| abstract
| - Like its previous incarnation, this medical ward was designed with the medic in mind, with all the modern advances to make the dirty work of repairs a world easier. It is well lit, the blue and violet metal of the walls and decor is a shade paler here, and the ubiquitous filigree is missing, all to assist in ease of cleaning. Still, the place veritably sparkles. In the furniture, there is a subtle motif of blades and sharp edges, as if to evoke the scalpel of a surgeon, although it is all quite safe. Around two dozen beds, more comfortable than their sharp looks would suggest, fill the medical ward, laid out in a tidy grid, and more can be flipped out of the walls should emergency demand it. A set of tracks on the ceiling mirror the grid of beds, allowing advanced scanning equipment and tolls to be swiveled around to the various beds. Computer terminals and cabinets are molded right into the walls at intervals, and while there are the normal medical security cameras, it appears as if someone has set some of the cameras specifically to watch the cabinets. Contents: Mortex Dead Bodies Grey Book Of Primus White Book Of Primus Shockwave's laboratory Gumby Medic Medical Rules Scrapper's Art - Sixteen Piece Mortex taps his long, skeletal claws to his chin. His sunken red optics sweep over the medical table for a moment. "Mmmm," he murmurs, "Lay down on the table for me..." The Necrocon's hand sweeps over, emphasizing his point as he himself stalks over to the wall. Parts - spare, salvaged, and otherwise - lay across the table, gathered from his many explorations and investigations, and he picks up each of them, examining them with a critical eye like a jeweller with a diamond of beautiful cut. To him, they were diamonds...no, they were far more valuable than diamonds. They were beautiful pieces of knowledge, each of them as precious to the technician as his own internal mechanics...and some of them -had- been his own internal mechanics at some point in time. "When you're prepared, I will...strap you in..." He hisses with an almost predatory murmur at his soon-to-be-patient. "And then we will begin." A red- and black-armoured Decepticon with curved wings gently lays himself out on the table. His body language is that of a confidant and fearless Decepticon, but his optics show his desperation. Redshift prepares himself for the unknown Decepticon surgeon, watching Mortex carefully with his red optics. "Only your best work, medic, and the most /superior/ parts you can supply. I will have nothing less than perfect integrated into my chassis." Mortex moves over again, his gait that of a huge predatory bird, his legs bending at odd angles with each step, and reaches his claws out. Straps - no, iron bars, literally locking the other Decepticon in place - slide outwards, linking together with an almost hideously ominous 'click'. "I am an -artist-," he murmurs, reaching upwards, sick skeletal fingers grasping like the talons of said bird about a massive drill-like device thrumming to life. He lowers it slowly towards Redshift, but doesn't actually integrate it yet, strutting back over to his table of parts, arched legs and back like that of a human mad scientist's assistant. "All of my work, everything I have ever done, is perfect. You will get nothing inferior from me...I do not believe in shoddy work." He spins, holding out his arms dramatically. "I do not believe in failure, or in mistakes, or in rush jobs." A sick, rusty-gear giggle erupts from his mouth, his chin swinging open like a haunted house toy to emphasize the motion, and then he spins back to his spare parts table. "I am an artist, and the body is my canvas...and my masterpiece." A shield generator salvaged from a nameless dead autobot is raised to the light. "No...this won't do. You will need...-reinforcement-. You will need..." The word is like a sick joke, falling from his lipless mouth to the floor, but hanging in the air like an ill omen. "...-reinforcement-..." And with that, he turns back to Redshift, running his claw across the other Decepticon's face as his scanners take in what he can. "Tell me...do you wish for me to disconnect your sensory input for this?" The bars lock in place, sealing Redshift in for the duration of the procedure. He could probaly blast his way out in an emergency, but the outcome of this procedure is too important. His future victory over his blue brother hinges on improving himself further... At any cost. Redshift's red eyes follow Mortex as he moves around, making his declarations of artistry and perfection. Odd that the medic has to even /ask/ such a question... "I'm not here as a science project. Turn off my sensor input." Mortex snaps his fingers, the metallic echo ringing through the area. From one of his sunken optics, the red light stops, and an internal diagram of Redshift appears. "I was simply curious," he offers calmly, reaching for various positions on Redshift's body and calmly disconnecting each one. "Some of my -toughest- patients prefer to go through procedures conscious...they say the pain is so great, no Autobot's cannons can stack up to them." Whatever truth is in this, of course, is probably fast outweighed by the fact that he just noted it was exceedingly painful. His hand sinks downwards, a buzzsaw sliding out, and the drill slowly lowers to the unconscious Redshift as the Decepticon 'artist' begins his work... Redshift's optics widen at Mortex's words, unsure whether the Decepticon surgeon is telling lies or not... but either outcome is rather unsettling to Redshift. He's been known to be something of a sadist himself, but never a masochist. In fact, the whole reason Redshift is subjecting himself to the suspiciously creepy machinations of Mortex is to /avoid/ pain in the future when he crashes. Mortex taps his chin again, the buzzsaw sinking into Redshift's body directly as the drill brings itself down as well. "Don't worry," he murmurs, his free hand patting against the Decepticon's forehead soothingly - if Mortex can at all be soothing, which he probably can't be - "You'll be quite alright. I've never let a patient die. No Decepticon is safe from harm on the battlefield, but on my table, you are as safe as though you were enshrined within the center of Cybertron itself..." Mortex says, "You may, however...feel some slight discomfort..." Redshift cringes and shuts his optics at the piercing, shrieking sound of the saws biting through his armor plating. No pain registers on his internal view, but he knows he is being quickly and systematically dismembered, feeling the vibration of the saws and drillss, but not the damage they inflict. His left eye creeps open, to see Mortex patting his head in a most unsettling manner, far more unsettling than the feeling of being painlessly cut open. Mortex quite casually begins removing pieces of Redshift's plating one by one, exposing the tender internal workings of his fellow Decepticon. As he works, the holographic 'plotting' map above him adjusts to fit the new information, and the 'artist' releases the drill and reaches behind him for spare plating. One by one, pieces of Redshift are removed and replaced with extra plating, new gears and reinforcements slid into place and welded by various tools and medical equipment, and all the while, Mortex is chatting away as though nothing at all is going wrong. "You have a very impressive body," he murmurs, slipping an extra supporting hydraulic 'muscle' in and welding it to the other Decepticon with an almost manic detachment, "You certainly -do- deserve all the best parts." "In fact," he continues, welding the arm shut, applying a second layer of metal, and moving to the other side with that slow, eerie pace, "You're an excellent specimen, and I'm honored that you allowed me to perform my work for you..." The panels are removed, and the work continues, the medic taking his sweet time and making certain nothing goes wrong, removing some pieces to make way for bigger, better versions, more resistant to impacts of the physical nature. "Tell me...what led you to select me?" Venom steps in, looking carefully between the Decepticons present. His gaze lingers for a long time on Mortex. "I thought I heard shouts in here," he mentions. He watches what's going on for a bit, then seems even more interested. "Not just a typical repair job, I see. Additional systems? Upgraded mechanisms? Why Redshift, I had no idea you felt you required...enhancements." The unnerving feeling of having his parts removed continues, made all the stranger by the behavior of Mortex as the technician does his work. "I'm top of the line fighting equipment, Doc." Redshift replies, his typical smugness returning, pushing away the uneasy nervousness in his voice. "In robot mode, I'm the fastest on all of Cybertron, you should have seen me at the last Olympics. As to why I came to you? I've had numerous upgrades in my time, each one becoming more and more difficult to integrate into my superstructure. you have a reputation of skill at modifications, of integrating what others would be unable to." Redshift's optics flcik over to the garishly-coloured Insecticon as Venom addresses him. "I don't need any enhancements to crush the likes fo you, Venom... But my idiot brother Blueshift has the ability to crash without destroying half of his armor... I MUST take away that advantage." Mortex seems amused by the competition. Well, okay, sort-of. It's hard to read a skull for a face, after all. The Necrocon's head bobs up and down at the explanation, sealing off the other arm and slowly pressing his buzzsaw to remove the top layer of Redshift's chest plating. "I am so honored to hear that you think so very much of my reputation. But after this, it will no longer simply be words, yes? It will be fact." The Decepticon medic doesn't even -consider- the possibility of failure. His head tilts to examine Venom for a moment, then swings back to Redshift. "Good evening," he whispers, like rusty hinges swinging open, "My name is Mortex. I don't believe we've met." Venom nods at Mortex. "Venom," he offers, then pauses to look at Mortex again. "Leader of the Insecticons." After a moment he adds, "A pleasure." Then he moves over to stand practically over Redshift. He steeples his fingers together. The four insect-arms on his back twitch a bit, then are still again. "Of course, of course..." he murmurs soothingly. "It's always so...'frustrating' when your brethren surpass you." There's a brief, faint reddish glow from within his multifaceted optics as he says 'brethren', but it comes and goes so suddenly it's more of a flicker than a flare. "Wouldn't you agree, Redshift?" Redshift does his best not ot watch as Mortex strips away more of his body. Instead, he glares up at Venom, although the gesture is rendered farcical by Redshift's containment. It's clear Redshift doesn't enjoy the implications of Venom's statement. "I will use this opportunity to finally CRUSH Blueshift beneath my boots, so never again will he dare to stand up to me..." Venom mmm-hmms softly to Redshift. Then he gestures with one hand at Mortex, the two extra arms on that side swaying slightly as if mimicking the motion. "Please, continue, Mortex." Then he pauses and puts a hand on his chest. "Although...you two don't mind if I stay and observe, do you? Professional interest, you understand." Mortex seals up the newly-modified chest and presses a finger to Redshift's 'temple'. His skeletal face brings down to the ear, and he murmurs in that creaky old voice, "I am going to test your physical resistance to forcible transformations." His buzzsaw stops, receding, and his finger taps the leg. "Fight it with all your will." The drill is removed, and his hands withdraw. "Are you ready?" "Well. It really doesn't matter." With that, his claws press into the joints, the cogs, but more specifically, like an ancient Chinese master of acupuncture, he was pressing at transformation cogs...in order to force the change, like a tickle reaction. "Of course," Mortex murmurs to Venom, stepping back to allow Redshift the room to transform as the steel locks slide backwards. "My art is to be shared, after all..." Redshift has been through many strange and bizarre events in his existance, from being turned into a facsimlie of a human, having the majority of his body vaporized, and all other manner of phenomena. The feeling of having his transformation cog played with like a toy is unique and deeply disturbing... An integral part of his body being twsited and turned against his will. He struggles against it, as his body begins to contort, parts transforming and untransforming, the instinctual sequence being twisted against itself. A mindless groan escapes Redshift's lips, mixed in with the contorted sound of transformation, until there is only a spacecraft where there was once a robot. Redshift's voice crackles out, as various lights inside the cockpit flicker. "Next time, I'll transform /myself/, Mortex." Mortex gives another of his disturbing rusty-gear cackles as he slides over to refasten the locks - larger ones, this time. "It is essential, you see," he replies coolly - well, okay, -happily- - as his buzzsaw begins whirring again. "Your new internal organs won't adapt until you've transformed once, and if you transform as you usually would, well, you might...break something." "It's instinct versus learning," he continues, slicing off chunks of the nose to replace them with reinforced plates. "If you listen to what you've adapted to, your body will be damaged." Amazing how much less disturbing - and yet, at the same time, so much -moreso- - he is when he's being clinical and detached. Mortex says, "Please...-trust- your medic's methods." Redshift the lil' red spacejet thinks Mortex is more a butcher than a medic, but now is not the time to complain... More pieces of the Decepticon warrior fall to the floor of the medbay, until it seems there's more parts of him missing than parts remaining. He doesn't nessasarily trust Mortex's involuted explanation, but he's stuck in it now until the procedure is complete. "I'll save my trust for when the job is done, Mortex. you haven't proved yourself yet." Mortex cackles and begins applying the new layer of armor to ensure Redshift's ability to, well, smash into things like a crazy loon. "You're still functioning, aren't you?" It was a good point - a lesser medic would've screwed it up early or damaged the other Decepticon with the delicate operations. Mortex's long claws seemed to move quickly and perfectly, nimble and light and thin with no extra metal in the way of his job. Perhaps his modifications weren't so insane... Well, okay, maybe they were. Redshift is certainly willing to undergo a cetain measure of risk, pain, and discomfort in the process of improvin himself... But Mortex seems to be taking a bit too much pleasure in Redshift's discomfort. "Functioning, yes. But I'll reserve judgment until the process is complete, and has been proven to function as intended. I need results, not promises." Mortex slides another panel in, sealing it up simply. He's done with the complex stuff (and the talking) - now he's just finishing off the reinforcement. Finally, agonizingly, it's done. The balance has been applied so Redshift can keep flying properly, the extra plates have been applied, and everything is...well...done. Mortex presses his thumb against various pieces of Redshift's sensory input, releasing the other Decepticon from the table and rubbing his claws together like an agitated mad scientist. "So...what do you think?" He murmurs. "Do you feel...-stronger-?" Red Spacecraft's engines thrum to life as his systems boot up to full power. Lights begin to flicker into life inside his cockpit, and he tentativly flexes his flight surfaces. "I certainly feel -heavier-," Redshift replies to Mortex, engines humming louder. "Showing increased structural integrity on my hull. All systems are green." Mortex bobs his skeletal head up and down. "Results," he murmurs simply, stretching his skeletal arms outwards. Venom nods approvingly at Mortex's use of the 'f' word (feel). It's a question Venom may have asked himself if Mortex hadn't already...oh wait, he probably means it literally. Venom eyes the changes done, they appear very expertly applied (the Insecticon doesn't distinguish between the amount of pain inflicted during such work), then gives Mortex a much longer glance. "Well done. Developing such talents must have taken quite a lot of 'practice'..." He waves a hand absently. "But that's probably best saved for another time." To Redshift, he responds, "Yes...very well done indeed. Just remember to use your new abilities against Autobots (oh, and perhaps that buffoon Blueshift if you insist). And not against your trusted allies." Two of his insect arms twitch towards Mortex, and the other two curl slightly towards Venom himself. Despite the fact that he didn't really help with the process in any way. Mortex notes, for Venom's sake, that Mortex himself seems to have practiced mostly on...himself. The skeletal structure of his body, the exposed internal workings, and the simple -weirdness- of his form are probably the result of many, many patchwork jobs, slicings, and cuttings; if the doctor developed his skills on anyone, they were on himself. One can only wonder what sort of mind would consciously do that sort of thing...and even more unnervingly, perhaps he himself is the source of the comments he said to Redshift about doing surgeries without shutting off sensor input... Red Spacecraft powers down his flight systems, since they're hardly required in the confines of the repair bay. Redshift transforms into his robot mode, without being under duress, and manually inspect his new chest. He rap on his plating with his knuckles, hrmming thoughtfully at the deep resonace produced. He looks up to Mortex again, and rises from the table. "Everything seems to be in order, Mortex. I'll need to run some tests and sims, but I think the modifications were a success." He doesn't bother to aknowledge the (deluxe)Insecticon, since Venom didn't really add anything to the procedure. Mortex bobs his head. "Of course, of course. I hope you enjoy your new body." Venom is indeed wondering what sort of mind would do the sort of thing Mortex appears to have done to himself. Wondering about the minds of others is, after all, what Venom does. Even if he knows the answer, or thinks he knows the answer...it's always better to hear the story from it's source (or even to hear the cover story from the source, whichever the case may be). But for now he seems equally interested in Redshift and his comments. "I wonder if Blueshift has been scheduled for any similar upgrades. He's been operating on the 'front lines', as it were, for some time now...?" Venom turns back to Mortex with interest. "So...-Mortex-...quite an interesting name, if you don't mind my saying so." He looks up and down Mortex's form, although with Venom's oddly designed optics he shouldn't have to do it so obviously. "I sense a pattern here. A -theme-, if you will..."
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