- Motto: "I can totally prove that I'm not a zombie! Just lean over hear, and let me take a little nibble out of your brains."
- Weapon: Double Barrelled Shell Launcher
Armor Aid stepped out of his office, reluctantly, just as the drones were finishing their cleanup. As expected the ward was shining clean, no doubt sterile, and every tool and piece of medical equipment put back in it's designated place.
"Good job you two.", he said to the drones, "Now if only you could do surgery, maybe the patients would actually have a chance."
Both drones stopped for a moment when Armor Aid addressed them, waiting to see if the acting CMO had any orders or commands for them. When none came they went back to cleaning as if he had said nothing. Armor Aid sighed.
"Yeah, you've never really been much for conversation.", he pitifully said to himself.
He looked to the Medical Ward's main entrance, the one barrier that seperated him from the rest of the Penitentiary. Since Lancet's death he hardly ever left the medical ward, thanks to a sufficient supply of energon and a fully furnished private office he had little need to leave except for the worst kinds of medical emergencies. Other than those and the rare orders from his superiors, he had no deisre or need to leave the medical ward.
With effort Armor Aid took a step toward the door. Then another, and another, with each step requiring more effort than the previous one. He didn't want to leave the relative safety and seclusion of the ward, but if he didn't Rung would probably intrude on him, and he wanted that even less. Finally after several breems he reached the door, and his hand hovered over the button that would open it.
Just do it already., he thought, his cooling fan taking short intakes as it seemed like there was a forcefield preventing him from opening the door, his optics shut off, Just open it, get out there, and get this over with.
Suddenly Armor Aid slapped the button with his palm, and the door hissed open, though his optics remained disabled. He didn't want to look out because he already knew what was waiting for his in the hallway.
They're staring at me now, I just know it, all the inmates and the guards and the other stafff. Staring at the sorry excuse for a medic that's too scared to leave his own office. Any minute now they'll start laughing their vocalizers off, probably come up with some new jokes about how I'm Garrus 9's greatest killer.
Slowly, Armor Aid reactivated his optical sensors. To his dread there were several guards standing around, some of them whispering and snickering, and all of them looking and pointing toward him. In a panic he transformed into an armored medical transport, and sped off with reckless abandon. If he was lucky everyone would think there was an emergency, and they would stay out of his way.
Steelhand continued walking through the mines with Goldrush, he was so excited to get started that he felt like he would explode if he didn't start swinging his pickaxe at one of the walls. The mine's owner showed him some of the areas he would be working in, and Steelhand took careful note of each one every turn and intersection. It had been an awful long time since he'd walked through caverns, and the last thing he wanted to do was get lost, especially if he needed to get back to his regular duties at the prison.
As they went further, Steelhand's audio sensors picked up a number of voices up ahead. Though he didn't know the voices personally, something about them seemed somewhat familiar to him. He could make out what seemed to be a few cheers, a boo or a jeer here and there, some taunts. As they got closer, he thought he heard the sound of metal hitting metal. Although not nearly as loud or as aggressive as he remembered, the general tone gave him a cold chill. As they reached the open area that Goldrush was leading him to, Steelhand dropped his pickaxe as a look of horror came across his faceplate.
No...... no, no, no.... this can't be real..... not here.....
Steelhand couldn't believe- no, he didn't want to believe what he was seeing. It was much smaller, and more crudely made then what he had fought in, but it was a fighting pit none the less. The two mechs fighting in the middle weren't as violent, and the gathered miners watching didn't seem to be nearly as bloodthirsty as the spectators Steelhand had fought in front of, but that didn't matter. It was a sight that Steelhand had hoped he would never, ever, have to see again.
Steelhand couldn't hear much of what Goldrush said at first, as his memory banks brought up memories that he had long wished he could erase. Visions of energon gushing from limbs that were ripped off, electrical sparks spewing from torn armor plating, and the sickening crunch of servos and circuitry as his powerful fist made contact with another mech's faceplate, all the while a crowd that resembled an angry mob demanded more.
As his new boss spoke some more, Steelhand tried as best as he could to rid the images in his head and stay focussed on the present. He slowly picked up his pickaxe and placed it on his back, still shaking a little as he listened to Goldrush explain the pit. Apparently it was a way for some of the miners to earn some extra money and blow off steam. At first Steelhand was skeptical when he was told that there were no weapons and no killing, but to his relief that statement was confirmed when one of the mechs submitted, and the match ended with barely a scratch on either fighter. Still, the mere presence of the pit left Steelhand deeply unsettled, and conflicted inside.
I've wanted to work down here- slag, I've wanted to work in ANY mine since they were all closed down before the war., he thought, oblivious to all the miners who were walking past him as he seemed in a daze, I can do this.... yeah, I know I can do this. No one's getting killed, no one can force me in there. I can still work here, and I'll just go somewhere else when this is going on. RIght, this isn't Cybertron, I'm not desperate for money, I don't need to fight to survive like I had to back then. This can still work, I know it can. I'll make it work.
Once Steelhand had convinced himself as best he could he stopped shaking and his smile came back, though it seemed a little forced now. He nodded back to Goldrush as the owner walked away.
"Thank you, boss. I promise I won't let you down."
With that said, Steelhand turned to face Copper, reaching behind his back to retrieve his trusty pickaxe.
"Just tell me where to start, and I'll get right to it!", he said to the foremech with professional enthusiasm.
This will all work out okay, I know it will.....
Armor Aid's tires came to a screeching halt as he reached the door to the psychiatrist's office, his vehicle mode stopping just past it. He transformed, hurried to open the door and rushed in as if he was avoiding laser fire.
"Lousy slaggers, think I'm some joke. Think everything I've tried to do is so funny.....", he said to himself as he took a deep intake, calming down.
Who are you kidding? You are a JOKE!,, he thought to himself, standing with his head down, You've got no business trying to be a doctor, you don't even have a LICENSE! What right do you have to replace the most important mech in your life? How can you even TRY to replace him after you-
Armor Aid was brought out of his train of thought as he realized there was a very large mech who was about to leave. As it turned out it was none other than the warden himself, Fortress Maximus. His mere presence made Armor Aid nervous, and the paramedic started to shake.
"S-sir!", he saluted as best he could, trying to look his commander in the optics but barely being able to. He really wished he had a cy-gar-8.
Please just leave, don't remind me how much I fragged up.... Just let me see Rung and get this over with already so I can get back to my office.....