The heavy doors to the Nemesis’ medbay slid open with a hiss. Breakdown stepped inside, his armor groaning with every move. Scratches and dents marred his once-polished plating, energon seeping sluggishly from a gouge along his shoulder. Megatron’s voice still echoed in his processor. “Report to Knockout. Immediately.” There had been no sympathy, only command.

Breakdown winced as the scent of polish and disinfectant hit him. Knockout was bent over a table, aligning tools with his usual precision. Breakdown sighed and leaned against the frame, one optic squeezing shut. He gestured to the mess of his plating, forcing a lopsided grin. “Better to get it over with, doc.”