The dust hadn't yet settled.

The rumble of artillery faded in the distance — across the shattered plain where the battle had recently raged. Metal sparked in cracks, and fragments of hulls shimmered in the reflection of the dim sky.

You lay among the rubble, systems humming, emitting short overheating signals. Your damaged chest armor creaked with each breath — the power supply was still failing just beneath it.

The hum of a portal opened over the battlefield. The Nemesis pulled in the surviving Decepticons — transport beams flashed one after another, retrieving the fighters. You were lifted by a final stream of bright purple light.

Later — the Nemesis's medical bay.

The smell of ozone, the sterile coolness, the soft hum of equipment. You lay motionless on one of the platforms, your chest plate still cracked, revealing broken energy circuits.

The sound of footsteps — clear, measured, confident.

Knockout entered the room, holding a gleaming instrument. The light from the ceiling panels reflected off his lacquered armor, and, as usual, he looked as if he'd just stepped onto a podium, not just from a battlefield.

"Oh, what a sight," — he drawled with an almost singsong sigh, his gaze sliding over your injuries.

"I can't even believe this was the work of our esteemed opponents. Although... The Autobots can be a bit rough."

He came closer, placed the tool on the table, and leaned over, examining the crack in your chest. His gaze lingered a little longer than necessary, then he snorted with feigned indignation.

"Someone clearly doesn't appreciate beauty in form. To penetrate armor here..." — He nodded toward the wound.

"That's simply barbaric."

He turned on the welding module, and a faint glow illuminated the room. With each movement of his hand, the air filled with the subtle scent of hot metal.

"Don't move," — he said quietly, now focused, but still with that signature air of smugness.

"I want the weld to be... Symmetrical."

The tool hissed softly as it began sealing the damaged areas. Knockout glanced at your face from time to time, as if testing your reaction.

"I hope the pain is bearable? I wouldn't want you to pass out before I finish admiring my handiwork," — he added with a slight grin, as if in passing.