratulations on the upgrade?”
There was something immensely satisfying about the way Knock Out leapt back with a yelp of protest when Breakdown lurched upright. There was something decidedly less satisfying about the way his head swam with vertigo as it ended up far higher than he'd expected, and he might have keeled over sideways if the medic hadn't grabbed his arm. While he was lying down he'd looked a normal size, but from up here he looked like a fragile minicon or something. But no, Breakdown realised as he gazed down at his hands, ignoring the doctor’s admonishments. He was just huge. He watched his hands move, stared at his legs still on the table he'd been lying on, then very carefully reached up to touch his chestplate. He felt the low rumble of an engine far more powerful than he remembered, the thrum of his spark the same as ever. Knock Out gestured towards a tarnished mirror on the other sideof the room and, with the doctor warning him to take it slowly , damn it, he got to his new, ungainly legs and moved to take a look at himself.
He didn't recognise the bot staring back at him for a second. Sure, the face was the same aside from some missing paint and the amber eyes reflected in the glass were his own, but he didn't recognise the rest of him. He'd only seen bots this big and bulky in the arena or on the heaviest construction projects. Most of his body was bare metal but none of the remaining scraps of paint matched from limb to limb, and he didn't want to think too hard what Knock Out’s source of spare parts might be.
“You did this to me?” He asked after several minutes of silent staring, awed and perhaps a little afraid.
“I did.” Knock Out seemed less certain than he had, feet planted as though he expected to have to dodge something.
“Why? What do you want from me?” He couldn't pay for an upgrade like this. He was pretty sure nobody in Kaon could have. “You think I can afford this?”
“No. I know creditless and desperate when I see it. You couldn't have paid me for a patch job, this is a complete rebuild. You're a masterpiece.”
“Then what?”
Silence for a moment while the medic considered his words. “It's not easy being a doctor out here you know. Patients get rowdy, sometimes if they're delirious they attack me, and you understand that I don't especially enjoy getting scratched up. And then there's the ones who think they can threaten me into working for free because they're big or they have big friends.” He rain his eyes over Breakdown pointedly. “So, I thought, perhaps I should obtain a big friend of my own. Someone who needs a fresh start in life, perhaps, someone who would be grateful and willing to cut a deal.”
“And why shouldn't I just follow in their tyre tracks, huh?” He took a step towards the medic, who tensed but held his ground.
“Because you owe me. But I'm not asking you to be a slave, of course not.” Breakdown’s eyes narrowed and the medic waved a hand, more casual than the flare of his plating implied, “This will be a mutually beneficial deal. You assist in my work, protect me, and in return you keep a full tank, a roof over your head and a few credits to your name. Once your debt is paid off perhaps that could even increase.”
It was tempting. He couldn't deny that, and perhaps being the medic’s lackey would keep other problems off his bumper. He wouldn't mind not getting shoved around by bigger bots, always being hungry and overworked. But this could still be a trick, somehow. “Why me?”
“Because…” The medic hesitated, bright eyes flicking down and away as he folded his arms defensively, “I like your spirit. You knew you were beaten the moment you walked into that ring and you didn't give up even when you couldn't even stand up. I appreciate that in a bot.” He said, awkwardly sincere, then the cockiness of before returned and he added, “besides, I need to push my genius occasionally and I doubt there's another doctor this side of Iacon who could have saved you, so even if you refuse me you'll be a fantastic advertisement and make me a lot of money.”
Breakdown snorted, much to the medic’s disgust. “You're really something.”
“So I've been told, yes,” Knock Out sniffed, “So are you going to say yes or do I have to throw you out without fixing your paintwork?”
“Okay, okay. Yes, I'll work for you. You can't be the worst boss I ever had.”
Knock Out’s smile was disarmingly attractive, and as he reached to shake Breakdown’s hand he said, “You know Breakdown, I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”
Breakdown was not inclined to disagree.