Chapter Text
The Nemesis's med bay was lit by the gentle, dim pulse of violet light as Knockout delicately arranged his tools on a rolling tray. He had just finished up yet another round of Vehicon repairs, as some of them took extensive damage and overstayed their welcome in his space. Sighing contentedly as he lined up the final tool—a scanner—to be perfectly parallel to the other tools, he took a few steps back to lean on the med berth, satisfied with the pristine organization. Soft, rhythmic clinking of two digits at the med bay door drew his gaze to the left.
“Knock, knock,” a pleasant voice called, its left yellow optic creasing as a smile spread across the mech’s face. The optic patch on his other optic shifted from the movement.
“Breakdown,” Knockout breathed, pushing off the med berth to turn and face his favorite comrade with a smirk, “Just the mech I want to see.” He paused for a moment, frowning. His optic ridges drew close as he leered teasingly at Breakdown. “That wasn’t a pun now, was it?”
Breakdown took a few steps towards Knockout, chuckling a little. “Well, you seem to be in a fun mood. I assume you’re worn out from the recent session of repairs?”
“Oh, Primus, don’t get me started,” Knockout leaned his helm back and clasped a servo over his optics as he dramatically curved his backstrut. “I was so enraptured in my work that my gorgeous finish got scuffed when I rested my arms against the Vehicons’ frames during welding.”
Breakdown hummed a nonverbal response, quietly venturing to the rolling tray and delicately picking up the buffer without disturbing the organization of the other tools. He gave it a few revs in his servo, watching it spin as his digit pressed down on the trigger. Knockout straightened and dropped his servo to watch the mech expectantly.
“Well,” Breakdown began, spinning on his pede to face Knockout, his dentae peeking through his relaxed grin, “let’s fix it up then, shall we? I’ll make sure it’s as good as you do it—you deserve a break, doc.”
Knockout snorted and backed up, aft hitting the med berth as he slowly sank his frame into it. “Don’t start giving me another nickname, now… I might end up liking it.” Gracefully, he swung his legs up, bending one at the knee joint and keeping the other straightened.
“Hey, at least it’s better than ‘Breakie,’” Breakdown scoffed, trailing Knockout’s movement towards the med berth.
“Oh, don’t give me that slag. I know you love that nickname,” Knockout purred, leaning back on the berth. He raised his right arm, ready to finally be rid of the accursed scratches speckling the blazing red paint. The blue mech’s servo came down to gently clasp Knockout’s wrist, buffer at the ready.
As the tiny device whirred to life, Knockout shuttered his optics, allowing his persona to slip away and a content smile to creep upon his faceplates. Just as he could feel the swirling of the buffer in the air mere inches from his arm, his comm flared to life with a message.
Megatron: Requires assistance. Purpose: Vehicons damaged during battle with the Autobots.
“Oh, slag it all to the Pit!” Knockout shouted, optics flying open, as he swatted the buffer—and consequently, Breakdown—away from the berth and hastily sat forward. A screech quietly reverberated in the med bay as his sharpened digits clenched the side of the berth. He ground his dentae in frustration, forcefully pushing himself to his pedes. Primus, I finally get done with my work, and now I have to do more?
“Knockout? What’s wrong?” Breakdown placed the buffer on the berth, his optic ridges sitting low on his helm in concern. He scrambled after Knockout as he trudged towards the door to the med bay.
“Soundwave just comm’ed me. Megatron had apparently already gone to retrieve yet another relic, and the fragging Autobots showed up!” Knockout spat, servos wildly gesturing in front of him as he hastily made for the command deck through the dark halls of the Nemesis. Breakdown was close in tow, hesitantly reaching for Knockout's frame. The mech had an expression that seemed to want to calm Knockout down, yet feared placing his servos on him in case it made it worse or—Primus forbid—blemished any more of his finish. Knockout was practically ablaze. Only a cool, guiding servo could douse his frustrations, but said servo could get burned.
Acknowledging this, Breakdown resolved himself to jogging forward to stride alongside Knockout.
Breakdown sighed quietly, taking in a deep vent to prepare himself. “He didn’t mention to anyone he was going to those coordinates today, I guess. At least, not me. Nor you.”
“Clearly,” Knockout hissed through clenched dentae, the sound staticky as it escaped his intake. “But he obviously gave his favorite walking twig a heads-up.”
As they neared the command deck doors, Knockout had gone over every possible sentence of abhorred profanities and exasperated metaphors to get his point across to Megatron when he finally stormed onto the deck, but that fury-driven adrenaline suddenly dissipated when he heard the warlord’s thunderous bellowing.
“I should have removed more than that scout’s voice box when I had the chance!” Megatron’s yell was vociferous, accompanied by his engines flaring in response. Knockout abruptly stopped just by the command deck doors, Breakdown glancing down at him in apprehension as they heard the muffled shout from their lord just beyond the threshold.
Slag it, Megatron is not happy.
“Wait here.” Knockout gave Breakdown a timid smile, patting the blue mech’s chassis. Breakdown’s intake was agape as he was about to respond and convince Knockout he would stand by his side, but the confident, red mech was already rapping on the door.
“Lord Megatron, you called for me?” Knockout spoke confidently, his voice only faltering slightly.
“Yes. You may enter,” his lord responded, his tone still volatile.
With a final lock of the optics between the two (or, rather, a single optic for Breakdown), Knockout stepped through the door as it slid open, leaving Breakdown to look on. Even after it quietly slid shut with a hiss, he could feel Breakdown’s yellow optic boring through the door while his own red ones observed the floor beneath him.
Silent, agonizing seconds passed, and heavy pedefalls could be heard retreating down the hall from behind the door. Knockout allowed his shoulders to finally slump, unaware of how they had tensed up.
“Make haste, Knockout. A few Vehicons are unable to walk to the med bay for treatment, so stabilize them here,” Megatron barked from the center of the room, drawing Knockout’s optics to lock onto his frame. The warlord faced away from Knockout toward the main consoles and window of the Nemesis, his communications officer at his side. Near the flat area to the right of Megatron—used for traversing with the ground bridge—a few Vehicons were idling. Some sat, clutching their energon-leaking injuries, while the others performed basic first aid on a few lying on the ground, energon pooling beneath them.
Knockout resisted the urge to jog over and slap the welding tools from the Vehicons that were sealing up the wounds. He was visibly cringing at the crude patchwork on the mechs he was tasked with taking care of. “Put the welders down, I’ll take care of it,” he sighed, slouching with exhaustion. He approached the group with disdain, shaking his helm at the prospect of Megatron’s unpreparedness.
As he began his work stabilizing the Vehicons, Knockout tuned his audials to the two mechs behind him. They began to quietly discuss, Megatron’s gravelly voice unmistakably laced with burning acrimony.
“The setback of losing the spark extractor is one I will not tolerate,” Megatron rumbled, jet engine roaring alongside his enunciations. “That puny scout snatched it from my servos. If I ever encounter him on the battlefield again, he will pay.”
A beep emerged from a console nearby. Several voices spliced together suddenly announced, “There is a beacon that may be of Cybertronian origin.” It was Soundwave’s unique way of bypassing speech.
“Is it possible to be any of the relics we found the locations of?” Megatron inquired, a scheming undertone in his throat. Knockout finished welding the leaking arm of a mech as he knelt, patting it softly and moving to the next injury: a twisted pede pivot.
“No. The coordinates are too far from the locations we have decoded.” Knockout’s voice was among the vocal clips used in the sentence, making him falter.
Megatron hummed in response, likely deep in thought and stroking his chin. Knockout smirked to himself at this mental visualization; it was a habit of the warlord to do so. The Vehicon in front of him watched Knockout’s face in confusion as he was seemingly grinning like a mad doctor while resetting the pede pivot with a crack.
“Are there enough troops to dispatch to the location?” Megatron finally reached his mental verdict and, unfortunately, opted for yet another load of work for Knockout to deal with when said troops returned. Even if there was no battle, the Vehicons were beyond clumsy. Tripping on this planet's rocks and damaging a helm were more common than injury during deployment.
Knockout surmised Soundwave replied with a silent negation via a shake of the helm.
But as Knockout’s relief surged through him, it drained just as quickly when Megatron replied, “Good. Prepare a unit. We need–”
“What!?” Knockout shot to his pedes, spinning look at the two mechs, optics wide. “You’re kidding! I’ve just finished repairing our troops from the fight a few cycles ago, and now you have me slaving away for breems more to”—Knockout gestured his servos exasperatedly toward the bewildered Vehicons—”break my backstrut for these clobbered soldiers! Now you’re sending even more troops without a chance for us to recover? Where’s the planning? The deliberation?” Knockout’s venting came hard and heavy, both with fear over the audacity of what he uttered and the dangerous confidence fueled by ire.
Megatron’s glowing red optics simply glowered at him, melting away Knockout’s conscience. Soundwave’s black visor merely focused on the space between them, optics likely darting back and forth between the two mechs. The agonizing silence dragged on, with Megatron’s optics squinting sharper and Knockout’s optic ridges rising higher in horror.
“Er–Pardon my outburst, Lord Megatron… I–I spoke out of turn–”
“Do not prepare the unit, Soundwave,” Megatron drawled, a cruel sneer curving the cracks in his faceplate as he waved a servo at Soundwave. He didn’t take his optics off of Knockout as he spoke. “I believe we already have a volunteer for this mission.”
Primus, could this day get any worse?
Bumblebee shot across the roads of Nevada, proudly revving his engine and gleefully swerving around his lane. The battle earlier that day with the Decepticons had him in particularly high spirits, especially considering the one-up he pulled off on Megatron. His wheels spurred with pride as he recollected the outraged expression the warlord had etched into his faceplates when he snatched the Spark Extractor from him. Bumblebee quickly humbled himself, however, pulling himself to drive straighter and with dignity. He was on patrol now, and he could celebrate this victory with his friends back at the Autobot base later. Though Bumblebee had excitedly debriefed the moment with the team—he had used Raf’s small remote-controlled car to demonstrate—he was determined to convince everyone to at least party for a while.
The Spark Extractor may be a relic like the others the Autobots had retrieved, but it was a powerful one. A relic that could ultimately change the tides of their strife with the Decepticons. With Bumblebee being the glorious plunderer of it… well, he was immensely prideful.
The yellow Urbana was interrupted from his thoughts as the radar flashed on his screen, alerting him to a beacon nearby. The signal was different, but could certainly point to signs of a relic being uncovered by the Decepticons. Bulkhead was on patrol as well, and Bumblebee deliberated comm’ing him before slowly decelerating on the roadway in thought.
I’m a scout, for Primus’ sake, Bumblebee snarked internally. I can handle a little recon on my own. If it happens to not be anything, then no need to call Bulkhead. Plus…
Bumblebee didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he was brimming with confidence over what he pulled on Megatron earlier. He handled the Decepticon leader himself, so what’s the harm in investigating a signal alone? And so close to base?
As the canyon walls around him followed the roadway, Bumblebee sharply cranked his wheel and drifted roughly off the road through the sand as the right wall gave way to an off-road. Kicking up billowing, red dust, he shifted gears and accelerated as fast as he dared on uneven ground towards the signal.
He took fleeting moments to watch the path ahead of him, then the radar, intently staring at the yellow, pulsing dot as it inched closer to his location. Finally, Bumblebee was a mere few hundred feet from the signal, and he transformed into his root mode without slowing down, landing with a skid on his pedes.
He slinked towards a scatter of boulders that allowed cover, quickly clambering up on top of one of them to peer out. The canyon walls formed a circle, with the end opposite to him being an opening to the open Nevada sands. Barren, red, and dusty. Bumblebee held in a twang of painful longing for Cybertron, seeing how this place resembled the Sea of Rust.
As he peered over the boulder, Bumblebee noticed a strange device sticking up from a lone, red rock sitting in the center of the circle. It was oval-shaped, perched on the end of a stick-like structure. Quietly, he slid over the boulder and onto the ground, taking careful steps closer to get better details. It was a blue-green color with glowing, orange detailing all around it. Bumblebee tensed as he glimpsed the alloy of it. It was not of Cybertronian origin. It was–
A loud pop rang through the canyon, and Bumblebee’s vision was suddenly flooded with a blinding white, his frame wracked with surging pain. He screeched a series of strained beeps, his back strut arching in pain as his servos trembled and clutched at the air helplessly, his pistons spasming against his will. The pain was unbearable—overloading his processor, warnings flashing red on his HUD. First, his optics went offline. Then his audials. Then, searing heat crept from his chest cavity to his helm before the pain abruptly ceased as his processor shut down and he collapsed into stasis.
Knockout silently cursed to himself. He hadn’t meant to let his previous grievances interfere with his emotions, but he ended up yelling at Lord Megatron of all mechs! Though it was satisfying in the moment, he bit his glossa with regret. And now he regrets it more than ever, because the bedeviled planet’s dust and sand were crawling all over his alt mode as he drove through the desert. It made his underside feel dry and itchy, only agitating him further. Thankfully, Knockout was adept in his alt mode, and he was nearing his destination with incredible speed. The coordinates were just beyond a gap in the canyon walls about a mile ahead of him.
Knockout pushed his engine as hard as he dared to reach the opening with haste. Once he was close enough, he noted multiple sets of tire tracks trailing to and from the gap. He slowed down to quiet his engine, only transforming to his root mode when he arrived at the opening, ducking behind a jagged rock protruding from the wall. Before him were canyon bluffs forming a circle, with a path seemingly opening up on the other side. Large boulders dotted the edges of the expanse, allowing cover for anything that might ambush him. Knockout’s frame tensed with dread. In the center, however, his optics fell upon a bright yellow mech, motionless on the ground. Knockout’s optic ridges shot up in recognition and bewilderment. It was the Autobot Bumblebee.
Though seeing the scout in such a state would normally have given Knockout satisfaction, it was odd to see him here, like this, at all. Trails of smoke seeped from his intake and vents, hinting at either electrocution or overheating. Carefully, Knockout allowed his pedes to softly tread forward. A servo reached behind him to retrieve the shock prod from his back, clenching it as tight as his furrowed optic ridges. Once he was within a few feet of the mech, Knockout held his shock prod at the ready, scanning the unmoving Autobot on the ground carefully. No damage to the front. Knockout flipped his prod with one hand to take the blunt end and turn Bumblebee’s torso over to view his other side. Part of the bright yellow was blackened and dented on his back plate, smoldering with a sickening hiss. Whatever Bumblebee was hit by, it was pretty recent, and he wasn’t expecting it. And it certainly was electrocution, considering how no other damage was present to warrant his unconsciousness.
Knockout shuttered his optics and shook his helm violently. Don’t think of a doctor’s evaluation. He’s an Autobot, not a patient for you to treat! He scolded himself internally, opening his optics and drawing his shock prod away, allowing the mech to drop back onto the dusty ground. He turned his weapon around again.
Knockout flinched as he heard fans click to life. He drew back his weapon, holding it at the ready as he took a few steps back, leering down at the mech. The blue optics slowly brightened, humming as they came online, and a low, droning buzz emitted from Bumblebee—a groan. The scout trembled for a few seconds, the pain seemingly registering in his processor. Then, he slowly planted his servos beneath him to shakily push himself to a seated position.
“Well, rise and shine, sleepyhead,” Knockout purred, leaning his helm and frame back as he planted a servo on his hip, the other triumphantly pointing his prod at Bumblebee.
The other mech suddenly jolted, optics dilating and contracting as they finally focused on Knockout’s figure. When it registered who was in front of him, Bumblebee’s optic ridges pushed down on his faceplates into a scowl. An uneven series of beeps emerged from Bumblebee as he snarled at Knockout, asking what the frag he did to him.
Knockout scoffed, shifting his pedes as he bounced the shock prod in his hand with disapproval. “I didn’t do anything to you, Autobot. I was just taking a stroll, and I happened to find you taking a lovely little recharge here.”
One of the downturned optic ridges on the Autobot’s face quirked up, optics slowly drifting towards Knockout’s taunting shock prod. Bumblebee whirred about how he definitely believed him. Though he couldn’t communicate sarcasm, his body language spoke enough for him.
Knockout’s gaze followed where the yellow mech stared, quickly sighing with frustration. “Ah. That. I see how it looks, and I swear to you, I didn’t–”
But before Knockout could utter an excuse, Bumblebee leapt to his pedes and raised his arms, servos clenched. The plating around them clicked and shifted, blasters about to emerge. Knockout shrieked, realizing just what was at stake: his precious finish. He spun on his heel strut, transforming as he did. Landing roughly in the dirt and sand, his tires spun in place for a few seconds before finally shooting off through the clearing towards the gap in the canyon he entered through.
Weirdly, no blaster fire rang out. No billows of dust shot into the sky around him from any stray shots, and no pain hit his frame from the ones that would have struck. As he approached the opening, Knockout tilted his rearview mirror, peering at the reflection curiously.
Knockout teasingly called at the yellow mech, “You’re not going to even try and shoot off my tires? Bumblebee, where’s your famous horsepower, huh? Show me some speed!”
But what he saw was the scout simply standing there, staring at his own arms with… confusion? Knockout braked hard, audials tuning in to the sounds emitted by Bumblebee. Click, clunk, hiss. Click, clunk, hiss. His plating shifted and moved, yet his servos remained. No blasters emerged. Bumblebee took a step back, his optic ridges furrowing as his blue optics brightened with concern. He changed his stance, bending his arms at the elbow joints close to his sides in preparation for the transformation to his vehicle mode. Click, clunk, hiss. Click, clunk, hiss. Knockout watched with amusement as the doorwings of the scout flicked up and down with each attempted transformation, before eventually sighing and rolling his optics internally. Shifting gears, Knockout reversed, jerking backwards and speeding towards Bumblebee. The yellow mech didn’t even look up as Knockout finally reached him and transformed to his root mode, a smug smirk creaking his faceplates.
“What, forgot how to transform after that little shock?” Knockout mused, crossing his arms at the scout’s helplessness. He was out of reach if he decided to lay his grubby Autobot servos on him, and Knockout surmised he didn’t exactly have the means for a ranged weapon right now.
Finally, the blue optics that were practically burning holes in the ground as he concentrated snapped up at Knockout. Fear, anger, confusion—all of them flashed through Bumblebee’s optics with varying brightnesses. Knockout’s expression faltered slightly at the vulnerability of the Autobot in front of him, nearly showing his own surprise and concern for what should be his enemy in this war.
Breaking optic contact with Knockout to focus on his quivering servos, Bumblebee huffed a shaky beep as he said that he simply couldn’t transform anymore.