Power Gloves

NCC Medical Ward

Like its previous incarnation, this medical ward was designed with the medic in mind, with all the modern advances to make the dirty work of repairs a world easier. It is well lit, the blue and violet metal of the walls and decor is a shade paler here, and the ubiquitous filigree is missing, all to assist in ease of cleaning. Still, the place veritably sparkles. In the furniture, there is a subtle motif of blades and sharp edges, as if to evoke the scalpel of a surgeon, although it is all quite safe. Around two dozen beds, more comfortable than their sharp looks would suggest, fill the medical ward, laid out in a tidy grid, and more can be flipped out of the walls should emergency demand it. A set of tracks on the ceiling mirror the grid of beds, allowing advanced scanning equipment and tolls to be swiveled around to the various beds. Computer terminals and cabinets are molded right into the walls at intervals, and while there are the normal medical security cameras, it appears as if someone has set some of the cameras specifically to watch the cabinets.

Contents:

Fulcrum

Hook's workshop  Hackjob

Grey Book Of Primus White Book Of Primus Medical Rules

Obvious exits: Out  leads to Tetrahex. South  leads to NCC Spinal Pathway. West  leads to NCC Arena.

Catechism is sitting on a medical table, propped up by a little metal stand. She's been shot through her main burner by a sniper, had her leg cut off by a robot Jedi, been exploded by an Autobot scientist, and had the lift servos in her arm shot out. Her targeting and reflex sensors are wreck. Arguably, Catechism shouldn't even be conscious. It's awesome. Right now, she's just quietly going over inventory reports, which is about all she can do at the moment.

Fulcrum stands in medbay, idly swinging his hammer on the end of a long length of chain. Standing in front of a heavily scarred and energon-stained blast shield is his assistant Repaint, who for some reason has an apple balanced carefully on his head.

"Now just hold still..." the blacksmith rumbles, carefully sizing up his target. "WaitwwaitwaitHEYLOOKYOUHAVEAPATIENT" Repaint cries out.

"Hmm?" Fulcrum emits, letting go of the chain as he turns to Catechism his sledge hitting the blast wall scant inches from Repaint's head with a heavy THUD. "Catechism. You seem to be missing something."

Catechism looks up over her reports, at what is infinitely more interesting. She grins and exclaims, "Fulcrum! I haven't seen you in... wait, no. That was Strikebreaker. With the mutton chops. Blast. I haven't seen you in ages! Keeping Repaint in line, I see? Yeah, my leg. Springer chopped it off."

Fulcrum looks momentarily confused. "Strike...? You're heavily damaged, some confusion is to be expected. " The dour medic runs a quick medscan on his comrade using the inbuilt scanner on the table she's sitting on. "A surprisingly clean cut" he remarks, bending to examine the wound. "Repaint, fetch Catechism a new leg from supplies, and give it a coat of paint." Before his assistant can even open his mouth, he adds; "Of Catechism's colors ONLY."

Combat: Fulcrum runs a diagnostic check on Catechism

Some confusion is often to be expected of Catechism! The cut is indeed pretty clean, the fuel lines even cauterized to a close, the metal and plastic melted shut by the heat of the energy blade. She shrugs, which hurts, so she stops, and she explains, "Yeah, Springer uses this lightsaber thing, you know? How have you been, Fulcrum? Smithing keeping you busy?" Catechism actually seems genuinely interested, beyond just small talk.

Fulcrum's optics flicker in a blink at these results. "Actually, it has" he replies in a carefully neutral tone, thinking it best not to inform Catechism that it's a wonder she hasn't already flatlined. Unless she pulls away, he carefully attaches a feedback dampener into a port on her neck, dulling sensation from her damaged parts so he can begin to repair some of the damage - starting with the useless remains of her lower leg. "I've made myself some shock gauntlets that dispense a massive amount of energy on impact. They burn out very quickly but the effect is worth it."

Catechism is too oblivious to notice her condition, kind of like how Wily E. Coyote never falls until he looks down. She just never looks down. Catechism sighs with relief as Fulcrum dulls the pain, like a bullet to the... no, those lyrics are maybe not applicable right now. Or perhaps too applicable. "Really? Those sound excellent! Do you clap to work them or what?"

Repaint arrives with a shiny new leg and a sullen look on his face that speaks elloquently of his disapointment in not being allowed to give the limb kickass rose and thorn detailing. "No, just smashing them into an opponent's face will do" Fulcrum says.

Now that the damaged section is removed, the leg replacement is a simple job (thank Primus for modular construction), so he allows his assistant to finish that job while Fulcrum goes about repairing the damaged burner. "The energy discharge temporarily impairs function, leaving the target slow and uncoordinated. Or that's the theory." He grimmaces. "The training drone kept dodging my punches."

"...maybe you should ask him for lessons" he adds in a deadpan.

Rose and thorn detailing /would/ be pretty sweet but perhaps more suited to a Poison Ivy type. Catehcism's mouth makes a little 'o' as Fulcrum explains that his Power Gloves work in what is a far more obvious manner than she had assumed. She looks chagrinned and admits, "Maybe I should, yeah. Thanks for the leg up."

Fulcrum chuckles, a low gravelly sound. "Yes I thought you'd get a kick out of it." Bad puns. A Decepticon tradition. As his assistant completes the leg work, Fulcrum finishes up the slightly more fussy jobs, reconnecting severed connections, installing a couple of new components and replacing damaged armor plates. "I'm sure Springer is currently in a similar condition."

Combat: Fulcrum expertly repairs Catechism's injuries.

Combat: Fulcrum is able to repair some of Catechism's internal systems damage.

Catechism snickers a little. Then, she smirks lopsidedly and says lowly, "Oh, I know for a fact that Springer's in a similar condition. I had my whip wrapped around his ankle and was trying to drag him out the door of a shuttle. The blasted fool cut his own leg off, just to get rid of my whip!" Catechism shakes her head. "Ah, I'm feeling a bit better, even now!"

Fulcrum eases the feedback dampener from Catechism's neck, her repaired injuries now the source of dull aches rather than horrible searing pain. "Yes, nothing like fond memories of a savage beatdown to help with self repair. I wouldn't attempt any marathons or orbital insertions for a few cycles, however. Or your leg may fall off."

"No, seriously. It could fall off."