Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He knew the moment it happened.

Breakdown had been pulled away by Dreadwing to accompany him on a mission to assassinate Arachnid - which, good riddance in Knockout's opinion - but it meant that the medic was left alone in his med bay to deal with the mechs that showed up for repairs.

It was shortly after his partner left that the feeling settled into his spark chamber.

It was subtle, but Knockout felt like something was wrong. He checked the supplies in the med bay - thinking something was missing - but everything was fully-stocked. He wandered to the main observation deck to see if the feeling had something to do with the rest of the crew, but Soundwave quickly assured him that everything was as it should be. The cherry-red racer returned to his work center and tried his hardest to dissuade the notion - polishing his finish till it glowed, reorganizing the treasures he and Breakdown had collected before they’d been summoned to the Nemesis - but that dreadful sensation clung to his systems.

Knockout felt he was going crazy, but then a group of vehicons came in for repairs, and he tried to focus on his patients instead of his nagging subconscious.

It worked… for about five breems, and then it was right back. Stronger, even. The feeling sunk its claws into his spark and wrapped around his processor, creeping into the very lines that ran through his frame.

The medic grit his dentae and pushed through the cloud of pain? frustration? panic?, finishing the final weld on the vehicon trooper seated on the medical berth.

"Okay Steve, you're good to-"

A sudden agony tore through his frame, igniting fire through his lines.

Knockout screamed before he could prepare for the stabbing pain in his spark chamber, so sharp and intense his optical feed cut out. The trooper he was working on was moving his intake, but the medic couldn't hear his words. His audials dimmed and crackled with static; his vision blurry with the fluid that poured down his faceplate. His scream tampered to shallow sobs as his vents fought to filter in air past the pain it caused, sharp needles blossoming from his spark chamber and expanding through his systems again. Knockout gripped onto the medical berth in front of him for support as his legs shook, clawing at his chest plates with his other servo in hopes of relieving the pain.

And then, just as sudden as it happened, the agonizing fire subsided - disappeared. His spark fluttered erratically in its chamber before it finally settled, leaving a vacancy Knockout had never felt before. His sensory array had yet to come back online, but he knew that wasn't what was missing…

Breakdown's end of the sparkline was hollow. Gone.

Knockout reached out into the seemingly empty void, panic overriding his basic functions, and commed to his partner frantically. There wasn't any response - not Breakdown's deep voice, not his EM Field brushing against Knockout's to comfort him, not even the familiar tug of their bond.

"...no..." The medic croaked, voice box sore from the scream that previously left his intake.

"No... No. No! NO!" He cried, gripping his faceplate in shaking servos.

Breakdown's entire life force was just... gone.

Knockout screamed again and dug his claws into his helm till they punctured the pristine armor, drawing thick streams of energon. His vents hitched with uncontrollable sobs and he collapsed to the med bay floor, systems crashing into stasis lock from pure terror as his processor fixated on the sudden lack of Breakdown's spark nestled beside his own.

Breakdown was gone. Breakdown was gone. Breakdown was G̷̯̦̠͝O͙̼̠̞̣ͣ̎͌ͯ͢Ṅ̷́E̷̓̚!̴̭͙͇̉̊̓̌!̵̨̖̱̿͊̾̿̚!̴̨͖̪̮̤̀͠

A servo was laid onto the racer's trembling pauldron as the vehicon knelt down to him, unaware of the origin of his distress or how to help. In a normal mood, Knockout would've torn off the offending servo, but instead he just continued to cry behind the shield of his bloodied claws; entirely numb to the weight on his pauldron. If it wasn't Breakdown's arms holding him, he didn't fragging care.

And that made Knockout realize he'd never care. Ever again. Because it'd never be Breakdown, his love, his conjunx endura, holding him.               Ever again.

And slag did that fact hurt.

With another broken cry, the Aston Martin finally gave into the trooper's offer of assistance. He shifted his shaking frame to sit up a bit, allowing Steve to pull him into a tight embrace that distantly reminded him of Breakdown's strong grasp. Knockout desperately pressed the side of his bloody helm to the soldier's chest plate to hear the steady rhythm of their sparkbeat, grounding him slightly. He pretended the chassis and the pulse were his partner's, fighting with all his will to ignore the hole in his spark that told him otherwise. The vehicon in turn readjusted his servos to hold his superior officer better, and simply gave him time to cry on the med bay floor in silence.

"...Knockout..? Sir, what happened..?" Steve eventually whispered, just as confused as he was worried.

"...He's... *hiccup*... Breakdown's dead." The red mech choked out, breathing the words to life in a way that solidified his partner's fate.

The vehicon's visor remained devoid of emotion, but his own spark shuddered like it had received a crushing blow as well. He and the rest of the cloned soldiers, and all of the miners alike, looked up to Breakdown. He was such an appreciative, kind mech to be around. He always thanked them for the work they did that went unnoticed by the rest of their superiors. He made jokes and respected their chosen designations, calling them by their human-equivalent names and helping them with work whenever he was free.

The blue mech also served as a source of fighting spirit for the lower caste troopers, since he was a miner like them who managed to rise through the ranks. He made Steve and his friends feel like they could rise up too, if they worked hard and proved their mettle on the battlefield… And yet, now that same battlefield had taken away Breakdown. Their superior officer. Their idol. Their friend.

"A-are you sure? H-how do you know!?" The purple vehicon asked, instantly jumping to denial to fill the devastation he felt.

Knockout didn't respond; couldn't bring himself to reveal his secret even if it didn't matter anymore. It was still dangerous, since Lord Megatron would see his grief as a weakness to prey on, or their past relationship as a reason for punishment. So he simply broke down in tears again and sucked in sharp, stuttering vents, clutching Steve's frame like it was a lifeline. Maybe it really was. And the medic honestly didn't know how he could ever let go...

The trooper seemed to understand and tightened his grip on the red mech's dorsal plating, ignoring the mess of optical coolant and energon that definitely smeared his chest plate. He'd probably get in trouble for being absent from his work station, but he just hoped his vehicon buddies would cover for him with command. Knockout needed him more right now.

"...I'm sorry Knockout. I'm so, so sorry..." Steve murmured, clutching the combat medic a little harder.

He didn't know what else to say.

Chapter Text

When Dreadwing later came into the med bay to inform Knockout of Breakdown's passing, the medic simply stood at his console and stared at him. Through him. Completely numb to every wretched, mournful word that left his abhorrent intake. He already knew, of course, but hearing Dreadwing's recount of the failed mission made him want to purge his tanks and punch a wall at the same time.

"...I was unable to free myself, but I heard him... cry out, from further away. I tried to comm him for his status, but he wouldn't respond." The Second In Command explained, staring down at the med bay floor with a mixed look of shame and sorrow.

Knockout felt another wave of nausea grip his intake and rob him of his equilibrium, grabbing hold of the console for stability as he forced a shaky invent through his frame. He wanted to tell Dreadwing to stop, to just go away, but when he continued, the words were so spark-wrenching the racer nearly blue-screen crashed.

"When I finally managed to untangle the webs, I followed the direction of Breakdown's previous shout. The spilled energon was unmistakable - he had truly perished by Arachnid's servo, and I could only hope with honor - but... none of his remains were present."

Knockout suddenly felt the tiniest flicker of hope.

"I swear to the allspark Knockout, I would never have left the area and abandoned our comrade without a proper burial. Never! He deserved an honorable rest, but no matter how I searched the surroundings, I could not find him, nor a trail of energon. I am sorry I have failed you in this regard. I know you and Breakdown had worked closely for millennia."

You have no fragging idea… Knockout's spark shattered again, still grasping for a bond that wasn't there anymore. Yet denial clung to his processor and began whispering its sweet lies and promises into his audials, blocking whatever the blue and gold seeker said next.

He wasn't there. He could still be alive! Breakdown's alive! Don't listen to Dreadwing, don't listen to that gaping hole in your spark. He's alive!

"I apologize, Knockout. But I must take leave now that you have been informed. Arachnid has challenged Lord Megatron to a duel, and I must provide backup should she best our ranks twice in this pit-forsaken cycle." Dreadwing cursed, turning to leave the med bay.

As soon as the large steel doors folded closed behind him, the combat medic slid down the console and immediately purged his tanks on the floor, trembling violently. He shifted his pedes so that they wouldn't get covered in the energon pooling in front of him, and wiped the energon from his intake with the back of a servo. He didn't even realize he was crying, until the movement left his faceplate feeling wet and his vision blurred.

Was Breakdown alive? Was he in trouble and leaking to death since Knockout wasn't there to patch him up? Was he searching for a way back to the Nemesis? Was he dead?

The thoughts swirled like a plague in the red mech's processor, driving his sparkache and increasing the desire to continue vomiting.

So he simply complied.

Knockout hurled again and again until his tanks had nothing left, and proceeded to choke on dry heaves even after his system was completely emptied. Energon and coolant streamed down his pale faceplate and mingled in the pool at his pedes, creating a sickly teal that only reminded him of what Dreadwing had described in the forest: Breakdown's energon covering the ground, glowing in the fading light.

He wanted his partner back. He needed him. It just wasn't fair! Why would Primus take away the kindest, most selfless mech the Well had ever forged!? Why didn't Dreadwing enlist somebot else for the mission!? Why did it have to be him!?

"B-Breakdown..." The medic sobbed, curling in on himself.

Truly, he had never felt so broken, so alone, in his life.

<· >      < · >      < · >      < · >      < ·>

Knockout didn't remember falling into recharge.

But he suddenly awoke to the sound of the med bay doors opening, and heavy pedesteps coming inside the room. He startled upright from where he lay slumped against a console in front of a pool of purged energon, and the memories came back to his processor with a crushing weight.

The Aston Martin quickly wiped his faceplate with a servo and stood up, hoping he didn't look like a complete mess as he addressed the mechs that had appeared for repairs.

"Ah, my liege. Dreadwing. To what do I owe the honor?" He observed, turning on the charm like flipping a switch.

"Lord Megatron requires immediate medical attention, doctor. Arachnid had an Insecticon warrior under her command, and it proved to be a fierce adversary." The blue and gold seeker explained, leading their leader over to the closest medical berth.

Knockout immediately grabbed his medical scanner and started taking diagnostics, searching for more internal injuries than what he could see externally. Megatron's fusion cannon was covered in a thick layer of Arachnid's webs, and while his entire frame was littered with superficial scratches and dents, a concerningly deep gash on his neck cabling was steadily leaking energon. Further, he was putting little weight on his right leg, relying mostly on Dreadwing for support when he walked.

The cherry-red racer quickly grabbed a collection of tools and began welding the punctured line closed on the gladiator's neck, subconscious medical routines taking over his functions like cruising down an empty highway.

"Breakdown, see what you can do about those webs." He directed subliminally, gesturing vaguely to where his partner needed to work.

The cobalt nurse practitioner didn't respond.

"Uuuhhh… Knockout?" Dreadwing replied instead, forcing him to pause his work and look up at the seeker, "Breakdown is no longer with us… remember?"

What?

What is he talking about?

Breakdown's right-

...

oh.

"Is there a way I can assist instead?" The Second In Command offered, already moving to grab hold of the sticky webs.

Knockout fell silent, his systems shutting down into their most basic "survive" protocol. He continued to methodically work on his leader with servos that shook, while his expression appeared to literally shut off. There was no emotion, no words. He didn't even dare to think anymore. There were only shallow vents, deliberate movements, and a hollow stare that saw to Lord Megatron's repairs.

The leader of the Decepticons and his first lieutenant noticed the drastic change, but said nothing. They both knew the grief their CMO was going through, and understood that everybot handled it differently, and at their own pace. Granted, war usually forced soldiers to move on pretty quickly, but never did that feeling of loss dissipate. Many simply turned it into fuel against their enemies, like the split spark Dreadwing harbored for his fallen twin, or the revenge Arcee promised against Arachnid for her late partner.

It was morbidly funny; that now Knockout and the Autobot two-wheeler had something in common, having had their partners terminated by that wretched spider.

"Done." The medic whispered, gaze drawn as he stepped away from the medical berth with his collection of used tools.

"Appreciated, Knockout. I will let you return to your usual tasks." Megatron acknowledged, rising from the slab.

He tested his weight on his legs before nodding minutely in approval, striding out of the medical center without another word. Dreadwing however, stood still and watched the medic place his utensils in a large metal basin, running the facet briefly to soak them underwater. The seeker wanted to offer his condolences again, but found the words to be stuck in his intake, and instead glanced around the room.

He immediately noticed the energon puddle hiding behind the console, still faintly glowing as a sign of recency, and shuddered. That had definitely been in Knockout's tanks the last jorn he was in here to inform him of Breakdown's termination.

Dreadwing decided not to draw attention to it, given the racer's already unstable state, and took his leave of the med bay before he felt compelled to purge his tanks as well. Perhaps he could at least bring a cube back for Knockout when he stopped by the energon dispenser later...

Guilt clawed at his spark as he wandered the purple-lit halls of the Nemesis, knowing he was partially responsible for Breakdown's death. He had never really minded the mech. A simpleton, yes, but a loyal warrior. He distantly reminded the seeker of Skyquake, and Dreadwing prayed to Primus that he met his end quickly, unlike his dear twin.

But other than praying to a deity who lay dormant in the core of their dead homeworld, and helping replace the energon the CMO lost in his anguish, there simply just wasn't anything he could do to help the medic.

There simply just wasn't anything anybot could do to help the medic...

…not anymore, at least.

Chapter Text

Cycles blurred by for Knockout in a monotone, unresponsive existence. 

Wake up in an empty, cold berth.

Ignore morning refuel and address the data packets on his desk.

Repair the Decepticons that came into the med bay.

Log their medical files.

Ignore afternoon refuel.

Tend to more patients until evening shift was over.

Clean the cycle's utensils and sterilize the med bay.

Finally grab a cube of energon.

Chug it.

Either vomit it back up or cry till most of it left his systems.

Fall into recharge at his desk or eventually return to his (singular) quarters and pass out in an empty, cold berth.

Repeat.

The Aston Martin never touched a tin of paint or polish. Never moved his favorite buffer from the shelf Breakdown had last put it on. He let the scratches and dried energon accumulate on his chassis, and numbly watched as his finish faded and his paint chipped.

There just wasn't any reason to keep up his appearance anymore. His partner wasn't there to comment on it, and nobody else cared. Breakdown wasn't there to spend precious jorns late into the night with a buffer in servo, gliding over Knockout's exhausted frame till the tension left his joints. He wasn't there with armfuls of colored paint tins when the human automobile stores had his red on sale.

He wasn't there. Period. End of story.

Knockout found himself spending more time with the vehicon trooper Steve, but no matter how often the drone offered to help or Lord Megtron told him to move on, he refused to officially enlist Steve as his new medical assistant. Breakdown had always been his Nurse Practitioner. And the CMO refused to fill in that vacant role. Replace him, 'cause that's what it really felt like.

Dreadwing also spent more time in the med bay checking on Knockout or bringing him cubes of energon. They sat on his desk untouched in direct view, but the blue and gold seeker was nothing but persistent with his gifts.

"Knockout, I am in no position to tell you how to live your life. But I understand the grief you are experiencing. The loss of my twin is still something I face every cycle, and it has taken me a great deal of time to emerge from the stage of depression." Dreadwing mentioned one afternoon when he came into the med bay with his daily cube,

"I will be the first to admit there are still cycles I spend in denial of Skyquake's passing, or become stuck bargaining possibilities that are far too late to implement. But I have been able to channel my anger into an outlet, one that hones my skills in battle, and makes me a better warrior."

"How lucky for you." Knockout snarked, optics locked onto the datapad in his servos.

"I simply mean that we must find an outlet for you as well. I strongly believe that if you have a way to convert your grief, the stages may pass quicker." Dreadwing continued, voice calm and undeterred by the medic's attitude.

Stages..? Knockout wondered, finally looking up from the handheld screen. He had never dealt with grief before, save for the damage to his finish in the past, but hearing that there were even more stages to what he was already feeling made him uneasy.

"I…I'll try to do that, Dreadwing. Thanks." He mumbled, waving a servo in his comrade's direction as he turned to a supply closet behind him, "Now shoo! I have work to accomplish!"

The blue and gold seeker nodded and left the med bay, leaving the cherry-red racer to rummage through storage.

<· >      < · >      < · >      < · >      < ·>

Knockout worked through his evening shift like usual.

A group of eradicons returned from a scouting mission at the continent's eastern coast with heavy rust damage, having suffered through what the human natives called a "hurry cane." Soundwave then later came by with a collection of burns littering his thin arms, reporting that an infuser in the engine room had blown. He was adamant that the medic clear Laserbeak first, and Knockout had to remember several times that he couldn't ask Breakdown to handle the little drone while he dealt with the Communications Chief at the same time.

If denial was one the so-called stages to loss, Knockout was definitely going to become a master at it. He might as well just add it to his medical credentials now…

Maybe Dreadwing had a point…

When Knockout closed down his medical center for the evening and retrieved a cube of energon from the stack on his desk, he reclined in his chair and kicked his pedes up on the tabletop, grabbing a datapad. He opened the container and began sipping his drink, loading a human internet browser. The CMO didn't quite want to research his predicament, but humans always seemed to have answers to everything, and Dreadwing had sparked his curiosity. So begrudgingly, he let his digits peck one-servoed at the digital keyboard.

<< What are the stages of grief? >>

The Aston Martin acknowledged the results with a frown, reading a short passage that contained the emotions he was definitely battling…

…until his crimson optics locked onto the final word.

Acceptance.

The datapad was instantly chucked across the med bay, crashing into a storage cabinet along the opposite wall and shattering on impact. Shards of the device scattered across the floor, but the sound of it was shrouded by the boom of Knockout's desk chair getting thrown right afterwards.

"Acceptance!? ACCEPTANCE!?" He screeched, slamming a fist onto his desk. It left a perfectly dented imprint of his servo. 

"Those unfaithful fragging humans! You don't just move on! You don't lose a partner and just continue like they didn't matter!! I gave my entire spark to Breakdown!! He meant everything to me!!! I'll never just fragging move on!!!"

His half-finished cube of energon was the next projectile to shatter against the wall, splattering the glowing blue liquid. Fluid burst from the medic's optics, following older trails down his tear-stained faceplate as he overturned his entire desk. He stood in the mess that now was his medical center like a shaking leaf, fists clenched tightly at his sides and vents erratic. 

"Acceptance, my aft! A conjunx doesn't just get blown over… no. No, I'd kill all of Cybertron for Breakdown! All his enemies! The Autobots, Bulkhead, that glitch Arachnid! Heh, and that fragger that leads MECH . Oh when I get my servos on him…"

Knockout spiraled, a crazed smile dawning his faceplate.

Dreadwing told him that he needed to find an outlet. Well, he could do that. He could channel all this grief and anger into exacting his revenge on all the mechs who once crossed Breakdown. Who hurt him.

And oh did the idea of revenge stir something sickly sweet in Knockout's spark.

The racer scrubbed his optics with the heels of his palms and stared at the energon inkblot that dripped down the far wall of his med bay, his expression darkening as the shape registered another mech's face in his processor.

The Autobots weren't the only ones who had hurt Breakdown before.

Megatron was the reason he had been tormented by MECH for so long in the first place. He had refused Starscream's attempt to form a rescue party, and Knockout's pleas as well. Their lord was the one who sent Breakdown on missions that could've gotten him killed, and punished him when he failed missions after a run-in with the Autobots.

Knockout's engine growled something low and dangerous.

Lord Megatron, whether inadvertently or on purpose, had hurt his late partner.

Now, he was no fool to try and openly exact revenge on a gladiator from The Pits of Kaon like Starscream did (before he went rogue, of course)...

…but if he played his cards right…

"Tsk tsk, m̘̥̤̌ͮ͋̍ͤ̕̚͟͟͟͝ y̷̠̑̓ ĺ̛̤͙̞͕i̢̞̍̈̚e̴̬̊͝g̴̭͆e͖̎ͣ͑." He tutted, shaking his helm with an ever-widening smirk,

"I pray you're better with acceptance than I am…"

Chapter Text

Steve was the first one to notice a change in the Decepticon CMO.

It wasn't anything physical, as far as the vehicon could tell: Knockout's frame remained unpolished and scratched and stained with energon. Perhaps his optics weren't as dim anymore, which was a relieving sign that he was refueling more.

But it was his personality that started to shift a bit.

He became easier to anger, and when he was angry, he was angry . Knockout's jabs were more bitter too, his sarcasm dripping with a venom it never possessed before. And his optics always carried a murderous glint to them; staring at an eradicon just a klik too long to make them uncomfortable, glancing in Megatron's direction when the gladiator wasn't looking, listening with slitted optics whenever the Autobots were brought up. 

His smile, too, seemed to take on an underlying craze; curling sharply in the corners to bare dentae. There weren't any more soft or playful smiles, nor prideful ones or open smirks. No, the sneers matched Lord Megatron's now, and the rare sound of his laughter was tainted.

Steve's tanks twisted with a growing mix of fear and worry for his superior officer, and he was subconsciously grateful he hadn't taken up the position of medical assistant.

But he didn't have time to question the medic either, because suddenly (former) Commander Starscream had infiltrated the ship, and orders were being carried out to locate and terminate him.

Then just as soon as the newly discovered clones had been dealt with, the entire warship was under attack by a horde of vicious Insecticons, all of which were mind-controlled by the same glitch that had offlined Breakdown.

The vehicon trooper grumbled about "needing a raise" as he and his friends fought against the Insecticons aboard the flight deck. He proceeded to stare in shock as all of the overgrown beetles suddenly dropped like flies around his leader and began pledging allegiance. He continued to internally complain when the Insecticons were accepted into the Decepticons ranks and began boasting loudly about themselves, which only pissed the purple drones off.

Steve honestly didn't know if he was worse off dealing with the Insecticons, Knockout in all his unsettling glory, or being stuck underground in an energon mine.

That answer became quite apparent when the entire warship suddenly rattled, and took a nosedive out of the sky.

Steve yelped in surprise and ran after everybot into the hangar, shoving past the bulky Insecticons to reach safety before he was thrown off the Nemesis. Every Con inside the halls was scrambling to hold onto something or reach their workstations, while Lord Megatron stormed into the nearest control room to learn of the incident.

"My liege, our power core has been compromised." One of the vehicons explained as Steve ran past the doorway.

The trooper didn't hear his lord's reply as he sprinted towards the main observation deck, where his own workstation was, only to get flung into the metal wall when the ship shook again.

"Some mech better stabilize this thing!!" Steve cried, giving up on his destination in favor of grabbing onto the closest support beam for dear life,

"Now!!!"

<· >      < · >      < · >      < · >      < ·>

Knockout stumbled into the observation deck shortly after the entire Nemesis rocked with a force that sent him helm-first into one of the med bay's supply shelves.

Apparently, the warship had crashed on the edge of a cliff, and all of the panoramic screens in the room displayed the sandy ground several hundred feet below them. Alarms blared overhead - as though anybot doesn't already know something's wrong! - in a very annoying, very loud rhythm that made the medic want to rip out his audials, while vehicons raced to the consoles and sparks rained down from the ceiling.

"Dreadwing, damage report." Megtron growled, turning to face his Second In Command.

The blue and gold seeker stood in front of another glowing screen that displayed schematics for the exterior of the Nemesis, as well as a diagnostic on its internal components.

"We have suffered critical damage to all major systems, Lord Megatron. It will be some time before we can get the ship airborne." He explained in his usual stoic tone, finally (mercifully) hitting a button on the console to shut off the alarm.

The leader of the Decepticons did not reply, but his optics bled with frustration as they flicked over to his Communications Chief, "Soundwave."

Knockout waited from afar as the navy and purple mech displayed something on his visor, though he was turned away so no one else could see. His external speakers echoed with an explosive sound that no doubt originated from the engine room, followed by a crackling static of damaged camera snersors. There wasn't any need to ask the obvious question though, for Megatron's face twisted into a scowl, and his servos clenched into fists.

"So it was an Autobot who crippled my vessel." He growled in explanation, voice tight with rage, "They will move quickly to exploit any perceived weakness."

The combat medic perked up at the mention of the other faction, his own expression morphing into one of vengeful amusement. Ohoho, which Autobot?

"Surely they're not foolish enough to launch a direct assault, my liege." Knockout countered, letting a smirk slip onto his faceplate as he spit out the title with false respect.

"Optimus has grown decidedly more ruthless since our last encounter." Lord Megatron noted, more or less answering him as he began stalking out of the room, "But I might know of a way to ensure he never has the ability to take advantage of this… temporary vulnerability."

Dreadwing and Knockout exchanged a brief look of question before they followed after their leader, vaguely aware of the silent presence of Soundwave that walked behind them.

The cherry-red mech glared at the back of Megatron's helm as the group ventured deep into the halls of the Nemesis, practically hoping he could burn holes through his lord's processor with his optics alone. It would just be so easy to strike him through the back while he's absorbed with whatever-this-plan-was, but Knockout knew he'd never stand a chance against both Dreadwing and Soundwave at once.

So, he let out a puff of air from his vents and followed the warlord ever so loyally, repeating the word "patience" to himself over and over in hopes of drowning out his murderous urges.

Eventually, the small entourage of Decepticons arrived in the power core, a room lined with glowing pipes, stacked energon cubes, and the main energon infuser, which generated the energy needed to run the majority of the ship. And it was here that Megatron stopped, pointing at his collection of processed dark energon cubes with a wide grin.

"This is the answer to our current predicament." He declared proudly, glancing up at the cylindrical machine that had suffered from the Autobot's attack.

Knockout's left optic twitched.

"Lord Megatron, as your physician, I strongly advise against this!" He stressed in realization, leaning toward a stack of the precarious purple cubes, "Dark energon's regenerative properties are impressive, but the side effects… There's no telling how it might impact the ship!"

He shuddered, just imagining a few scenarios taken from scenes in his favorite horror films. 

"Dark energon courses through my lines…" The (probably insane) gladiator murmured, swinging around in a grand gesture to face his small group of followers, "Infusing the warship will enable me to manipulate the craft as if we are one, and together, we shall crush Optimus Prime!"

His optics glowed a dangerous purple in reflection of the intoxicated energon he had consumed, and while the added hand gestures and superfluous voice inflections seemed to convince Dreadwing and Soundwave, Knockout simply gave a curt nod. He turned around and left his leader to frag up the power core by himself, rolling his optics dramatically when no Con was around to see him.

Idiot. The medic huffed, letting out a growl from his engine, Just don't go blaming me when this all turns to slag…

Chapter Text

Knockout was in the middle of returning to his medical center when the Nemesis began rumbling again, and the overhead lights became far more saturated in their purple color. A soft whirring sound from the input of extra energy swept down the hallway with every changing light fixture, and the racer sighed again. The dark energon infusion had clearly been successful, and he had a strong feeling Lord Megatron would want him to be around to watch his "ultimate triumph against the Autobots" or some stupid slag like that.

Grumbling profusely, Knockout turned around and trudged toward the main observation deck, finding his leader, SIC, and TIC already there.

None of them acknowledged his entrance, minus Soundwave but that was a given, and so he watched from the shadows as the warlord instructed the vehicons to begin firing up the ship's engines. They glanced warily between each other and the red error screens that had consumed all of the consoles in the room, but eventually managed to bypass the systems and get the Nemesis off the cliff side.

No sooner had the ship returned to flying altitude that Soundwave's visor flickered to life, showing a close up of the sandy ground below where a swirling green groundbridge opened. The Autobots drove out and transformed, staring up at the fully-functional craft with varying expressions of shock, frustration, and awe.

"Optimus…" Lord Megtron hissed, shaking his helm with vague fondness, "You never disappoint. Fire the weapon systems!"

The dark energon-powered blasters immediately began raining down shots as Team Prime advanced on pede, their movements almost... erratic. Well, almost all of them were running in bot-mode. The young scout was speeding along in his alt-form for several paces, until he finally transformed with something clutched in his servos. The object was circular? in shape, but it was too hard to make out through the sand and blaster fire that obscured the monitors.

Knockout crept forward to watch his enemies struggle to accomplish… whatever it was they were attempting to accomplish, crimson optics locked onto the large green Wrecker that swerved off to the right of another shot.

Bulkhead.

Breakdown's rival...

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sight of a massive bluish-purple beam streaking across the observation deck's main screens, hitting the yellow Autobot square in the chassis. Bumblebee dropped to the ground motionless, while the object he was holding was swept up by his two-wheeler teammate. The effort was futile, as the femme only got a few feet closer to the Nemesis before another beam landed on her, and she succumbed to the same fate. Frozen in the sandy dirt. Where she belonged.

"I didn't realize the ship was equipped with a stasis beam~" Knockout mused aloud, unable to control the grin that tugged the corners of his lips. Oh that could come in handy later...

His leader didn't grace him with a response, too focused on the remaining Bots that charged in their direction.

The Wrecker and even the Prime fell to the warship's super weapon next, lying in defeat on the ground like a bunch of knocked over mini figurines. It would've been quite cute, if it weren't for the round device that rolled out of Optimus' servo. The screens enhanced on the small circular shape, and a communal gasp rippled through the command room.

"The Spark Extractor!" Megatron exclaimed, optics wide with shock, "Guide us closer so that I may collect what belongs to me, and destroy the Autobots!"

All of the vehicons manning the controls began inputting commands, but as Knockout, Dreadwing, Soundwave, and their leader stared at the monitors expectantly, they noticed the warship started veering course off to the left of the relic.

"What? Where are you going!? I said closer!!" The gladiator roared, flipping around to glare at one of the purple troopers.

"Lord Megatron, the ship seems to be navigating itself." They responded, typing frantically on the console despite the collected tone of his report.

"Override." The warlord hissed in a way that made the command sound obvious.

He turned back to the display screens to watch the Nemesis return to its objective, only for a massive boom to echo through the room and shake the floor beneath everybot. The Autobots remained frozen, but continued to drift away from sight as the ship maintained its wayward path. The silver mech growled in frustration, snapping his helm back toward his soldier.

"The systems are bypassing manual contro–"

The vehicon was cut off by electricity suddenly shooting up his chassis, electrocuting his circuits for several kliks. When his steaming frame finally crashed into the console and dropped to the ground, all of the other Cons in the room stared in horror.

Knockout cycled his optics to clarify what he just witnessed and glanced around the ceiling of the observation deck, all of the pieces shifting into place in his processor.

"It appears the ship now possesses a will of its own." He revealed, voice bordering between worry and "I told you so."

"IMPOSSIBLE!" The leader of the Decepticons bellowed, clenching his servos back into fists, "Trace the problem to its source, and fix it!"

"DO NOT TAMPER WITH MY SYSTEMS. THIS WILL BE YOUR ONLY WARNING."  A new, deep and unfamiliar voice rumbled from the very walls of the warship.

Everymech stared up at the ceiling with surprise, but Megatron's expression quickly returned to its usual anger.

"Warning!?"

"MY MISSION ASSUMES PRIORITY. ANY CYBERTRONIAN WHO INTERFERES WILL. BE. NEUTRALIZED."

"My own vessel dares to address me in threatening tones!?" The gladiator thundered, gesturing furiously as he somewhat spun in a circle, trying to find the source of the voice.

Soundwave seemed to realize what the ship was rambling about, and pointed to one of the possessed consoles. Knockout recognized the display of ancient Cybertronian glyphs that scrolled across the screen as Iacon records - a highly classified database that many did not have access to, mind you - and walked up to the vacant workstation.

"It also seems to be doing a better job of decoding the Project Iacon database than we were." He noted, pointing up at the digital glyphs as he turned to address his leader, "It's already deciphered a new set of coordinates."

Soundwave's visor pinged with the geographical location of the decoded entry; somewhere at the eastern coast of the continent they currently hovered over.

"And judging by our current course, that is precisely where the ship is headed." Dreadwing translated into words, looking over to Lord Megatron for directions.

"As I desire… You see? This warship is nothing more than an extension of my very will."

"YOUR WILL IS NOTHING. THE IACON ARTIFACT WILL BELONG TO ME."

"I am Lord Megatron! I command you to cease operations!"

"YOU ARE NO LONGER IN COMMAND.” "

The silver warlord and his aircraft bickered for a breem, until dark energy gathered in the center of the observation deck's ceiling, and he suddenly dropped to the ground, grabbing his helm with a groan of pain. The rest of command exchanged a wary glance, unaware of what caused the display of anguish, though Knockout smirked behind a servo.

Serves him right. He thought, cautiously stepping foward to place said servo on his leader's pauldron in a silent offer of assistance. He was still their CMO, after all.

"Regain control of this vessel." Megatron ordered quietly, finally rising to glare at his commanders, "By any means necessary."

Soundwave instantly turned toward the nearest console and deployed his spindly cable appendages, connecting to the base of the keypad in an attempt to override the warship's systems. And for the briefest moment, the other EM Fields in the room calmed to a nervous simmer, knowing the silent mech would be able to save them all.

But that moment of false sense of security passed, and Knockout watched in utter horror as the Communications Chief suffered the same fate as the fallen vehicon. The surge of electricity that lurched over his frame was stronger than last time - too strong for even Soundwave to handle. His systems shut down and he slumped forward, tentacles frozen against the sentient console.

The medic had never felt a flicker of anything other than determination from Dreadwing’s EM field before, but it was pure and absolute terror as they watched it happen.

"All servos," The leader of the Decepticons growled as he walked across the bridge, not even offering a glance at his unresponsive TIC, "Cut power to the mainframe, and disconnect data relays. Now!"

Dreadwing and all of the surrounding vehicon troopers raced out of the room, shortly followed by Lord Megatron. Knockout paused to check Soundwave's vitals as any good medic would, relieved to find he was simply in an advanced stasis lock, and then left the observation deck as well.

He passed through many concerningly empty halls towards a secondary navigation center, one that contained a few of the data relays he had been ordered to handle. The room was also empty when the red mech walked inside, while all of the possessed screens displayed the same page of Iacon coordinate glyphs. It chimed when another line of code popped up below the first one, proving that the warship was in fact much better than Soundwave at locating the relics within the encoded database.

"Lord Megatron, the computer has decrypted a second set of coordinates." Knockout announced through his comm module, trying to determine where it was located on the human's planet. Maybe somewhere near the equator? 

"Perhaps we should permit it to continue- gAck"

Something slammed into the medic's dorsal plating with lightning speed; something sharp and staticy that infiltrated all of his systems in micro-kliks and shocked them into offlining.

And then…

Nothing.

Chapter Text

Turning on was excruciating.

Knockout could only compare the sensation to a really bad hangover after drinking Breakdown under the table, but he was vaguely aware that too many cubes of high-grade wasn't the cause of this. His systems were all muddled and his helm ached, optics offline and sparkrate erratic. The racer slowly filtered air through his vents and set his self-repair systems to work on his sensory array, while memory files jumped to the front of his processor.

He immediately checked his internal chronometer for the time, surprised to learn that several jorns had already passed, and cycled his optics online.

A glowing transfer drive had been connected to the console's port in front of him, one very clearly of Autobot origin, and was currently downloading the Iacon Database from right under the Decepticons' olfactory sensors. Knockout softly growled and ripped the device out, crushing it in the palm of his servo. Megatron would've killed him if the Autobots had been able to steal the decoded entries!

A groan caught his audio receptors as multiple sets of small, padded footsteps ran in his direction, but it didn't sound like any of the Autobots.

"On your feet, soldier." A female voice ordered playfully, making something click in Knockout's processor. That was the Autobot Wrecker's human ally. Nico, was it?

"And beavers and ducks and walnuts and grandma." An older male voice replied in a delirious, sing-songy manner, before a heavy thud followed.

Knockout dared to slowly turn his helm in the direction of the human voices as another male gasped "The hard drive!", knowing he couldn't pretend to be stuck in stasis any longer.

"Uh oh." A young boy in baggy clothes squeaked, side-stepping to hide behind his tall friend.

The Decepticon medic stared down at the four little humans for a moment before he grinned something straight out of the horror films he loved to watch, recognizing all the children as the Autobots' charges, if not precisely by name. And the other fleshy... oh. Oh. Oh-hoho.

"Well, isn't this ẅ́ȍ̗͞n̿̚de͚̎rͣ̉ͤfú̵̠̈l̳̇͆!̵̨̖̱̿͊̾̿̚ " He laughed, turning his palm over so that the shards of their device rained down nearly on top of them, "Oh, you three really have no idea just what a wonderful gift you've given me!"

Without any more warning, Knockout grabbed the adult male in the snazzy suit, lifting him up into the air before the human sparklings could react.

"No!"

"Agent Fowler!"

"Put him down!" They yelled in unison, fear and anger in their eyes.

The crazed medic ignored them and tightened his grip around the man's waist, bringing him to faceplate-level. The human was still a little disoriented, but the crimson optics glaring down at him seemed to snap him into a more responsive condition. That, or it was the murderous dentae that peeked through Knockout's smile. Either way, he was conscious enough to talk, and that was all that mattered.

"Now now, I have no intention of hurting your little pal ," He teased, drawing out the final word, "As long as he cooperates."

"Wh... What do you want?" The airborne male asked, failing to put on his best confident expression.

"Oh it's quite simple, really. I know that you're the squishy with ties to the entire human government, which means you must have the answers I seek. Tell me, and I let you and the children walk out of here scratch-free."

"Tell you what?"

"The location of MECH's headquarters."

The one referred to as Agent Fowler blinked in surprise, having not expected the question, while the humans below them glanced at each other with similar expressions. That shock didn't last long, however, for a sudden crack sounded from the doorway and a glowing groundbridge popped into existence in front of it.

The Autobot medic Ratchet walked out: a scowl on his faceplate and his surgical knives deployed. Oh, he was ready to fight.

"Put. The human. Down." He spat, shifting into a stance more fitting for a lunge.

The human sparklings ran over to the old medic's pedes for safety, while the adult remained stuck in Knockout's increasingly tighter grasp.

"Not until he gives me what I want." The cherry-red racer retorted, shifting his free servo into its buzz saw attachment.

"I-I don't have a solid answer; MECH's damn good at staying under the radar." Fowler began, panicking when Knockout's engine growled and his claws tightened again, "B-but I-I have heard rumors! They might be hiding out in a previous base of theirs. It's an abandoned warehouse complex in the New York Appalachians. Just don't squish me, and I'll show ya the coordinates."

The two medics stared at each other with progressively more enraged glares, optics narrowed to slits and intakes stuck in seemingly permanent scowls. But after a breem, Knockout relented, allowing the human to return to solid ground. Fowler quickly pulled out his phone and loaded a set of latitude and longitude points on the little screen, holding it out for the Decepticon. Knockout had to kneel down to see anything more than an illuminated dot, but when the numbers finally came into view, he clipped his visual feed and snapped upright again.

"This better be legitimate." Knockout warned, saving the coordinates to every memory bank he could think of.

"We've been there before, so I can confirm the location. But what interest is it to you?" Ratchet demanded, gesturing for the human to come to him.

The racer didn't try to stop him, simply glancing at the agent as he reunited with the children, before all four humans disappeared through the swirling portal behind them.

"That is of no concern to you. Now get out of here; Megatron doesn't need to know that any of you were present." He deflected, already able to pick up the sound of heavy pedesteps echoing down the corridor.

Ratchet briefly glared at him, and then at the floor where the transfer drive lay shattered, unable to hide the immense desperation that flickered through his EM Field. But the approaching mech registered to his audio receptors as well, and he reluctantly stepped through the groundbridge he had arrived from.

Knockout's resolve instantly crumbled with a sigh; emotion surged through his systems and squeezed his spark. He covered his faceplate in shaking servos, smiling soft and genuine for the first time in deca-cycles, though quiet sobs racked his chest and coolant poured from his optics.

I'm so close, Breakdown. Just one groundbridge away from the pest that took you apart. Just one portal..! He silently prayed, pawing at the falling liquid.

"What is your malfunction, Knockout?" Lord Megatron's familiar voice boomed as he stepped into the room, an optical ridge raised in question.

"Ah, just a bit of Earth's dust particles, my liege. I'm impressed you managed to wrangle the warship back to normal." The medic lied with practiced ease, knowing well that the humans, and by association the Autobots, were the reason the Nemesis was no longer trying to kill them, "It appears most of the crew, myself included, have been in stasis for quite some time."

"Yes, but while this vessel may not have proved to be a loyal addition to my army, it still served as a valuable asset in decoding the Iacon Database." The former gladiator sneered, gesturing to the console behind his CMO.

Knockout turned to see four sets of coordinates displayed on the glowing screens, and that apparently they were currently hovering nearby the first location - which was most certainly not where he remembered being before he'd fallen into stasis lock.

"Knockout, gather a detail of troopers and meet me in the observation deck." The leader of the Decepticons ordered, already turning to leave, "We will be going after all four of these new relics as quickly as possible."

The Aston Martin nodded, but didn't follow immediately. He scooped up the shards of the failed Autobot transfer device and dumped them into the nearest disposal unit, praying Soundwave wouldn't learn of his interaction with the humans for a little while. At least, just enough time for him to come up with an appropriate excuse for not terminating them immediately. And why he wanted to know MECH's center of operations. And why he didn't attack one lone Autobot medic who was very clearly past his prime...

Sweet Unicron, he had a lot of excuses to come up with!

"Including one pit of a reason to groundbridge to an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere... if these coordinates are even accurate, you squishy little pest." Knockout mumbled aloud to himself, brushing his servos off of the remaining device specks.

But if they were accurate, then it would all be worth it. No longer would the medic only cover himself in Cybertronian blood; he'd get to experience the thrill of staining himself with human blood. The blood of his enemy. Of Breakdown's captor.

Of sweet, sweet revenge.

Chapter Text

Gathering an appropriate group of vehicons for the upcoming mission turned out to be quite easy.

Whereas Knockout had been expecting the troopers to need some... persuasion, a sizable team instantly offered to accompany him to the first set of Iacon coordinates. One or two tried to pretend that they "just really wanted to see how human cities compared to Cybertronian ones," but the Decepticon CMO knew the real reason behind their eagerness. 

Ever since the Insecticon hive had been enlisted into the ranks, the vehicons had been degraded, ignored, and considered expendable even more than before, and many tried to get as far away from the overgrown bugs as possible: even if it meant returning to work in the mines!

Yet… Knockout didn't require an entourage of half the Decepticon army. He only needed a few guards (laborers to dig out the relic for him, more precisely).

Eventually, he managed to thin the party down to four vehicons and himself, and led them toward the main observation deck as Lord Megatron had ordered. He could hear his leader talking to another mech - probably Soundwave -, but didn't feel like waiting for him to finish his latest rant, and stepped through the large steel door.

"Lord Megatron." The racer announced, interrupting the warlord and, yep, Soundwave, "I have assembled the mining detail you requested for the first set of coordinates."

He stalked into the room with a slight spring in his step, hoping that to the others it would seem he was excited to embark on his assignment, and not that it was due to the information he had obtained from his… little interrogation with the human agent a half-jorn ago.

"Breakdown and I enjoyed previous success retrieving Iacon relics. In memory of my fallen comrade, I intend to do the same again." He continued with a smug smile, gesturing vividly with his servos.

But internally, the sentences left his voice box like a scraplet was eating it. Especially given how diluted those truths were. Breakdown wasn't a "fallen comrade." He was a lost lover. And the two mechs had "enjoyed" much more than just retrieving the ancient artifacts. The missions provided times away from prying optics where they could have fun together, and explore the planet like before they had been summoned to the Nemesis. And complain about command without getting in trouble. And freely touch each other, and kiss, and interfa-

"This is a mission. Not one of your racing excursions." Megatron hissed with bubbling rage, ripping Knockout from his processor as he stomped up to him.

"STOP YOUR PREENING! Move quickly and operate with a surgeon's skill! Do you understand me, Knockout!?" The Leader of the Decepticons suddenly burst in uncontained fury, leaning into his CMO's personal space as he jabbed an accusing digit at him.

Knockout instinctively stumbled backwards to replace some of the distance before he was smacked across the faceplate, a nervous chuckle escaping his vocalizer as he shrank under his leader's murderous glare.

"Explicitly, Lord Megatron." He quickly backpedaled, daring a glance over the gladiator's pauldron at Soundwave, whose helm was ever-so-slightly tilted to the side in almost perceivable amusement.

"Now, since the unfortunate loss of Breakdown has left you rather… vulnerable -"

Ouch.

"-you will require appropriate support." The silver mech finished, staring off at something behind Knockout.

The medic froze when the sound of heavy pedesteps - a tone reminiscent of Breakdown's - approached his dorsal plating, followed by frantic shuffling out-of-the-way from the team of vehicons he had gathered. He turned around to be met by the preposterously abhorrent frame of an Insecticon staring down at him with its red visor and rows of crammed dentae, mandibles wiggling in a disturbing manner as a low growl emitted from deep within its intake.

Knockout couldn't hide the mixture of utter disgust and fear in his expression and EM Field as he gazed back at Megatron, praying that he wasn't serious about this… assistant. 

The look he received told him that the warlord was, in fact, very serious.

"Eh heh, how very... repellent." The red mech commented with immense shade.

How much dark energon must you have consumed for you to think that this abomination could ever replace Breakdown!? He tacked on inside his processor, silently fuming as he and his now party of five walked over to where Soundwave had opened a groundbridge for them.

They consecutively transformed and drove through the glowing portal, appearing in an empty alleyway. The sky above was bright blue and cloudless, while all around were tall brick buildings in drab colors and varying degrees of neglect. The air buzzed with the clamor of engines, car horns, police sirens (a sound Knockout was all too familiar with), human chatter, distant music, and the vibrating hum of a subway train speeding past underneath the concrete. A couple dumpsters beside the Cons were overflowing with trash, and between the buildings, the street was crowded with humans, automobiles, and human-powered… two wheeler… things… that required pedaling in order to move. Okay, these squishies are weird!

"Wow… This place is a lot different from Cybertron." One of the vehicons behind Knockout whistled; the one carrying a covered trailer full of mining equipment.

"Yet there's still something kinda reminiscent of Kaon here, doncha think?" Another asked, tilting his side mirrors.

"Okay now, focus mechs! We have a signal to locate, and a relic to collect!" The combat medic interrupted, fiddling with the scanner on his dashboard, "The signal seems to be emanating from the subway tunnels…"

He pulled onto the main road after a brief glance for oncoming traffic, making sure to conform to human traffic laws and use his blinkers.

"Fan out, and see if you can find an entrance that won't alert the entire human population to our existence!" He directed, tone dropping into a seriousness that bordered on paranoia.

'Cause if there was one thing Knockout remembered about cities like this one, it was that, no matter how beautiful the infrastructure may look, his design was still more stunning. And while normally that would be reason for utmost pride, here it only made him a target for trouble. A lot of the locals had a nasty side; and often tried to hijack vehicles that didn't have a driver in them. Of course, Knockout was the driver , but the squishies didn't know that, and his alt-mode was apparently very attractive to car thieves. 

The only benefit to his chance of "attempted burglary" was that his paint job was currently ruined to Pit and back, so he (very very unfortunately) wasn't as visually appealing to the humans who'd usually hunt him down. That fact didn't matter much though, because his frame was still valuable to them. To be sold for spare parts at the closest butcher shop.

Knockout shuddered in his vehicle form, rocking on his tires uneasily as he rolled up to another overhead traffic light.

Yeah, no. The faster somebot finds a subway entrance, the better. I love Breakdown, but I'm not quite ready to reunite with him because of some grubby bot-jackers!

<· >      < · >      < · >      < · >      < ·>

It didn't take long for the group of relic hunters to locate an open subway tunnel that was currently under construction. So, with a haphazard glance for human witnesses, Knockout literally drove through the iron guard rails and dropped onto the abandoned railways below, followed by his entourage of vehicons. The landing wasn't a problem for his suspension, but it still rattled his processor a little.

"The signal's coming from further up north… but it might take a while to reach it with all these tunnels…" The Aston Martin mumbled to himself more than the other Cons, flicking on his headlights before starting down the poorly-lit subway track.

"Knockout to base; we have successfully descended underground. If you still really think it's necessary, it's clear for the Insecticon to join now." He groaned through his communications center, hoping human interference would block their signals from reaching the Nemesis.

He was very sorely mistaken, as a groundbridge immediately popped into existence behind them, and the bulky frame of the Insecticon trudged through.

"...How wonderful." He sighed, cutting the line.

And if he accelerated a little more around the turns, and left the overgrown bug far in his rearview mirror "on accident," well… it wasn't like the vehicons were complaining.

<· >      < · >      < · >      < · >      < ·>

After a few breems of navigating the maze of identical subway tracks, Knockout's scanner finally isolated the signal in the middle of a tunnel off to the left of the one he and his team were currently traveling on, and signified the other mechs to begin mining. The vehicons transformed and retrieved their tools from the trailer, using both machine and servo-power to chip away at the concrete wall.

The Insecticon, however, simply stood a few feet away from the excavation site and stared blankly at the work being done. It didn't even offer to help! It literally just remained motionless - minus the disgusting twitches of its mandibles - and occasionally made low growling sounds whenever Knockout stared at it for too long.

"Tch, at least Breakdown assisted with more than just "support" as Megatron insisted upon with you, bug. He'd hammer away and retrieve the relic as well as provide me with protection: a thing called multi-tasking, that you apparently can't comprehend!" The medic huffed, refusing to break the staring competition that was apparently happening between him and the Insecticon,

"You know what..? Once the relic is uncovered, the Autobots will be able to locate its signal and track us down. So why don't you make yourself useful? Go scout the perimeter for unwelcome company."

The Insecticon seemed to process his request for a klik, before it let out a whiny screech and crawled onto the nearest wall, finally disappearing down the other side of the tunnel.

Knockout and the vehicons collectively sighed with palpable relief, and they turned to give him a quick salute before returning to the shallow concave they had created in the side of the subway track. They may belong to completely different classes, but it was funny to see that they all despised the new recruits. It made Knockout wonder what Breakdown's reaction would've been to the Insecticon hive, and even Starscream's too. His conjunx would probably try to stay on good terms with the metal bugs, but he had a feeling Starscream would do everything in his power to get rid of them.

Oh, would it be fun to watch him attempt that…

Chapter Text

Knockout's intuition of the Autobots' habits proved to be quite accurate.

The vehicons had just unearthed the spherical vessel and alerted him of their discovery when the Insecticon suddenly screeched from further down the tunnel, and the ping of heavy blaster fire echoed around the human passageways. A couple loud booms followed, accompanied by more gunshots, and a pair of light, rapid pedesteps.

Definitely Autobots.

Knockout and his excavation team ran out of the burrow they had made to reach the Iacon relic, just in time to see the yellow scout crash into the far wall, shortly pursued by a nearly undamaged Insecticon. The two-wheeler pounced on its head and fired another round of shots to give Bumblebee enough time to recover and get out of the way, before they linked up attacks from their blasters.

"Attack already!" The Decepticon medic shouted over the noise, snapping the vehicons out of their impressed stupor, and into action.

"I'll get the relic!" Arcee exclaimed, receiving a quick nod from her teammate as she tore down the subway track in their direction.

Knockout watched her expertly dodge the vehicons' shots and take them out one by one, even going so far as to decapitate the final one she launched over with a blade on her gauntlet. The red mech transformed his right servo into its saw-blade attachment and waited for the Autobot to land, using the dust cloud she kicked up to his advantage. He swung back and sliced her side, scattering sparks and sending her crashing to the ground with a surprised cry.

Knockout grinned; something in his processor blurring to numb instinct.

"You have lovely features: Perfect for a painful little procedure I call the Nip And Tuck." He taunted, lining up for another swipe at the blue femme.

But Arcee knew to expect his attack this time, and swiftly jumped out of the way, planting a pede on Knockout's dorsal plating as he missed. He was launched across the railway and collapsed onto the pile of offline vehicon frames, still conscious but aware that it was best to lay there till she turned her attention off of him.

"Dodge and kick." The two-wheeler snarked above him, immediately running over to the excavated Iacon relic.

Knockout rose from the collection of his fallen comrades with a quiet groan, clutching his helm in a servo. He reached into the compartment on his back and retrieved his energy prod, before sneaking up behind the Autobot as she struggled to free the container from the rocks. He didn't wait for her to notice his approach, and rammed the head of the device into the sensitive cabling in her neck. Arcee cried out in pain, but couldn't fight against the overwhelming current coursing through her frame, and dropped to the ground.

"Shock and drop." The cherry-red racer sneered, twirling his energy prod as he stared at her twitching digits.

Perhaps the power level had been a tad bit high… eh, oh well.

He looked back at the other end of the tunnel as a horrid grinding sound caught his audio receptors, spotting the Insecticon dragging an equally-unresponsive Bumblebee by the pede over to him.

Hmph, at least now his finish isn't much flashier than mine. Knockout thought as the scout was tossed onto the limp chassis of his teammate, and the Insecticon turned to squeal at him in approval? Question? Conformation? He really couldn't tell.

It didn't matter to him anyway, so the medic grabbed the vessel holding the Iacon relic and unscrewed the lid, tossing it and peering inside the sphere.

"Now, shall we see precisely what you are and what you do~?" He wondered, pulling out a small device with four curved prongs.

He held it up in the light for a better look, before an idea popped into his processor and he turned to stare at the downed Autobots beside him, "And what better way to learn your power, than to conduct an on-site experiment?"

Knockout passed the Insecticon and stalked over to the yellow scout, squatting beside him as he held the artifact out. He didn't have time to activate the thing though, because suddenly his left side was lit up in unfamiliar headlights, and the screech of metal on metal came charging in his direction. The Decepticon CMO turned to look at the rapidly approaching object, realizing far too late that it was a human sweeper train. The Insecticon managed to leap away from the speeding craft, but Knockout's reflexes were just a klik too slow.

And that klik was all it took for the vehicle to smash right into his front.

Knockout barely noticed the three humans that piloted the train before his optical feed cut out, protecting himself from the sparks that lit up around the center of impact. He became wedged between the side of the train and the tunnel wall; his scream unheard over the agonizing grind of his plating getting more ruined than it already was.

When the sweeper finally passed him, the medic dropped to the concrete and rapidly filtered air through his vents, trying to breath past the smoke that clung to his frame. He stumbled to his pedes and glared at the vehicle's tail-lights as it continued speeding down the subway tracks, shaking a fist at in a road rage gesture he had often seen humans do.

"Hey! Watch the finish!" He yelled, startled by the Insecticon when it landed beside him and began firing at the retreating squishies.

The blaster shots missed, but enough time had passed that both of the Autobots were able to recover and return to their pedes as well. (Even Arcee, which was honestly surprising given the voltage Knockout's staff was packing.) They immediately began shooting at the pair of Decepticons, thankfully more directed at the Insecticon, and Knockout's fight-or-flight instincts definitely switched then.

"Hate to run, but I just missed my train!" He hollered, backing away from the bots and transforming.

With the Iacon relic tucked safely on his driver's seat, the racer slammed down on his accelerator and shot through the maze of tunnels. He needed to put some space between him and the Autobots before calling for a groundbridge: he and Breakdown had learned that the hard way in the past.

But that goal seemed impossible, for a set of headlights appeared in his rear-view mirror, belonging to the yellow muscle car that rapidly approached his bumper.

"Well well, look who got his treads back." Knockout laughed, remembering the last time they met, and the… unique mode of transportation Bumblebee had used to chase after him.

The red medic pushed his engine even further and watched the sides of the subway track for an off-shoot, cutting the corner at the last possible klik when he finally saw one. Sparks kicked up under his tires and stung his undercarriage in protest of his stunt, but the momentary pain was overruled by the familiar rush of adrenaline during a race, and the artifact as his prize. He sighed when Bumblebee followed suit, and repeatedly cut him off when he tried to pull up alongside the Aston Martin.

It didn't work.

The young scout clipped the hind quarter of his alt-mode, sending him spinning in circles. Bumblebee transformed mid jump and grabbed Knockout's hood, tossing him across the railway like he weighed nothing. The Iacon relic was flung from his interior seat when he returned to root form and crashed to the concrete, bouncing further down the track.

Knockout growled and quickly rose, running beside the Autobot in an old-fashioned pede race to the discarded artifact. They shoved each other and simultaneously dived for it, tumbling to the ground when Bumblebee managed to snag it first.

"Give me that!" The Decepticon hissed, knocking the device out of his servo as he tried to scoot backwards.

Bumblebee reached out again but face-planted when Knockout grabbed his pedes, yanking him away from the relic. He twisted a leg out of his grip and kicked the medic with a force that sent him crashing onto his back in defeat: overcome with a phrenospasm due to literally getting the air kicked outta him.

He could vaguely hear the yellow scout retrieve the relic over the dozen different buzzes of his cranial ache, and one in particular stuck out to him. It was getting increasingly louder, and it sounded like metal on metal… 

Wait a minute… why did it sound like another one of those stupid sweeper trains!?

Knockout heaved himself upright and spotted Bumblebee staring down at the Iacon relic, which sat attached to his left gauntlet, and down the tunnel from them suddenly appeared blinding headlights and a neon yellow train. Scratches marred the front of it, making Knockout realize it was the same one that had bashed into him earlier.

"Watch out!"

"Bumblebee!"

Two muffled voices shouted over the grind of the metal wheels, belonging to the human sparklings Knockout had encountered on the Nemesis a short time ago.

But neither of the Cybertronians moved in time.

And while the scout miraculously clipped through the incoming sweeper, outlined in a blue glow definitely emanating from the artifact he had stolen, Knockout was not nearly as lucky.

The train crashed right into his front, its windshield and his own headlights shattering on impact. His pedes gave out and the Aston Martin fell, unable to stop the human vehicle from practically running over him. No amount of flailing saved his plating from caving in either; sparks flinging in every direction and searing all of his exposed wires.

Knockout screamed in more anger than pain, proving to be quite an effective speed reducer for the sweeper.

He laid on the concrete for a few breems after they had finally rolled to a stop, internally cursing the Insecticon for failing at the one job it had on this mission. Breakdown never would've let this happen!!!

"Bumblebee!" The human femme cried, faint footsteps racing away from the wreckage they had used as a speed bump.

Knockout tuned out the following conversation entirely, wrapped up in his processor.

The Insecticon and his team of vehicons were all offline. His frame was now completely decimated. And the only thing he had to show for his misery was the empty container that once held the Iacon artifact. The artifact that was rightfully his, mind you, but the Autobots had stolen! 

And, oh sweet Primus, when he returned to the Nemesis empty-servoed…

"You absolute AFTS!" He suddenly screeched, rising off the railway with a disorientated sway, "Do you have any idea what Lord Megatron will do to me if I don't return with that relic!?"

Neither of the Autobots seemed to care. They both deployed their blasters and pointed them at him, already humming with loaded energy.

"You're just gonna have to deal with it, Con. Consider it payback for trashing our attempt at downloading the Iacon database." Arcee snapped, daring a step forward.

The lone Decepticon glared at them and their three human allies (why did the adult look different this time?), before letting out a frustrated puff of air from his vents. He transformed and took off down the opposite end of the subway tunnel, cringing when the movement snapped a rear tire off its axle.

Not like he could do anything about it, if the raised blasters in his mirrors said anything...

Chapter Text

Trying to drive on only three tires… wasn't exactly ideal.

Between the dented plated, frayed cables, and a broken axle, Knockout didn't get very far from where he had encountered the Autobots. It didn't seem like they were following anyway, which was all the medic was concerned about. So with great effort, he transformed back to root-mode and leaned against the closest wall, lifting a servo to his helm as he contacted the command center.

To his surprise, Soundwave was the one to respond. He had figured the communications chief would've still been out on his mission to retrieve the next Iacon relic, but the fact that he had already returned to base was an obvious sign that he was successful. Unlike himself.

He reluctantly stepped through the groundbridge that appeared in front of him, winding up in the Nemesis' main control room. A group of eradicons were on the bridge behind him, while Soundwave, Dreadwing, and Lord Megatron himself stood in front of the main console. They all turned to face him; the blue and gold seeker's expression one of guilt, the warlord's one of frustrated expectancy.

Oh frag.

"Did you retrieve the relic!?" Megatron demanded, storming up to him.

"No, master." Knockout admitted, biting back the excuse he was about to say.

The former gladiator scowled deeply, optics narrowing as he leaned over his CMO, probably exercising a tremendous amount of restraint in not obliterating him.

"Then I suggest you convince me of your continued usefulness by examining Lazerbeak, doctor." He growled, throwing in a few dramatic helm rolls.

Knockout frantically nodded, swiftly spinning around with a servo motion for Soundwave to follow him.

"Dreadwing, remain here and handle groundbridge controls for when Hardshell returns. Hopefully with something better to report than what you two have." Megatron directed, before he stalked after the two Cons headed towards the med bay.

On the way there, the TIC recounted what transpired between the surveillance drone and the pair of Autobots they encountered: the old medic and a rogue Wrecker. Knockout agreed that their activities while Lazerbeak was handicapped were suspicious, especially given what they had tried to do while the crew was in stasis lock following the failed introduction of dark energon to the ship's power core.

When at last they reached Knockout's work center, he told Soundwave to lay on the medical berth while he grabbed his scanner from a nearby counter.

Lord Megatron stood on the other side of the berth and watched the medic run the scanner over Lazerbeak's small form, not exactly worried about his old friend, more like curious to see what the Autobots had been up to. The device made several rapid beeps before it chimed, and Knockout withdrew it to observe the results.

"What is it?" The silver mech wondered, both he and Soundwave tilting their helms to stare at the contemplating medic.

"...An obstruction, of some sort." The ruined Aston Martin mumbled, stepping off the medical berth's ledge to let Soundwave sit up.

The blue and purple jet practically leapt off the berth and deployed his little drone, holding them gently in his servos as Lazerbeak opened the main compartment on their back. There was a thin, transparent green tube lodged inside: one that had glowing orange highlights and a central energy cylinder that pulsed dangerously. Knockout's optics widened and his intake gaped open, horrified recognition taking over his features.

"Grenade!" He yelped, flinging himself away from the impending explosion.

Knockout dove underneath one of his workbenches and covered his helm, shaking so violently his plating rattled. He squeezed his optics shut and turned down his audio receptors in preparation for the deafening boom...

But none came.

Instead, he heard Megatron let out a cross between a sigh and low chuckle.

"Ah, that is clever. Knockout, prepare to properly dispose of the obstruction." The leader of the Decepticons ordered in an almost mocking manner, a twisted grin tugging the corners of his lips.

The red mech did the Cybertronian equivalent of a nervous gulp and hesitantly rose from under his desk, grabbing a pair of curved tweezers from on top of it. Lazerbeak remained perfectly still as he carefully reached into the compartment and took hold of the explosive, positive he was going to die right then and there from either the grenade going off, or Soundwave's wrath if he accidentally hurt the surveillance drone.

Mercifully, he managed to pull the cylinder out with his spark still intact.

Knockout glanced up at his leader for assistance, only to receive a raised optical ridge, and even more fearfully held the combustive device as he ran out of the medical center. He fumbled with it a few times and half-screamed again, flying towards the nearest exit. All of the vehicons he passed reflectively flattened themselves against the walls to give Knockout space to advance, yet none offered to help.

Curse Megatron to the deepest pits! The medic grumbled silently to himself, finally reaching an airlock. The grenade was beeping now, and its components were getting hot to the touch. He launched it with all his might and watched it explode mere feet from the warship, instantly covering the hull in smoke and shrapnel.

Knockout sucked in a shaky vent as he stared at the dissipating plume, and turned his attention to the dark horizon. The sky was a deep navy and sprinkled with thousands of twinkling stars, and he could make out the black silhouettes of the tree canopy from below the aircraft.

The sight of the densely covered ground sparked something in his processor, and so he quickly retreated back to the dimly lit hallways in search of his leader.

He found him in the doorway of a data room, staring at Soundwave as he worked furiously on the encrypted Iacon database with all four of his available appendages.

"Lord Megatron, please excuse my interruption." Knockout began, hovering a courteous few steps away, "But since we are still waiting on Hardshell's return, I wish to seek your permission to embark on a… scouting mission for energon deposits. I believe I picked up a distant signal while in New York, maybe somewhere near the mountainous region..?"

The gladiator definitely seemed suspicious of the request.

"And after your failed mission retrieving the Iacon relic, how can I be sure you wouldn't botch a simple task such as scouting as well?" He inquired, sparing his CMO a glance over his spiked pauldron.

"I simply wish to make up for that failure, my liege. Since there aren't any more decoded entries thus far, and no mechs in need of medical attention, energon scouting is the least I can offer in retribution." The racer suggested, placing a servo over his spark chamber.

Megatron mulled over the idea for a few kliks, before clasping his servos behind his back and turning around to face him.

"Very well." Was all he said as he disappeared down the hall in long, purposeful strides.

Knockout smiled and stepped into the data room, addressing Soundwave in a chipper manner. When the TIC requested a destination to input for the groundbridge, he transmitted a set of coordinates that were near the original set that Agent Fowler had given him, but far enough that the human corporation wouldn't detect his arrival.

(Of course he wasn't really going to scout for energon deposits! He had revenge on the processor, and a nice slot of free time to achieve it. Plus, his chassis was already ruined, so MECH's weapons wouldn't do any damage to the paint he didn't have.)

<·>      <·>      <·>      <·>      <·>

The pede Knockout lifted off the metal floor to step through the portal landed on soft leaf litter, faintly crunching on twigs. It was dark, and the overhead canopy blocked out much of the natural light the stars provided, but he knew it wasn't a good idea to turn on his headlights. That'd be like shining a spotlight in MECH's face and calling "I'm over here!"

So instead, he crept through the forest of unfamiliar flora toward the destination Agent Fowler provided, shrouded in the cold blanket of night like the villains in all his favorite movies.

As he walked, the medic pulled up Breakdown's old medical files and flipped through the different entries, until he finally landed on the one that was logged after his conjunx's capture by those human butchers. Because on top of the key injuries - missing right optic, mangled spark chamber - Knockout had also recorded all of the different bullet dents, scorch marks, and electric shocks he had suffered.

And right now, that information was going to pay off. Big time.

Because now Knockout knew what kinds of weaponry he needed to prepare for. The handheld guns wouldn't do any more than superficial damage, and MECH hadn't been recorded to use tanks. Their helicopters were equipped with energy blasts, but Knockout was agile enough to dodge those. And as for the electric stuns, well…

He hoped he had built up enough of a resistance after getting fried by his own staff more times than he'd like to admit.

The racer minimized the files and paused when he noticed an approaching ridge to the hill he traveled across. Through the leggy pine trees, the forest broke into a small plateau, and it was there that a collection of large metal structures stood, gleaming silver in the moonlight. The human's intel had been accurate after all…

Knockout grinned and crouched behind a boulder, quietly observing the deceptively quiet warehouse complex like a predator to prey.

Let the fun begin.

Chapter Text

It was eerie. The woods were silent, devoid of any wildlife or human activity. Knockout couldn't see any cameras, drones, guards, or other, but he knew the group of squishy freaks that lurked in the warehouse were definitely using heavy surveillance techniques. They were just extremely well hidden.

The first two buildings in the cluster were garages, most likely storing the crudely painted automobiles that made up MECH's groundforce. (Which, who in their right processor would think neon green was a good choice!? Like, he knew humans were tasteless, but seriously!?)

Off to the left of the garages were tall silos and pouring tanks, which were obviously of no use to the revenge-seeking medic. But just past them was the main hanger; a metal and concrete building big enough to hold the entire Insecticon hive. Knockout could only vaguely predict how many human agents would fit in there, comparatively.

Ugh, too many. He thought grimly, shuddering as he slid down the slope toward the base, No matter; their numbers will dwindle shortly…

The red assassin crept closer to the side of the entrance, flattening himself against the wall, and increased the sensitivity to his audio receptors. On the other side of the dense insulation, he could hear the incoherent murmur of several indistinct voices; all low and solemn, almost mechanical. Then registered the overlapping clicks of multiple keyboards, and the soft hum of electricity flowing through the building's frame. Lights. Technology.

And then, even fainter, came the steady beat of a spark monitor.

The lurking racer frowned deeper now, not expecting that familiar rhythm to be among MECH's soundscape. Was it even possible for humans to heal their internal components? How did they monitor their, uh… organic… sparks? Why was one of them injured enough to require that kind of life support technology? How on Earth and Cybertron combined was the human even alive enough to need life support with how fragging squishy they are!? What!?

Stop! Focus on murder, not your medical intrigue! Knockout scolded, shaking his helm.

He turned his volume back to its normal range now that he had confirmed the humans were unsuspecting of his arrival, and ignored the questions that fact raised. (What were they so busy doing that they weren't monitoring their security measures for me?)

Knockout took a moment to prepare himself for his approaching attack, offlining his optics and cycling air through his vents. In the silence, he pictured his conjunx's faceplate;

- whole, freshly painted, golden optics crinkling in the corners as he smiled -

and then morphed it;

- broken, energon gushing from an empty optic socket, the surrounding orange faceplate cracked and torn from brute force, expression so contrastingly raw and vulnerable -

just as Breakdown had stumbled into the med bay. Knockout recalled every detail for as long as he could bear, every wound MECH had inflicted upon his partner, until that increasingly familiar sensation overcame his processor.

The urge to kill.

When he opened his optics again, the edges of his vision bled red, fuzzy. A crazed smile dawned his pale faceplate, reflecting in the moonlight. The Aston Martin deployed his saw blade attachments and stood before the base's front door, shadow looming on the corrugated metal as he contemplated its thickness. Cutting an opening would take too long and alert everyone inside, allowing them time to weaponize themselves…

…So an old tactic of Breakdown's would have to suffice. Not like he had to be careful of his finish anyway…

With a shrug, Knockout charged at the blocked entrance, smashing through it with the force of his frame. The action left scratches on his chest plates and sent sparks scattering onto the floor, but he was blind to it as he took in the scene before him. Every agent in the building turned to face him and draw their weapons, but it was like they moved in slow motion.

There were at least thirty of them; stationed at consoles on a high rise in the back, patrolling the catwalks on the right by more silo pipes, and manning heavy machinery on the floor. A group of humans in white coats, instead of the usual gray gear, were focused on a stretcher off to the left, where scaled down medical instruments were connected to the covered body laying on it.

But none of them mattered at that moment. Not as the intruder's optics flicked up from the stretcher to stare at the wall behind it, freezing in instant horror.

Because what he saw wasn't human. Wasn't part of their machinery.

It was Breakdown.

Suspended in thick chains, his body hung like a long-forgotten doll, helm slumped forward into his chest. His paint was chipped and dull with distress, while obscene weld lines barely held together limbs that appeared to have once been ripped off. Cables were attached to various parts of his frame, connecting to different computers and industrial generators, feeding him just enough energy to keep his degradable components active.

Even in death, Breakdown hadn't been allowed to rest.

Knockout remembered the cycle Dreadwing had informed him that he was unable to recover his conjunx's remains, no matter how hard he looked. Some mechs, including himself, had been convinced that it meant Breakdown was alive, while the rest of the Decepticons had surmised that he had been taken. By the Autobots. By Starscream.

But they never guessed humans. Not MECH.

Yet here Knockout was, staring right at the mangled husk of his late partner. He didn't even feel the bullets start raining against his ruined armor. He just stared. Frozen. Shattered.

Breakdown, the love of his life, the only thing in his miserable existence that mattered, was right here. Because these - these diabolical cruel insane pests - had taken his body. Planned to use him in some fragged up experiment of theirs, no doubt.

They had taken him. Ruined his frame. Forced his motor functions to continue without a spark to give them life. Refused to let him rest.

And Knockout.

Just.

S̷̹̮̲͂n̿̚a̧͍̅pp̟ͪ͒͛ͫ͟͡e͚̎d.

With a scream that likely deafened the agents, his saws buzzed to life, and the enraged medic lunged at the closest humans. Their measly handheld weapons couldn't do anything to save them, and his whirring blades sliced through them in a sensation he could only compare to the slight resistance of mesh cables. Organic blood splattered his gauntlets and soaked the floor, chunks of dismembered flesh hitting the concrete with wet thuds.

Bullets pinged harmlessly off Knockout's chassis as he swung at another group of soldiers, watching in a dissociated amusement as their bodies folded beneath his rotary saws. The red liquid sprayed across his faceplate this time, stinging his optics, while their butchered parts were flung across the warehouse from momentum. His olfactory sensors were flooded with a horrid, acrylic stench that twisted his tanks, but the thrill of revenge kept his processor numb to anything besides his next targets.

But the MECH agents were just as persistent; equally undeterred by the reek of blood or the sight of their fallen comrades. A new wave of soldiers appeared on the catwalks with different weapons, and loaded electric discs into their barrels. Knockout was too focused on the few humans shooting from the glistening red floor to notice the newcomers, which gave one the chance to line his shot at the Cybertronian's dorsal plating.

The stun hit with a faint clank, electrocuting Knockout on impact. But although his functions seized and he dropped to a knee pad, the murderous racer was not nearly as unconscious as the humans believed.

It appeared that he had, in fact, built up a resistance to the excess voltage coursing through his systems. Enough to recover motor functions and not forcibly shut down, at least.

"Heh…" He vented, frame trembling.

"Heh heh hah hah hAh HAh H̸̡̨̫̪̃̎̒́͘A̷̢̗͍̰̥̹̗̻̽̐̈́ͅH̵̜̣͍̫̜̯͇͙̔̔ H̸̡̨̫̪̃̎̒́͘Á̸̱͎͙͆͝Ḩ̵̬̙͈̗͉͈̯̹͚͋͗͑͗͌͘͘͘A̴̢̨̧̛̙̞͕͇̅̋̈́̀͠-!!!"

A terrifying laugh tumbled out of his intake. Distorted. Insane. The MECH agents could feel their blood freeze instantly, eyes widening behind their goggles as the medic's helm snapped back to attention.

He spun around in the direction of the catwalks and disconnected the buzz saw attachment from his right servo, hurling it at the soldiers with the stun guns. They didn't have time to react; surprised cries cut into choked gurgles as the blade tore through each of their abdomens in clean, precise halves. The remaining agents resumed showering Knockout with their harmless bullets, jumping out of the way as the blood-soaked saw crashed to the ground.

"What's the matter, fleshies!? Not easy defeating a mech that's unchained and has a full range of sight, is it!?" He cackled, engaging a drill extension to replace the saw he threw.

At this point, the dwindling MECH operatives realized they were in trouble. Their handheld weapons were ineffective against the Cybertronian's dense armor, and the more powerful instruments they stored were attached to their helicopters - which were outside and unable to fly inside the base. And the technicians had been so preoccupied stabilizing their leader and preparing Breakdown's husk for housing that they hadn't built any other artillery!

So while a few dozen agents continued defending the warehouse from its mad attacker, the rest of the survivors decided to cut their losses and try escaping the ongoing massacre before they joined the human confetti strewn across the glistening concrete.

Key word. Try.

Because Knockout was having none of it. His helm whipped around at unnatural angles and speeds to locate each of the fleeing soldiers, dancing around coated machinery to dice them before they ever reached their intended exits.

"Nuh, uh. You're not escaping what you deserve." The Aston Martin taunted, chassis once again colored a lovely, dripping red that was most certainly not paint, "I suggest submitting quietly. Just ȃ̸̢Ć̵͆c͋e̸̥͐p̟̩̈ͧ̄t̴̥͘'̵̆ it, like the brave little warriors you pretend to be."

It was a jab. Mockery, obviously. But there was also truth carefully curated into it.

Knockout wasn't a brave warrior. He was a cowardly medic. A self-proclaimed scientist. And he wasn't exactly doing a good job with acceptance, either. His lack of it over Breakdown's death was precisely what had led him to MECH's front door with a pair of saw blades and a deranged processor, bent on mincing his conjunx's captors like a human salad!

Speaking…

Knockout ran his drill through the chest of another soldier, finally noticing over the crunch of bones that there weren't any more bullets pinging off his chassis. He flicked the corpse off his servo attachment and turned to survey the warehouse, scanning for human heat signatures. The red mech was surprised to see that there were only three left in the building: the mystery patient still lying unconscious on the stretcher, and two identical technicians flooring it toward the entrance he had bulldozed through.

The medic quickly intercepted them by planting a pede in front of the opening, stomping on one when they tried to get around. He transformed his remaining saw blade back into his servo and snatched the final MECH agent off the ground, raising him to optic-level. It was deja vu with the Autobot liaison all over again.

"So tell me, squishy, where is your illustrious leader? I would've thought Silas would want to come out and play~" Knockout questioned, tightening his grip around the human's body.

"H-He's on lIfe sUpport. Over thERE." The masked operator gasped, struggling for air, "A fAIled misSIOn - roof collApsed!"

Knockout briefly glanced at the covered body on the stretcher, the white fabric stained red as it absorbed the spilled liquid. Then another crazed grin spread across his faceplate, causing organic blood to drip off his lips and slip down his intake. It tasted foul, yet sweet with victory.

His claws continued to curl around the human without mercy, puncturing his fragile body. The agent's crying and begging were mixed with the satisfying crack of ribs breaking under pressure, until Knockout had entirely squeezed him to pulp in his servo, and dropped the chunky mess onto the ground with a splattering thump.

The racer's pedes sloshed through a good pool of blood and dismembered flesh over to where Silas laid. But Knockout ignored him for now.

Instead, he walked up to where Breakdown's body hung on the wall behind MECH's leader.

And it was only when he reached out with slick servos to cup his conjunx's frozen face, that his vision cleared, and sobriety returned to his processor.

"Oh darling… What did they do to you..?" He whispered into the silent warehouse.

Nothing responded but the steady drip of blood from the catwalks, but that was okay. 

Because Knockout was okay.

In that moment of clarity, he pressed their forehelms together and offlined his optics, letting his servos take in the feel of Breakdown's frame under them. He had his conjunx back. Now he could say goodbye. Now he could let him rest.

After a few breems calming down, the lone Cybertronian eventually opened his comm unit, deciding it was time to return to the Nemesis.

"..Soundwave? It's Knockout. I need a groundbridge at my coordinates, and a team of vehicons, too…" He paused, voice low as he processed the words leaving his glossa,

"...I'm bringing Breakdown home..."

Chapter Text

The groundbridge appeared a few kliks later, directly in front of the Knockout-sized hole that made up the warehouse's entrance. Five vehicons stepped through the swirling green portal and took in the scene before them with expressionless visors, though their EM Fields betrayed immense shock.

It looked like a watered-down paint can had exploded inside MECH's base, but the minced flesh that littered the machines revealed the real composition of the liquid. The red coating the floor and catwalks was tainting the air with an acrylic metal stench; one that immediately made the vehicons' tanks lurch. But nothing terrified them more than the two familiar Cybertraonian frames standing off to the left side of the building.

Knockout - a mech recently lacking paint or finish on his basic alloy armor - was glistening crimson from the organic blood, joints dripping and faceplate smeared with it. His optics, spilling with coolant, never left the bulky cobalt husk in front of him, and shaking, stained servos gently held onto a cracked orange faceplate. The only thing holding Breakdown's body upright were the large chains wrapped around him, securing him to the wall.

But Breakdown was there. Knockout had somehow managed to find his remains.

"...Sir..?" One of the closest vehicons, Steve, dared to ask, frozen beside his comrades.

"Remove the chains, but keep the machinery attached. I want all of it and Breakdown brought to the med bay." The command was barely above a whisper, yet it snapped all of the troopers out of their trance.

They sprinted across the pool of blood toward their old comrade's suspended frame, and began cutting through the steel links to free him. Knockout helped support his conjunx when the main chains broke and he fell forward, and silently watched the vehicons uproot the different generators and monitors. It was only when one nearly stepped on the underpede stretcher that he spoke again.

"Watch your pedes, gentlemechs. That squishy will be returning with us as well, and I will not hesitate to terminate you all if he is killed before I get my servos on him." He warned, tone uncharacteristically chipper now.

"O-of course, sir. Joe, can you take care of the human?" Steve requested, flipping his blaster back into a servo.

The one called Joe nodded, delicately gathering the smaller life support instruments in his arms, and began pushing the covered stretcher toward the awaiting groundbridge. The Decepticon medic and Steve followed with Breakdown's cold frame sandwiched between them, while the other three carrying the attached machines brought up the rear.

Never would they have thought returning to the stuffy and dreary Nemesis would feel so rewarding, yet they each took a deep invent of the clean air, suddenly appreciative of the warship's purple aesthetic in comparison to the gray and red massacre left behind. The groundbridge snapped shut behind the final vehicon, closing off the majority of the acidic smell, despite their bloody pedeprints tracking in a bit of the residue.

Soundwave stood at a nearby console and watched the small procession return, intrigued by what Knockout had discovered on his supposed "energon scouting mission."

A slight tilt of his helm was the only indicator of his condolence when the CMO appeared with Breakdown's husk, passing by him without a word. The communication chief knew he needed to report this to Lord Megatron, but decided to allow a breem of peaceful mourning before that inevitable confrontation, and instead alerted the janitorial unit to report to the main observation deck for cleanup.

<·>      <·>      <·>      <·>      <·>

"Steve, help me set Breakdown on that berth. You three, put the generators at the foot. Joe, I want Silas on the opposite side of the room." Knockout directed when they stepped into his workcenter.

"W-wait, that's Silas!? The leader of those MECH creeps that dissected Breakdown!?" A different vehicon gasped, half-dropping the computer in his servos out of surprise.

The racer chose to ignore him and heaved his partner onto the medical slab, briefly glancing at his dim faceplate before moving to readjust a foreign cable that was connected to the base of his neck. He needed to get to work.

"Alright, everybot out. And I don't want to see you back in here unless somebot's actively leaking to death!" Knockout ordered, ushering the vehicons past the lip of the med bay doors before slamming them shut.

He locked the panel and spun to face the large metal sink situated on the right side of the room, snatching a polymer cloth and running it under the facet. Quickly but thoroughly, the medic wiped his digits clear of the human blood and splashed his faceplate with warm water, scrubbing the drying liquid off the necessary parts of his chassis. He could hit the wash racks later, but for now he simply needed clean servos to properly work.

Knockout then gathered a collection of tools and brought them over to the sterilized berth Breakdown laid on, giving himself two kliks of mental preparation before wielding his medical scanner. He knew already what the results would be, but he also knew he'd only move forward if his conjunx was really, really, absolutely, gone.

*Beep Beep*

Status: Offline

Time of deactivation: data missing; several deca-cycles ago

Degradation: 3%

Outside interference confirmed.

The medic sighed long and slow, forcing his vents to remain even. Now wasn't the time to cry again, or get angry. He couldn't afford to focus on the ache in his spark chamber, either. He had a corpse he needed to tend to.

And so slowly, meticulously, Knockout unhooked Breakdown from each of MECH's machines, recording their functions and rate of success, before tearing out their power sources.

Next, he connected to his conjunx's dusty medical port and closed down each of the systems that were previously forced online, even going so far as to make sure his sensory array was offline.

Then he turned to the physical damage his frame had suffered; first closing the holes left by the foreign cables, next sanding down the crude weld lines, and then properly reattaching the torn limbs.

Finally (his least favorite part), Knockout began draining the residual energon from Breakdown's lines, siphoning it into a small container for later use.

Not fuel for Cybertronians, of course, but for the warship's systems. Since natural energon deposits were in such short supply, it was common for energon to be recycled from fallen Decepticons to power the engines. Once they were completely drained, their husks could then be smelted down. (Trying to smelt a frame that still had energon in its lines only resulted in an explosion, and usually even more bodies to process.)

…And that thought made Knockout pause. He didn't want Breakdown to get thrown in a smelting pit. He should be buried like the Autobots do: in a way that the fallen mech is cherished and remembered.

The red mech stared at his conjunx's faceplate; optics lacking spark and expression not quite at peace. He wasn't ready to say goodbye. Not so soon after finally getting him back. Maybe… maybe not ever.

A sudden chime from his communications center pulled him back to reality.

<< Knockout: report to observation deck immediately. Not in trouble. Hardshell: returning from mission. >>

Soundwave... Eh, at least he was considerate enough to give me a helm's up. Knockout sighed, sparing his late partner one more glance before walking out of the silent med bay.

<·>      <·>      <·>      <·>      <·>

It didn't take long for him to reach the command room, where Soundwave, Dreadwing, and Megatron were already waiting. Either his lord didn't notice the maroon "paint" coating his chassis, or didn't care, but that was fine for Knockout. He walked up to Dreadwing's left and stood at attention, while the TIC opened up a groundbridge for the returning Insecticon.

The bug appeared with a palpable field of shame, coming to stand on Soundwave's right as he confronted his glowering leader.

Megatron didn't even need to ask the question. He, as well as everybot in the room, could see the empty state of Hardshell's servos. His armor was warped and melted in places, evident of extreme heat, and one of his left mandibles was missing, exposing frayed wires that also suffered mass temperature exposure. Knockout would've smiled, if not for the growl that erupted from his leader's intake.

"How is this possible!?" He burst, fists clenched as he paced in front of his soldiers, "Four relics, each within our grasp, and yet only Soundwave has returned with something other than an excuse!"

The gladiator came to a stop before the humbled Insecticon, "Tell me Hardshell, what is yours!?"

Knockout barely contained a snicker, Ooh, somebot's in trouble~

"I have none, my lord. We failed to retrieve the ToxEn… but the green Autobot has been… terminated." Hardshell announced, bowing his helm.

The fire in Lord Megatron seemed to settle for a moment when he processed the words.

"Then perhaps this day is not lost after all." He mused.

Knockout couldn't believe what he was hearing. Why should Hardshell get off easy without the relic or proof of the Wrecker's demise!? Not to mention, that was Bulkhead! He wanted the pleasure of terminating him! Not some bug!

"If that is true. It has been a while since anyone has extinguished an Autobot spark." The medic spit out before he could stop himself, remembering how proudly Starscream used to parrot his accomplishment over Cliffjumper.

"Because it has been a while since an Insecticon warrior has been provided the opportunity to do so!" Hardshell snapped back, leaning past the Second and Third in Commands to glare at Knockout.

"Really now? Because the bug under my recent command was utterly useless." The racer retorted, pleased when the reaction was an enraged growl from the Insecticon.

"Enough!" Megatron roared, halting the argument before it devolved into a fight, "Hardshell, are you certain the one called Bulkhead was exterminated?"

"By my very own servo, Lord Megatron." The overgrown bug confirmed, puffing out his chest plates.

Knockout rolled his optics and crossed his arms, grateful when his leader dismissed everybot from the room. Soundwave disappeared down a hallway that led to one of the data vaults (to continue decoding the Iacon database, no doubt); Dreadwing to the training deck; Hardshell with a few of his cronies toward the mess hall; and Knockout back to his med bay. He had more important things to do there, after all.

Namely, tending to the repairs of a mech he once loved, and will never lose again.