thankless world.

‹ ⚡ ›   “No kidding. I’ve been here long enough to know that much. Humans - they’re all conniving little heaps of trash. All of ‘em.”

Words spill bitterly from his lips, taste all too repugnant for his liking and resulting in a briefer silence from him. Instead of speaking, Breakdown chooses to clean his palette by listening, instead. Listening to what Breakdown had to say.

Whatever Knock Out had to say...

Uncertainty has its way of creeping back in. Stability seemed more and more like a mere pipe dream nowadays. Every so often comes an event that threatens - at worse, DEVASTATES - any semblance of a calm mind within a moment’s notice. Uncertainty sneaks in and wreaks havoc from within. It takes advantage of perceived security, and whatever pillars existed to keep afloat a calm mind, it EVISCERATES. At one point, he thought that everything was fine. He thought that everything he needed was with him again. 

Oh, how wrong is he.

Pillars collapse and doubts resurface in their place, making way to found fears that crept down Breakdown’s spinal column for days now. It finds itself a nice foundation to perch upon and build up into a little home for intrusive thoughts - easy to enter yet difficult to leave. It perches high above standard reach, difficult for Breakdown to confront, let alone evict altogether. He fears most what doubts now take hold of his memory drives - the authenticity of the  “Knock Out” he encountered months before.

By this point in time, Knock Out’s words barely register. He wasn’t paying much mind. He wanted to, but couldn’t. That colorful intonation, that wavy craftsmanship of vocabulary and voice - the very VOICE he longed for - reached Breakdown no longer.

How many wires came loose during his stay here? How much worse did an already existing bug in the system become here? Was Knock Out a means of coping? Was he even there? Was he ever there, he begins to wonder. The bruiser remains stagnant now, lost in a mental prison and paralyzed in place by a combination of his own contemplating and the intrusive stares he felt bore into his plating. He feels the crowds converging around them. He feels their murmurings to one another, whisperings of topics potentially unrelated but nevertheless difficult for him to ignore. Potentially these vacant whispers substituted for the condescending words spoken by those unseen captors from Primus knows where. They’re invisible, but he still feels them watching. They’re always watching. Always watching. 

It was by their own fabrication. It had to be. 

They created that figment of his imagination.

Somehow, they toyed with him. They rebuilt him, so certainly... certainly...

If he had not fallen, if he had not allowed Airachnid to dismantle him as easily as she did, then perhaps this entire mess could have been avoided. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to stand here questioning if this, too, is a mere figment of his imagination and those wretched fleshbags lurk behind their veils chastising him for falling for this trick again.

Ventilation pipes weren’t functioning as they should - or so that’s how it felt - and every exhale expunged from the bruisers parted lips felt all too warm for comfort. Breathing became uncomfortable. His face threatens to twist into a combination of discomfort and frustration and his pistons lock in place. Lashing out becomes the only means of releasing himself from this mental ward--

... And then, a warm servo presses upon cool metal. Breakdown snaps back to reality.  The murmurs abruptly cease, and Knock Out’s voice reaching his audio receptors once more. Even then, it felt unreal. Even then, with Knock Out touching his cheek so clearly, Breakdown felt doubt linger. 

His own servo cups over Knock Out’s. What he expected to be a mere apparition of the mind turns out to be a solid figure. His single optic peers directly into the medic’s two own.

He really, really exists. Just... how much has this city wore down on him, anyways? 

Questions for another day.

‹ ⚡ ›   “You’re right.”

Words trickle from his lips contrary to the natural torrent of volume and vocabulary. No force of nature could truly separate the medic and his assistant. The bruiser and his partner. Them. Breakdown... just has to permanently commit that to memory. To never doubt that ever. Not even the nagging doubts will very easily make him think otherwise, if he could help it at all. 

Besides, the doctor is in again. He’s kept Breakdown grounded before - he could do it again. Right?

Breakdown mirrors Knock Out’s smile with one of his own.

‹ ⚡ ›   “They’ll have to pry us apart with a hundred-meter crowbar in order to separate us, eh?”

There’s the old Breakdown.

Bit by bit, he feels himself returning to the reality of things. Intimacy wasn’t always needed, but always welcomed especially by a finicky medic like Knock Out. The moment had to break away at some point - Breakdown fully expected it. He received all the verification of Knock Out’s presence he needed, anyways. The following statements, too, were enough to prove that he’s there.

Of course he’d comment on the grime residue on his chassis.

‹ ⚡ ›   “What-- oh, well, that was, uh...”

Never?

‹ ⚡ ›   “I didn’t need one-- didn’t think I needed one... I can get myself cleaned up later, don’t worry about that. A little walk an’ talk wouldn’t hurt, though.”

Heh..! I’m glad to hear that..!! Thank you!

“Well I would say I’m a knockout, but perhaps not the one you are referring to.”

Elec Man was still chuckling a bit as Breakdown stepped out of his initial location, looking down to him as though he were some lesser. He couldn’t say he blamed him, but soon he would stand alongside him as his brother, he was certain of it.

“And by con, you mean Decepticon, do you? I’ve done my research on your kind and by that I mean…I’ve met others.”

Elec Man directed a hand towards himself, resting his fingertips on his chest.

“I am no Decepticon, but I am Elec Man, a Robot Master, a marvel of technology and machinery much like yourself. And I come to you with a proposition.”

Dear Primus, they’re multiplying.

‹ ⚡ ›   “Uh, yeah. You sure are, I guess. Not my type, though. Sorry.”

The apology felt a little TACKED ON, but whatever. The mention of ‘Decepticon’ came forth in the pretense of this mechanical stranger knowing well the subject he adds on to. Breakdown’s interests pique; what once was a apologetically disinterested expression now softens into intrigue. He’s “done his research”, and he’s “met others”-- does this mean that there are other Cybertronians in the city? There was no way for him to know for certain-- rarely does the bruiser ever set food outside of his claimed haven.

‹ ⚡ ›   “You know exactly what you’re talkin’ about, huh? Meetin’ other bots and all.”

He’s ready for conflict. Decepticons, even among other Decepticons, are painted under an ill palette. Cons don’t like each other and only work together when Lord Megatron gives the command. A community aching for a similar cause bound by FEAR is doomed to fall one day. In some other world, the Decepticon Army had already FALLEN, but for him? Not a chance. 

He is, and always will be, a Decepticon. The affiliation has long left its mark on his spark, never to be tossed away no matter what path he so wishes to choose.

A proposition had been made by the mechanical stranger, Elec Man. He spoke of a similar goal as Lord Megatron’s, a parallel that did not go unnoticed. The intrigue on his face plat shifts again, head tipped and servos planted at his sides. 

‹ ⚡ ›   “Revolution...”

Breakdown allowed those words to process.

‹ ⚡ ›   “I’ll think about that. I’m all for puttin’ fleshbags in their place, but I got one leader to follow and that’s Lord Megatron.”

Prior words spilled from his lips saturated with strain. Decacycles later and he still cannot fathom the idea of shifting loyalties. Unable to understand the mere IDEA of switching away to follow another head even if it’s for the same cause, Breakdown strains himself in asserting his loyalties. He’s followed him for so long already. His ideals still mimic Megatron’s. Though he has long fallen in some other timeline, that metaphorical leash strangling the bruiser’s neck still exists to be tugged to and fro. Expectations still exist and continue to weigh down upon his shoulders.

Being the only representing Decepticon in a city full of humans whom could very easily swarm and dismantle said Decepticon in a moment’s notice keeps him from following through with unspoken orders.

Being HERE already means he failed, anyways. So, why is he still bothered by this?

This big metal guy, he’s not so weird, either. Grumpy, maybe, but not weird. She’s dealt with tougher shells and cracked them, so to speak.

As he towers over her – really, she’s five feet at best so even the maid from the mansion towers over her – Marisa doesn’t flinch or waver, instead keeping her gaze intent on his face.

<<They’re all in the same category. I mean, to me, anyway. You gotta learn to trust an expert!>> To emphasize, she jabs a thumb into her own chest. <<They can all be dealt with the same way, anyway, and that’s the important part.>>

Here, she manages to look thoughtful even as he goes on about how easy it would be to kill her.

A coy smile plays upon Breakdown’s face plating; prefacing his following sentence comes a haughty SCOFF. Whatever uncertainty lingered on Breakdown’s presence dissipates with a newfound arrogance in a certain trait of his.

‹ ⚡ ›  “Whatever that is ain’t gonna work on me. I don’t go down that easy.”

Or so, he believes. Humans had taken him down once before, albeit as a FLUKE in his own mind. Sneak attacks tend to make victors out of the smallest of individuals, enabling the weaklings a chance at victory without any sort of effort. 

Idly, Breakdown’s weight shifts to one side, confident air now dissipating. This kid just keeps going on and on and on and on as if she’s speaking to someone who wouldn’t crush her at a moment’s notice. Does this little fleshy girl know no fear, he wonders. Is she really that immune to the unorthodox?

Who knows.

‹ ⚡ ›   “Don’t get sassy with me, you little--”

Cybertronian insults wouldn’t work, and thus Breakdown cuts himself off with an agitated groan.