The Return of Airlift

Cybertron System - Milky Way

Once the location of the slowly drifting metal planet of Cybertron, this sector is empty of all but vast amounts of radiation over a wide portion of the electromagnetic spectrum, the result of an ion storm and a cascading chain of novas in nearby star systems. Navigational beacons constantly broadcast their warnings of potential equipment failures for any who venture here, for possibly the next few thousand years.

Contents: Reavercraft  Yarnus IV

It's nothing unusual, or at least it shouldn't be. After over a decade in the deepest reaches of space, surveying and scouting for signs of other Reavers, or other Unicronian creations that might have been scattered to the farthest reaches of the galaxy, it's simply a return to Cybertron. Time to resupply, refuel, deliver reports. The sorts of things that a long range scout does every decade or three at the least. Of course, what awaits the craft is anything but usual.

The silhouette is one that hasn't been seen in long enough that it may have faded from memory for most. Of course, those that would remember it would do so with dread, the crescent moons of the Reavercraft, the heralds of the return of Unicron, almost the destroyers of the Transformers and subjugators of their kind. But they had been turned away from Unicron in the end..those that survived. Those very few that survived. And now they are but one. One lone craft in the infinite night of space, a black shadow against the glistening, glittering expanse of all of time and creation. A shadow that falls from it's faster than light travel speeds far sooner than it had meant to.

The first warning that something is amiss wakens Airlift to full alert, gravimetric readings and magnetic fluctuations that seem to indicate things are more than amiss. More importantly, they foul the instruments. An accurate reading of navigation is rendered impossible, and he immediately shuts down his engines. Only he doesn't stop moving..no..the pull has him before he realizes what is happening. Too late..far too late. Nanoseconds pass as his processors identify key stars..the coordinates are right. Everything else is wrong. His engines are engaged at their full against the pull, maintaining position against the magnetic maw that threatens to pull him screaming into oblivion.

There's no choice..no other options. A port on his underbelly opens up and he launches the long range probe, reconfigured in an instant into a distress beacon. His systems punch as much power to it as possible, knowing full well it could bleed into more than Decepticon channels. He can risk a fight with Autobot's or worse..there's a chance there. If no help comes though, there will be no chance. No hope for survival and escape. How long will his engines hold out to keep him in place, stasis and unable to escape without assistance, having come out of FTL far too close to the anomalies that have replaced Cybertron. He only hopes that somewhere..someone is monitoring the frequencies.

Fortunately for Airlift, someone is monitoring those frequencies. A certain space shuttle who spends a lot of time along up here in the vast reaches of the cosmos... and he would insist to anyone who would bother to listen that he LIKES it that way. And to some degree... it's true. Blast Off doesn't really like people. Much at all. He far prefers the wonders of the galaxy to the loud, crude, annoying individuals he has to deal with when back on the planet with his teammates or fellow Decepticons. And yet, despite all this... there are times he gets... lonely?

Blast Off has a lot on his mind these days, and currently the normally polished looking shuttle doesn't even look all that great. Having just fought with the pyromaniac Dogfight, the Combaticon is looking just a bit... burnt. He had a patrol up here before he even got a chance to get fully repaired. Just enough repair so he wouldn't burn up in planetary reentry- then he was sent off on his way. Ah, the thankless life of a Decepticon, right?

Suddenly, a blip occurs on his long-range scanners. Possibly... Decepticon? Hmmm, interesting. It's near where Cybertron used to be. The shuttle banks around to investigate.

The source of the blip isn't particularly hard to find once someone actually goes to investigate. From a fairly long range, the contrails of the engines are visible, trailing impossibly long as they are pulled down into that magnetic vortex, burning bright and hard to keep the ship from losing position against the invisible currents which threaten it. The ship itself is sleek and smooth, a strangely organic structure and build that doesn't quite match most Cybertronian construction. The one thing that is clear about it, for those that might not know the origin, is the Decepticon emblem clearly emblazoned on the craft. The long range radio is beaming out a repeating message, ship in distress, immediate aid requested, on a continuous loop. It's hard to tell how long it may have been there at this point, locked in that endless battle between unstoppable force and maintaining itself as the immovable object. It doesn't even appear to be scanning actively, power routed from secondary systems to maintain thrust.

Sky Lynx has arrived.

It appears that monitoring distress signals is not the job of just Blast Off (wait, where's Astrotrain, anyway?), and while the Combaticon may be rocketing towards the farthest reaches of the great, wonderfully vast expanse of space known as...er...well...space, he's going to find there's company right on his tail.

"You know, Blast Off, we simply must cease these peculiar, chance meetings. I should say, it is strange to see you responding, if I may be quite honest. However,..." The massive shuttle stops to survey the scene as he rockets in to draw up alongside the Combaticon's flank... yeah, they're comfortable like that.

Sometimes.

"You look like you had some reentry troubles there, chap. Who sent the S.O.S.?"

Space Shuttle  comes closer, long-range scanners still sweeping the area. He picks up on the odd aircraft and the path it's leaving in the void of space. He also picks up on the Decepticon symbol. But at the moment, the ship isn't one that's familiar to him, nor have his scans brought up such a ship in his data files. He continues to scan through the databanks as he gets closer.

He's just about to consider responding when Sky Lynx appears. The Combaticon shuttle has that weird half-annoyed, half-happy-to-see-him reaction that he often does. As Lynx comes alongside, the still somewhat damaged shuttle makes no aggressive moves. Not that he usually does anyway. But right now, he's really not in the mood- or shape- for a fight anyway.

<> There's a pause. <<*I* simply need a few repairs. MINOR repairs. As for who sent the SOS... well, that is what I am here to investigate, as you appear to be, as well.>>

As if on cue, the repeating message that the ship is sending out..repeats.. ship in distress, immediate aid requested.. Still at the range they are, the anomalies play havoc with the message still, making it seem strangely eerie and sinister. Or perhaps that's the way the owner actually sounds, either way, it seems a loop. Within a few moments, it repeats again. Whatever the ship is, it seems to hang in space like a strange ornament, unable to advance away from the anomalies but having enough energy and thrust to keep from falling farther towards them. For now. How low it's energon reserves are, or how long the engines will hold out..that's impossible to say.

Exquisite Space Shuttle - Sky Lynx chuckles audibly. "So long as it is not your S.O.S. I suppose all is well." He takes stock of the situation at hand as he approaches the source of the signal itself, keeping a wide berth for the sake of personal safety. "Appears to be one of yours this time. As for repairs... why are you venturing out this way at less than one-hundred percent? Prime way to get yourself caught in a less than ideal situation."

The Autobot slows his engines to a soft thrum as he tries to make sense of the anomaly itself, comparing it against his own wide array of prior scans or encounters. "Very well, rescue operations. He's your badge, I am open to your ideas. Last thing I want is to get accused of creating a mess here for silly political reasons."

Space Shuttle  wonders what Sky Lynx meant by "as long as it's not his S.O.S".... what, is Sky Lynx rescuing Cons now, too? Then again, knowing his fellow space shuttle's sense of chivalry, maybe he would. Blast Off would never live it down though, so hopefully he'll never have to find out. (And yes, he's quite conveniently forgetting that time in the ruins when he got stuck in that spider web and Lynx helped him....) Then the rest just... confuses him more. Not that he really minds Sky Lynx's company. The Combaticon is a snob to most, but he tends to think better of fellow space shuttles... and any mech as "civilized" as Sky Lynx is much more agreeable than the usual riffraff Blast Off usually has to deal with.

<> "Friendly" or not, he doesn't really want to get into lots of details with the Autobot about his state of damage... or the fact that it was a dogfight with... wait for it... Dogfight that put him in this state to begin with.

<> And he does so, radioing Airlift with a message, <>

As the radio wave makes it across the intervening space, it washes over the craft with profound results. The presence of others..a first after so long alone in the deepest reaches of space.. Moreover the name is known to him, at least by reputation, though they never shared a duty station. The craft's cockpit begins to glow a sickly, pulsating purple color as running lights come alive on the wings. At the same time, active scanners come online and ping, searching for contacts..searching for..

Two contacts. One IFF recognized..one very much recognized, but certainly not as friend. The craft's sleek exterior shifts and changes suddenly as panels skin back across the inner top of the crafts crescent shape, revealing countless small rocket ports. At the same time twin panels beneath the craft open up and deploy laser canons.

<> Oh..wow..that really was his voice. It's strangely unsettling, like sharp nails drug across a slate..slowly..and in the back of one's cranial cavity, just outside the audible range but enough to cause one's sensors to twinge in sympathetic horror.

Hmm, now there is an interesting name... "Airlift... well, now there is something I've not heard across the airwaves in a good while. Executive Officer?" Lynx continues to watch the distressed craft warily as he sighs. "This is not going to turn into a two-on-one confrontation, is it?" He frowns inwardly. "Never you mind the company the combaticon keeps, what do you need to get out of this mess?"

Space Shuttle  runs through his databanks immediately once he recieves Airlift's response. Though that...voice is certainly ...not his favorite. Ugh. He winces internally a bit, but pushes that aside and continues. <>

As for the "company", he replies (only to Airlift), <<...Yes. Well.... I didn't exactly *invite* him here, he just... showed up. He likes to do that. However, unless you fire at him, the odds are he will not fire at you. If you wish to anyway, be my guest. But I may be... unable to assist, due to a... certain need for repairs.>> Plus, while the Combaticon will gladly fire at Sky Lynx in a battle situation, when it's just the two of them out here in space, well.... I dunno. It's... complicated.

To both mechs he radios, sniffing with a bored voice, <>

There's barely a pause at all before an annoyed voice responds with <> is the squawked response. << "I've been in the depths of space searching for other Unicronians on Lord Galvatron's orders!>> There's a few moments, and then his gun ports and missile bays all slide closed. << I'd take a tow from a Quintesson if it'd get me out of this mess and someone would tell me what in the stars has been going on since I've been gone! What happened to CYBERTRON!>> There's a note of almost..panic..in that strange voice of his as he tries to gun his thrusters. It's just not enough though to escape the pull of the anomaly. << I can't manage to get free of whatever this disturbance is where my planet used to be.. I need something to either pull or push me free of the pull.>>

Exquisite Space Shuttle - Sky Lynx sighs. << Fine, look, how does this sound?>> He pauses and looks about the area. << Blast Off, I can anchor anything with my own engines in opposition to whatever has him stuck. Are you...structurally sound enough to approach and set the tow rigs so we can pull him out? I am quite certain that, with your engines assisting, we can all three depart this area unscathed.>> He starts running a few checks on his own engines while he's at it. Better safe than sorry.

To the other remarks, though, about Cybertron, the Autobot remains silent for a good moment or two before adding on: << As for the state of Cybertron, I will leave it to you to brief your own companion. That is hardly my place to divulge; however I can state that it is intact and sound.>>

Space Shuttle  sighs. How annoying. First this mech shows up unexpectedly, which is already annoying, and now he's making all these demands and asking all these questions. Extra annoying. And he probably wants answers, too. Even MORE annoying. <> Obviously, Blast Off doesn't intend to be the one to do so. He's still not 100% sure this guy is who he says he is, anyway... though so far everything checks out.

The shuttle continues to come closer. <> Well, as long as HE's not in any danger, at least. Then Sky Lynx offers an idea and... well, Okay, that'd work too. And probably put him in less potential danger, too. <> As for the state of Cybertron, he oh-so-helpfully informs Airlift, <<Indeed, Cybertron still exists.>> And he leaves it at that. Blast Off's charm and gift of gab is just amazing, isn't it?

<<...What in all the blazing stars did Scrapper do to the planet!?>> is the demand, quick to assume it's his former CO that's responsible for whatever's happened. Of course, in all honesty, anyone who has met Scrapper would at least somewhat have to agree with the conclusion he's jumped to. As the other two spacecraft start moving into positions, he opens different ports on the belly of his spacecraft form, deploying the grapples which are the reason for his name. Of course, when he was a VTOL jet it was far more clear what he was up to. The cables tendril out and forward, extending his own tow capabilities towards the 'rescue team' as best he can to assist on his own. If they can simply get a cable that far, his own rescue cables will be able to connect.

Exquisite Space Shuttle - Sky Lynx scoffs. << Come now, Blast Off, you are typically more spirited than this. Rescue 101, keep the distressed party calm!>> He transforms, jettisoning the half of him that makes up the Lynx in his name, the birdlike feet jettisoning out from him as grapples themselves to snatch Airlift's own. (It's cannon! Check the screenshots!).

<< Right then, here we go! Nice and easy as you please, if you would be so kind as to give us a bit of thrust there, Blast Off...>>

Sky Lynx transforms, his body separating into two. The top half retains his bird-like trademark shape, but his lower half sprouts a head and takes to the ground in Lynx form.

Brigand arrives from Ether Climbs. Brigand has arrived.

Space Shuttle <Blast Off> huffs. << I'm a space shuttle, not a psychiatrist. If he wants hand-holding, he can wait for a medic to arrive... It's bad enough I have to transport people...>> Also, Blast Off is tired, still injured, and annoyed. Ok, so he's usually on the annoyed side, anyway, buuuut.... He also glides in, transforming into root mode to grab the cables and attach them to Sky Lynx.

Then he's back to shuttle mode, and despite usually wanting to keep his distance from everyone... a job's a job, so... he nudges Sky Lynx with his nosecone as he powers up his thrusters, seeking to start moving them all away from the snag in space. As he does so, he adds, <<As for Scrapper, I do not believe he had anything to do with it.>>

A sinister shape moves through the stars, at speeds so high that even in the vastness of space you can track it's heading. It's circling...and spiraling closer. Soon you can make out the shape. One feared by many a spacefarer being, who've come to associate the shape with none other than...

SCOURGE, THE HUNTER.

Until the form opens a galactic standard hailing frequency...there's something about the voice. Or maybe it's the words spoken. "Hi guys! What's going on!"

Oh wait, it's just Brigand.

The craft's engines fire, taking on a strangely blue-er glow as he routes the energy source of his plasma cannon into the stream, stressing both engines and frame to the very extremes. But slowly, with the assistance of the incredibly long, dangling cables that the other two craft are using to pull him, the crescent moon shaped craft finally begins to move. It's imperceptible at first, the faintest of climbs away from the spacial anomaly that threatened to destroy the craft..but slowly..surely..it builds. It grows. Then finally as though a cork from a bottle, the craft escapes that inertial breakover point and explodes with the full force of his engines and drives, free at last of the invisible grip of near doom.

The tow cables are jettisoned as the craft rockets past Sky Lynx and Blast Off. It spins in a graceful roll as it passes between them and a glistening star, casting once more that haunting silhouette that bears shadows of a terrible past. Then the craft begins to change.

In space..no one can hear you scream. Nor the sounds of transformation. The craft's wings split along their edges, spreading and opening up, fanning back as the figure unfolds from within. The form of the robot is lean, the smooth lines not at all like his Cybertronian brethren. A glowing visor covers the face and large wings slowly spread out from the back. The figure unfolds it's arms. Four of them. Four arms, each ending in taloned claws that promise death and dismemberment.

It floats in space like that for a moment, eyeing it's rescuers before finally it emits over the radio, <<My thanks..>> before the figure pivots it's gaze towards the newly arrived Brigand..gazing coldly upon the Sweep as in an amused tone it emits, <<Cousin..>> as the only greeting.

The Reavercraft's wings split apart as it transforms into the four-armed Unicronian Airlift.

Dino Bird and Lynx is quick to transform as soon as the Decepticon-in-distress is free of the tug that had it imprisoned to begin with, slowly putting distance between himself and the Decepticons. Especially as a third arrives on-station. << Very well, then, it appears he's free of whatever was threatening to rip him to pieces.>> The giant mech regards Airlift, nodding curtly. << You are quite welcome. I recommend avoiding any future instances where the fabric of space is attempting to rip you into pieces.>> Lynx looks over the group of Decepticons. << Now then, we are all amicable here for the time being, yes?>>

Sky Lynx transforms into the wondrously phenomenal form of a Sky Lynx! Brigand shifts into his robot mode.

Space Shuttle <Blast Off> 's scans pick up a rapidly approaching spacecraft. Slag, who is it now? MORE annoyances? And right at an... inopportune time, too. And then.... Oh wait, it's just Brigand. The shuttle huffs, then keeps pushing. He ignores the newcomer for now and concentrates on finishing the job. Once done, the Combaticon loses no time gaining a little distance again.

Airlift's root form gets a sniff of disapproval. Blast Off isn't overtly fond of the Unicronian types... he doesn't quite trust them. But a Decepticon is a Decepticon, so... he answers, <<Understood.>>. He also does respond to Sky LYnx's question, <<As I said earlier, I was here to investigate, do my job... and leave. That is all I still intend to do. The rest of you can do what you will.>> There's still a slight... burnt look to the damaged shuttle... he's in no mood for a fight anyway.

Brigand transforms into his own Robot mode and floats in space next to Airlift. Brigand gives him a quick once-over before nodding. "Cousin," he returns evenly. Then he turns his attention on Sky Lynx. "Amicable, yes. Very amicable. That's me, amicable. In face they almost called me 'Amicable' when I was remade. But Scourge passed on it."

The newly returned medic turns slightly towards Brigand and smirks, < <I thought it was Short Circuit, and they determined it was taken?>> he says as he detaches a long staff shaped metal pole from the inner curve of his wing. The end of the staff bursts into crackling life as a scythe-blade of energy erupts from it, the Decepticon turning slightly towards Sky Lynx. Then he simply turns away again and starts to drift lazily towards Blast Off. The scythe is put away as he eyes the damaged Decepticon, <<Another time Autobot, I've other duties to attend to this day..>> and transforms. He's fought Sky Lynx before..it ended..badly..to say the least. An excuse to go a different direction doesn't seem to bother the medic one tiny bit as he transforms. <<To Cybertron..I believe the doctor will see you now Blast Off..>> Airlift's wings fold as he transforms into Reavercraft mode, the second generation Unicronian spacecraft.

Sky Lynx continues to watch them all with a guarded look...but as the Decepticons all seem to be pulling back into their own, he is quick to oblige them with a departure. << Then I shall bid you all a good day. Until paths cross again.>> He transforms, flaring to life to propel him out of sight.

Sky Lynx transforms into an exquisitely designed transport shuttle.

Space Shuttle <Blast Off> finds himself a bit... surprised. Wait, what? This new guy is a medic? Who knew that one good turn might deserve another... or something. Not that he's ever heard that saying anyway. He watches as Sky Lynx heads off, but says nothing. What would he say? Farewell??? So he soars closer to Airlift. <<You're a medic, then?>>

<<As I stated before, I was, at the time of my departure for my mission, Executive Officer of the Medical, Sciences and Engineering division..I had been Commanding Officer before Scrapper usurped my position again..>> His thrusters begin to cycle up towards speed, growing brighter as he matches speeds with Blast Off, <<Now where in the name of the twelve nebulas is my planet and what has been going on!?>>

Brigand shifts into his Sweepcraft mode.

Sweepcraft <Brigand> shifts back into his vehicle mode and then emits a chuckle. <<Hah. Yeah, about that...>>

Space Shuttle <Blast Off> ...just sighs, feeling tired and annoyed. <<Let us return to base. Then you can catch up on things.>>

Brigand accelerates to FTL speeds to Deep Space - Galactic Plane. Brigand has left. Workshop - Darkmount - Polyhex

White cement tile floors complete with floor drains mark this room as a maintenance space even before you see all the machine tools. Toolchests and workbenches are mounted on the walls, with the center of the room left open for access to the lifts and hoists. Air hoses for pneumatic tools hang in reels from the ceiling, easily accessable from any part of the room, and at several points along the rear wall there are connections for fuel, coolant and welding gas hoses.

Contents: Reavercraft <Airlift> Abolition II Demo Kit Backbone

The Reavercraft's wings split apart as it transforms into the four-armed Unicronian Airlift. Brigand has arrived. Brigand shifts into his robot mode. Blast Off shifts into his battle-ready robot mode.

Airlift transforms back into robot mode as he follows the others down into the depths of Darkmount. One might guess that he was confused, but he simply walks on as though nothing is bothering him at all. So he just returned from over a decade in deep space to discover that his home planet, along it's bizarre disembodied head of a moon, has mysteriously leapt across several sectors of space to a new location and seems..for all appearances..to be in remarkably good condition for it. It's not the strangest thing he's seen before.

He unfolds his wings from where they had closed around his form as he enters the medbay, reaching out to pick up various tools as he walks in. "This place is disorganized, who is in charge currently?" he asks of the two with him as he moves over to one of the repair tables. He tests a few of the tools experimentally, firing up a laser torch and examining a spanner before discarding them onto a cart. Instead with a strange flick of his hands, he's suddenly armed with four laser scalpels, one to each hand, as he looks towards Blast Off. "Now..please lie back on the table and tell the doctor where it hurts.." he says ominously.

Brigand watches with interest. "He doesn't need -all- of those engines, does he...?"

Blast Off walks in with the other two. Actually, it's more like *limps* in. While he did his best to mask how damaged he is while up in space with Sky Lynx around, Blast Off is actually quite damaged. His fight with Dogfight left him severely burned. There's a hastily repaired, very large gash on his side... and the stresses of reentering Cybertron's atmosphere didn't help that patch job any. He walks to a medtable. Yes, he knows this place very well by now.

But Airlift's comment- and four arms- and tone of voice... gets a slightly uneasy glance. He frowns under the faceplate. "You say you're a doctor. And you've been away from practicing medicine.... how long again?" He asks dubiously. Brigand gets an annoyed glance. "Space shuttles are intricate, sophisticated crafts... we need EVERY component." He glances to Airlift and repeats for emphasis. "EVERY ONE."

The medic sighs quietly, shaking his head. "See..that's the problem with the military types. They think they understand how things work.. They never seem to understand the concepts of redundencies or fault tolerances.." he muses to no one in particular at all. Turning away from Blast Off he moves to a terminal and boots up the system, drawing up Blast Off's specs and blueprints on a large screen..it's marginally invasive..seeming even more so by the way he leers at the internal structures. "See there, in fact, not all of those components are actually needed.." he says as he points with one of his scalpels, the thing crackling with energy. "The others there," he points again, "are designed to bear the actual workload of the units and effectively render this system redundant. But..such is typical.." he says as he turns back to the table and pulls a huge scanner system down from overtop it, pointing it at Blast Off.

"Now then, I've been scanning the data records..and it seems you've chosen to forego any form of anasthesia..my my..how very brave of you.." he says as he starts drawing the scanner down incredibly close, leaning in as he does and casting a frightening shadow across Blast Off in the process.

Brigand holds up his hands. "Okay, okay. Every component. Got it." He shrugs and then goes over to a corner where he leans against the wall. Well, the wall with the recycling bin. He can't help but take a peek, then makes a disappointed sound.

Blast Off watches as Airlift brings out all these complicated charts and graphs. And then just stares as he goes off and explains in such detail about every little things. And... he's right. Blast Off is an intelligent mech, and given that he's often alone, out in space... he's had to do a few minor repairs and self-diagnostics in an emergency. He's no medic, but he has to at least have some understanding of his own, very complicated, systems. "Well...yes, that's true, but..." Airlift keeps on, and Blast Off can only stare and blink at him some more. Brigand gets a glance, then it's back to looking at the medic.

Then the medic's comment on anasthesia gets a nervous twitch of a wing elevon. "That... was quite awhile ago." He looks just slightly nervous now, but tries to mask it. "Surely that is...old and outdated information by now? Remember, you've been away for a very, very long time..."

He still has those glowing, flickering scalpels in his hands even now as he eyes Blast Off. "Well, while they may be old orders..they are, unfortunately, still in effect as they have not been countermanded.." the medic explains as the one scalpel flickers off and he hooks the energon feed up to Blast Off. The Energon feed carrying the servo locking agent used to immobilize vict..err..patients. He pushes a couple of buttons and the flow starts, maintaining Blast Off's energy levels as the medic reaches to make a small incision near the head connection of the Decepticon on his table. It's a painful incision, but it cuts the primary energy receptor feed from the neck down. Of course, that cut still hurts, a dull ache that is likely annoying at absolute best..but it does keep from allowing the rest of what Airlift is going to do to get through.

With his patient immobilized and pseudo-anesthitized..he didn't use any sort of pain relief medication..technically following orders..the medic gets to work. Two sets of hands certainly seems to be an advantage as he works, easily stripping away damaged bits of external armor and tossing them towards the recycling pile, landing on the floor near Brigand's feet. The armor is peeled off where it's damaged and he examines the wounds beneath. "You should know better than to expose internals to such high heats..is this from re-entry or what?" he inquires curiously as he cuts out a section of servo bundling that has melted and fused from the heat. It is tossed towards the scrap heap as well, a strangely floppy bundle of cords like some macabre whip. He retrieves replacement bundles and alters them to the appropriate lengths, integrating them into Blast Off's form in place of the damaged ones. His laser scalpels flash and slice, one of them shifting to a welding laser instead as he works on his very much conscious patient.

Blast Off flinches. The Combaticon doesn't like people getting "up close" and this medic is definitely getting up close... and creepy. But before he can just jump off the table and say he'll wait for a gumby, Airlift's got him hooked up and immobilized. All he can do is huff slightly now... and hope for the best. Why oh WHY are most of the Con medics this.... odd? What did Blast Off ever do to deserve this? Alas, he shall never know. He's not happy about this... no, not at all.... but there's not much to do now but wait and hope.

"That... careful, that's hard to replace... what are you doing with?... watch it..." Yes, he can still complain. The comment on fire gets another huff. "Not reentry issues, no. Pyromaniac Autofool issues. Namely, one that seems to enjoy trying to set me on fire. I shall teach him the error of his ways. Soon. Though I already did leave him at the bottom of the Rust Seas...."

Combat: Airlift runs a diagnostic check on Blast Off

"Hmmm..I suppose it's usually them..yes.." he admits as he's cutting and slicing on his patient. He carves a large section of Blast Off's side right off before removing several components from within. A few of the components appear alarmingly important, things like the motor cortex or energon diffuser plant. They certainly seem to set off warning alarms as the systems 'fail' when Airlift rather casually removes them and tosses the husks of organs onto the growing pile of discarded, damaged material. "Still, nothing incredibly vital was damaged..mostly combat systems.." he muses.

He splices in replacement parts, making sure to carefully calibrate them to the Decepticon now housing them. He may be strange, but he's very good..and very, very effecient. Soon enough he's withdrawing new armor sheets and ablative panels from storage compartments in the repair bay. Welding them into place, he makes sure everything is buttoned up and locked in before finally moving up to Blast Off's neck and repairing the minor damage he caused in cutting the pain receptor feed. It's a flood of startled pain and then it's gone, the replacements integrating seemlessly as he closes his patient up completely. "There we go..that should just about take care of things.." he muses as he removes the energon feed at last and steps back from the table.

Combat: Airlift expertly repairs Blast Off's injuries. Combat: Airlift is able to repair some of Blast Off's internal systems damage. Combat: Airlift runs a diagnostic check on Blast Off

At some point, Rumble quietly strolls into the room, looking on as he leans up against the wall and folds his arms across his chestplate.

Blast Off continues watching with some vague, pseudo-anesthetized alarm as Airlift slices and dices... and removes rather significant sections and parts of the Combaticon in the process. If he COULD move, he'd definitely be leaping off the table to get away from this madmech... but he can't, so he must simply wait. "My... combat systems /are/ rather vital... I'm a Combaticon, after all..." He complains softly, then goes back to watching the medic work.

Fortunately for him, while Airlift may be unnerving, he also appears to be very good at what he does... and soon those vital parts are being reattached or replaced, and the burns and other damage Dogfight inflicted is soon simply a bad memory. There's a sudden rush of dull pain as the pain receptor feed is finished up and repaired, and he can finally flinch slightly at that.... He'd still love to leap off the table, but at this point there's not much...point. Better to let the medic finish his work, especially since he is cutting and repairing Blast Off's head and neck.

And then, finally- the work is done. The Combaticon flexes a hand and lifts an arm, looking over the newly restored heat shields there. "Nice... work..." he says, still not sure if he should really thank this guy- or get as far away from him as possible as quickly as possible, now that he can move. He doesn't notice Rumble yet.

There's a satisfied little smirk on Airlift's face as he steps back from the table to allow Blast Off to move around and sit up. "It was nothing at all.." he assures, glancing over at the (at this point functional) Backbone in a musing fashion. "You should stand up and walk around, make sure that everything is settling properly and fully reintigrated. It often takes systems times to reroute after repairs, so it's advisable not to enter combat for at least half an hour..to avoid gear seizing.." he nods sagely. Unlike Blast Off, he did not miss Rumble's entry, having already set up a trigger on the door to notify him of comings and goings to the medbay. No, he's not paranoid, he's just..efficient.

Without glancing he points in the direction of Rumble, "Once you've stretched, the orderly will see to the final adjustments and assist with repainting if you require it Blast Off. I'm sure you will find him efficient and agreeable.." he says with sardonic amusement evident on his face, not turning towards the troublesome tape. For some reason he's eyeing Backbone..in a way that clearly makes the gumby medic nervous. Then suddenly he walks over and neatly cuts into Backbone's neck with one of his scalpels, severing a primary feed and dropping the medic onto the table. "Ah yes..I think I see the problem..." he muses in an unnerving voice, reaching up with one arm to pull down a lamp, pointed at the terrified but immobilized and silenced Backbone's form. "Don't worry..we'll get you fixed up in no time.." he says as a laser-scalpel sinks into the medic's chest and starts to slowly cut him open. "This may sting...."

Rumble's...got nothing. He didn't even come in here to get repaired -- and he probably wouldn't even if he needed it. He just heard some rumors about Airlift's return, and wanted to be nosey and see it for himself. Blast Off looks up at Airlift and makes a very small nod as he pushes himself up with an elbow, rolling to his side and swinging his newly-functioning legs off the side of the table. He sits there a moment, equilibrating. Then looks off in the direction Airlift pointing. His optics dim a little as he catches sight of Rumble. He sniffs disdainfully. "If you mean HIM, I believe I can see to those things MYSELF."

The Combaticon hops down and stands, stretching and rolling his shoulders, making sure everything works as it should. And indeed- it does seem to be. He adjusts the heat shield of an arm, then glances back at Airlift and Backbone. There's a slight blink as he takes in that scene, and then he slowly steps away. Okay, note to self... try not to get damaged enough to be in need of this medic's services again.... Not that that's ever gonna work... being a glass cannon -AND a Combaticon. "Understood, Airlift. I shall /attempt/ to... take it easy." He glances at Rumble again. "For at least a half an hour." After that, we'll see.

"Hey, you better be nicer to me. Y'know what I got?? -- Well you AIN'T gonna know if you're gonna be that way," Rumble dangles the enerwine carrot in front of Blast Off's face, figuratively.

"Ahh..good..excellent. It's always good to see..self reliance..fostered in my patients.." he says as he digs in to his new 'patient'..although honestly Backbone's optics flicker in a look of panicked terror. "Doctor's always love to hear that their keen advice is being heeded.." He looks up with a disturbing smile and his hands continue their work as they do. There's a cut and then a keening cry of terror and pain fills the medical bay for a moment before it cuts off suddenly. "My apologies comrades, I'm afraid I triggered an audial feedback working on our dear friend Backbone here.." he explains. That didn't sound like feedback.. He pulls something that looks important out of the opened chest cavity, tossing it towards the recyclers and nodding to himself. "Well..if there's nothing more I can do for the two of you.." he says in a dismissing tone, "Ahh..please get the lights on your way out.." he adds as he hunches back over the opened body..as they're leaving he adds, "And the door..wouldn't want any more feedback to disturb anyone.." he laughs quietly to himself.

Blast Off 's snobbery falters slightly at Rumble's comment. Slag... that little uncouth punk is attempting to use the Combaticon's love of enerwine to his advantage, isn't he? "And what do you have, then?..." He looks dubiously at the tape. Then Airlift's comments get another, slightly uneasy glance. Yep, Ok... this guy is definitely on the seriously creepy side.... The Combaticon nods and starts heading towards the door, keeping half-an-optic on the medic like he expects him to go all mad scientist and try to trap and experiment on him when he's not looking....

Blast Off would simply leave Airlift to his own devices, not being one to really care about other people's ...uh... business, but as Commander of Aerospace... maybe he should say... *something*? "Uh... just try not to... kill him, understood?" The Combaticon offers... then keeps heading towards the door. Better Backbone than HIM.

Rumble heads down the hallway with Blast Off. Backbone's screaming really doesn't phase him at all. He's just so used to that sort of brutality, it's become normalized for him. Especially with a creator like Soundwave and 'brothers' like Buzzsaw and Frenzy. "Ah, it'll need to wait till I go fetch it, but lemme tell ya, it's worth the wait. An' THIS one I did some serious tradin' for. It also helps when you got someone down the supply chain that owes you BIG time. So. You're gonna flip..." He continues following Blast Off down the corridor.