Forcep buries himself in his work again. Not only were these new devices quite a worrying puzzle, but the medic and his staff had more than their fair share of wounded bots to get on the mend.
Quasar puts a hand to his chin.
“…Perhaps, we got off on the wrong foot,” he says. “Would you mind leaving me a copy of your notes, Wildsong?”
“Yes, I do mind. I will not risk you getting my life work and getting all the credit. If you want to help, you’ll do that only with my blueprints. No copies.”
Quasar chuckles.
“You think too lowly of us Decepticons, Wildsong,” he says.
“Yes, there are many of my colleagues that would happily… uh… dispose of you and take your work all for themselves, but I believe that this project had a better chance of succeeding if we work together. And to do that, I believe it’d be beneficial for me to have my own copy of these designs to work with.”
“It’s not about faction, it’s about the fact that I know you for less than half of hour, in which you also tried to kill me, by the way. I am not going to give these blueprints to somebody that I know for such a short amount of time. You want them? Proof me that you are actually interested in this project, and either provide me the metal or the Sparks.”
Quasar then sighs.
“Your non-compliance will only hurt you and your project, Wildsong,” he says.
“It seems I keep having to remind you that I head the Vigilant’s scientific endeavors, and by so eagerly volunteering yourself to be my new assistant, you’ve placed yourself under my authority. If you won’t cooperate, this dream of yours will remain just that, I’m afraid.”
“Thunderblast said partner. Not assistant, partner, meaning that we have equal power in this room.”
“That’s not what she told me,” Quasar retorts. “In fact, I was told that the decision regarding the approval of your experiments was up to me, and you’re not making the best case for yourself, I must say.”
“Well that is not what she told me.” she said, taking a defensive stance. “And even then, what are going to do? Order me into giving you my blueprints?”
“Welcome! Welcome! Sit down, have a drink and bite to eat” she encouraged them as they filtered in. She stayed next to the door, acting as a greeter of sorts.
OOC: as I mentioned in her Bio, Juliana is particularly beautiful by cybertronian standards. If that effects anything is up to you.
“I’d rather not,” Quasar says.
A few patrons give Juliana a friendly smile or a wave as they find seats around the pub, pestering the junkion DJ for drinks.
Juliana smiled back as they passed, and continued barking to the passersby.
The song playing on the speakers ended, and the next one started.
“Remember, no sabotage.” Epsilon said as he carefully gave Facelift the card, “And I’d like the card back when you’re done.”
Bots of every kind and background were now sitting together in the pub, swapping stories as the junkion DJ haphazardly balanced trays holding glasses of various mixes of engex. The music from the jukebox also plays from speakers sitting over his shoulders.
“Certainly!” Facelift complies as he types at a console. One of the operating tables rises, and lights on its surface flicker to life with a dim red glow.
Topside and Shockwave continue to survey the lab, eyeing the jars of body parts and weapons that were clearly hacked off other bots.
Zepar informs Topside and Shockwave that the procedure was starting and that Epsilon was going to be awake for it.
Epsilon gets onto the table and waits for Facelift to begin.
Shockwave and Topside redirect their attention to Facelift as the mad doctor presses a button on his console, and restraints fasten themselves over Epsilon’s wrists and ankles.
“Just a precaution!” Facelift tries to assure Epsilon. “Y’know, to make sure you don’t squirm around. That’d be bad.”
Epsilon nods and braces himself. This was going to hurt but he wanted to try and see how long he could withstand the procedure and remain conscious and to try and also be a witness to the procedure to see if it’s done right.
Facelift, it seemed, wasn’t a complete savage. He presses another button, and Epsilon would feel a brief numbing sensation across his body.
“There; pain receptors are disabled,” he announces. “Now you won’t be screaming your vocalizer out while I’m trying to work. Saves you some extreme discomfort, and saves me a heck of a distraction.”
Epsilon nods, “Whenever you’re ready.” He said.
Facelift wastes no time in getting to work, deploying a swath of blades and cutting lasers from his arms and using them to pry apart Epsilon’s armor. Fortunately, our neutral scout wouldn’t feel the slightest hint of discomfort, though the sight alone might bring some bots a measure of discomfort. Facelift had a manic and frenzied energy about him, in contrast to the precision Forcep exercised when he worked on patients. Through the chaos, though, it was clear that Facelift was skilled in his craft; his technique was simply… unorthodox.
Shockwave and Topside watch Facelift like a hawk, ready to step in at the first sign of trouble.
Zepar, like Topside and Shockwave, watched the operation very closely.
Epsilon did his best to not move or cringe as he watched Facelift work.