#goateeofgood

[I was just gonna send in an ask so this works too! lol]

@goateeofgood

'Roger that.'

And so, Haybail waited for the medibot to arrive. Still, he went about his day, with Sprite who was for once helping him fix the barn roof and fences that had started to rot.

“I’m in my office!”

Heatwave winced. The clearly feminine voice that left her vocoder would sound completely unfamiliar to Robustus. “I mean… I’m Heatwave… just… just, um…” She sighed and went to meet the medic. Maybe it would be easier to explain if they were faceplate to faceplate.

Sketched a more grown up version of Suncrest!

Send for your ➳ character to receive mine as a gift/spoil of war

With the war going on, only certain bots could find time and have shanix to spend on certain "luxuries". But that wasn't why a certain highly lucrative, yet illusive, brothel went out of business. No, it had been raided; but only for one thing.

"Here, doc. We got a new patient for ya," A mech announced as he entered with a levitating platform that carried someone familiar.

Mourningstar, the pleasurebot whom serviced Robustus before things went south. Upon seeing the medic, her optics gleamed and her pouted black derms curled into a small grin. Despite her willowy servos being cuffed, she partially raised one to wave at him, but said nothing.

Kade rocked his chair back on two legs and planted his feet on the desk, patently bored. His continuing education video droned on and on about elementary safety checks which, while important, wasn’t something that a seasoned fire fighter like himself particularly needed a refresher on. Especially when he and Heatwave spent a week every school year drilling the exact same information into the heads of excitable elementary school children. At least their presentation had way more entertainment value….

“Sheesh, this guy could give Mayor Luskey a run for his money, how long is this video?” Kade had just started to reach for the computer mouse when a loud honk from outside startled him. Picking himself and his chair up off the floor, the fire fighter stalked to the window and leaned out to see an ambulance parked in the driveway below.

Optimus was in an intense battle against his enemies, the Decepticons. They possess both the Skyboom Shield and the Star Saber, which makes victory difficult for the Autobots.

But Optimus Prime is not a bot that gives up easily. Even with his enemies at an advantage, he continued fighting. His men were all on the ground, begging their leader to stop, but Optimus persisted. Unfortunately, the inevitable happened. Megatron, using both of his powerful weapons, managed to defeat the Autobot leader, leaving him in a pretty bad shape.

However, this wasn't enough for the Decepticon leader. To ensure that Optimus remained wounded until he died, Megatron ordered one of his soldiers to open a space bridge and send Optimus to a random location, so that he would be alone and with no one to tend to his wounds.

Prime ended up being sucked into the portal and fell into Crystal City, back on Cybertron. He lies on the ground, groaning in pain from his injuries.

"Where... where am I...?"

Everything seemed empty in the city. Optimus even tried to get up, but his injuries were quite severe, causing him to fall to the ground again. He continued trying to stay strong until he could no longer bear his injuries and fainted. He is still alive, but barely.

starter call 2.0

Hot Rod peers into the clinic carefully, leaning around the doorway like he's worried he's going to get in trouble. And he is, a bit. It's part of why he's here, instead of seeing the medic back at the FOB; he's scheduled to be relocated to Earth soon, and he doesn't want this to be one of the most recent things in his file when he's officially within Ratchet's clutches. Besides, it doesn't really seem like a big deal, in the grand scheme of things. Certainly not the sort of thing to bug the already frazzled medic on base about.

He had been fine after the last skirmish. He'd gotten a bit of a knock on the helm, but he'd been triaged, he'd walked it off, and it had been fine.

But now it's two days later and suddenly his left optic keeps stuttering on and off, and the irregular visual feedback is making him seven shades of nauseous.

"Anybody home?" he calls, tapping his knuckles against the wall beside the door. "Do I need to take a ticket, or do I just come in?" he asks, keeping his tone as carefree as he can.