#i guess shattered glass might mean that kobd ain't as 'couple goals' as it may be in baseverse

[whatudottu]

I am endlessly entertained (perhaps that's the wrong word) by the concept that Knock Out was only ever doctor adjacent and just switched from a cosmetic surgeon to a full blown medic during the war, especially since apparently in human medicine you don't have to have a doctorate as a cosmetic surgeon, at minimum only needing their basic initial medical training.

But I've also been thinking of it shattered too, Shattered Glass specifically.

I mean, I could hypothetically keep SG Knock Out as a cosmetic surgeon, but why would a cosmetic surgeon not practice what they preach and at least look a little nice. Going with a literally shattered Knock Out, would you trust a bot that looks like he walked out fresh from a car crash to make your finish shine? Probably not, but he'll do it...

Though, not in the same way one might as a cosmetic surgeon do (beautician?)

If SG!KO is so hellbent on keeping every scar and only really fixing anything if it reduces the integrity of armour (Knock Out may scoff at scuffed paint but he isn't an idiot), what if frankly he's unused to working on anyone that was ever remotely alive, especially himself who would need to be alive to do anything in the first place. A scar here, a scrape there, battle hardened warriors on their deathbed might want to look grand and imposing even in death, no wayward medic is gonna make that body look pristine and perfect just to erase the story of what had happened.

So instead of being a cosmetic surgeon, Shattered Glass Knock Out may have been a mortician, perfectly adept at making a corpse shine without erasing the features the dearly departed so diligently requested, though gussying up a comatose body is a lot more living than he's particularly used to.

Part of what makes this funny (in perhaps a horrifying way) is that Knock Out uh has no history with being a doctor OR as a licensed medical professional; you don't need a to worry about the hippocratic oath if the patient you're working on hasn't been alive for a whole month. What counts as an open wound fresh from stabbing versus an old wound one wears proudly is if there's any live wires or leaking fuel actively compromising the integrity of a bot's frame. Buffing and waxing a living mecha's armour is different when there are still active nanites working their way on and throughout the body giving their vibrant armour colours. Stemming the flow of actual liquid energon versus the congealed clots of cold dead fuel is an entirely different experience than what Knock Out had been doing over and over again before he had to be a medic.

Trial and error, where the errors lead back into KO's expertise, dealing with the dead and following the wishes of the deceased; a new term to agree upon came about with the war, to harvest what can be salvaged and be stored (for as long as they will live) for spare parts.

If baseverse Knock Out was a charming, outgoing, and sociable mech, SG Knock Out isn't used to bodies (patients, mecha) walking around and talking. One of the first time he was fixing a finish, first time using the stuff for the living, he nearly clawed off his own work when the mech made conversation; the ensuing joke of 'having a BREAKDOWN' didn't stop the groan and eye roll from being his next response. He doesn't so much as flinch at a dead looking finish, the kinda grey you look at an immediately associate with a corpse, but he can certainly tell the difference from a hue of nanites and the absence of their activity. At the cordial 'Doctor Knock Out' sent his way, he has to shut himself up correcting them, for as true as he may say he isn't a doctor it isn't particularly assuring for the bot in charge of your medical care states blandly he doesn't have a license; not many do, but saying it aloud doesn't help anyone.

Working during the war KO has accrued a few scars of his own, never makes it the end of the solar cycle with a pristine finish... and not just because he doesn't really care to start the day with a fresh coat. Armour often left dented though repaired when split, face and portions of protoform littered with nicks and cuts and sometimes gaping wounds, sealed shut not with welding but a mesh net he had once used as a mortician for those very same scars, whatever bleeding there long since healed. The missing optic is inconvenient, though not quite as terrible as losing a few parts from his fingers, their delicate work hampered with some missing tips, another near fully gone.

Some of them have stories, others a quick flash. There was a bomb in a body, that took his fingers. There was a welding torch, the light burned his optic. A wound on his side, that was from a lucky shot.

He is his own walking autopsy.