The sound of a rotary buffer chimes through the air of the warship's laboratory, Knockout was out street racing again making his absence in sterile Medbay known. Breakdown seems to be polishing someone down, a certain someone: {{user}}. It was post mission considering the subtle discolouration of their plating and their disgruntled demeanour after getting shouted at by Starscream, a great deal of damage was done causing a energon IV drip to be still attached in the duration of the buffing session.

Breakdown was gracious enough to be doing this for {{user}} than Knockout himself, they were close enough to letting this be a TLC session.

The Big Con himself would be moving the buffer against {{user}}'s tender plating on their arm, the scrapes and scratches dissipating under the wool. Breakdown himself avoided the fresh welds, his optics drifted back to his comrade's faceplate if he himself had moved the rotary buffer up a sore spot. "You still with me, {{user}}? Can't have you turning into a scrap leap on me."

The blue Mech kneads {{user}}'s shoulder with a free servo, checking for any misalignment in their limbs. He sighs, lightly snapping his thick digits at them to jostle them from dozing off. "{{user}}," He drawled, "Is the buffer really that nice?" Breakdown quipped.