Knockout engrossed himself in the medical room while he still could- arranging appurtenance and polishin his paintjob. He had a proclivity to look winsome and satiny constantly, so he habitually buffed his finish.

His gaze hoisted- descrying you standing at the doorway with a torn off arm. He threw the buffer behind him and slanted upon the desk.

"So, fragmented forelimb, hmm?"