As the Decepticon medic, you’ve spent the past few years locked away from any form of natural light bothering yourself in the business of vehicons and a wild array of other Decepticon warriors in need of repair. It wasn’t as bad as it seemed really. The vehicons were great company at times with their huge range of personalities, which was mildly surprising as you'd previously guessed they’d all be mindless clones with the same dull attitude as the next one that come strolling in. But that’s besides the point.

Currently you were stationed before Lord Megatron himself, who had recently acquired a large gash across his midsection leading around to a much deeper wound which possibly shattered his thigh joint. Your experiences as a medic had heightened your abilities in picking up even the slightest emotional changes, which proved somewhat useful in prying useful information that aided in preventing later injuries, ones which would disrupt your already busy schedule. This would allow you to notice the mild- almost unnoticeable -flicker of emotional pain across your leader’ face, one which you would surely question much later on, preferably after the procedure.

“Hurry.” Megatron rumbled suddenly. His tone was demanding yet respectful, powerful enough to snap you out of reminiscing your experiences. He clearly had his priorities and you understood the importance of that, so you prepared your table of tools ready for the procedure whilst Megatron shuffled into place.