#but he has bad ghost memory plus operates on tinkerbell logic

[rust-bearer]

The prisoner screamed in their cell, as First Aid watched through the window. Their servo, previously their pride of trade, had been cut off right where the nerve endings started; it looked fairly painful, and judging by the screaming, it was.

First Aid made a note of it, typing on his keypad.

“Hey doc. Fancy seeing you here,” Vortex purred from First Aid’s left, standing obtrusively in the doorway. First Aid spared him a glance, then return to the prisoner.

“Standard response of sudden amputation. Patient underwent a below-the-wrist amputation following extensive ischemic damage and necrosis of the servo due to unintended infection…” First Aid looked up again at the ‘prisoner’, before returning to his notes, continuing to speak aloud as he typed. “Preoperative imaging revealed critical tissue loss, with no viable circulation distal to the wrist. Procedure was uncomplicated and patient is expected to make a full recovery.”

Vortex made an interested noise, deciding to lean into First Aid’s personal space. “Sounds like you had some fun without me.”

First Aid set the tablet down with a small noise of dissatisfaction. Then, he spoke into a microphone, directed to the diminutive medical drones, currently puttering around the operating room. “Physician consent obtained for patient termination.”

As one, the drones all jolted to life. The prisoner strapped to the operating table barely had time to scream before the drones began to gouge him apart. First Aid shook his head, and made yet another mental note to recalibrate the drones. Always so messy. Never enough time to fix it, though. Especially not with…

Well, Vortex. Vortex, who was currently staring in disbelief. “Yknow, I was joking when I said you should lighten up. Isn’t this a little extreme? I mean, Primus, Aid, aren’t you supposed to be a medic-”

“What is it you want, Vortex?” First Aid sighed. He shouldn’t be even indulging this. “I wouldn’t have to kill so many patients if you left me alone.”

“Me? What did I do!” Vortex looks wounded, and maybe it’s an act. “You’re the one who chopped off his wrist, then, well… the rest of him too. Say, doesn’t he look a lot like your old coworker?” Vortex flashes a deep grin, unobstructed by any mask.

First Aid ignores him. Looks back to his notes. “Attending physician visual disturbance noted. Accompanied by auditory disturbances as well. Patient log closed for the day.”

“Hallucination?” Vortex makes to snatch away the data pad, but his clawed servo goes through it. “Wh- hey! First Aid, what did you-”

“You’re DEAD, Vortex!” First Aid finally snaps. “We have this conversation every other day! You’re- not real, and I shouldn’t even be talking to you…” Inhale, exhale. “I’ve been awake too long. This always happens, and I keep telling myself not to let it happen, and it always happens…”

Muttering to himself, First Aid stands up and leaves the room. Vortex, or what thinks it’s Vortex, stands over the data pad. Watches the text scroll automatically until it reaches today’s date.

Fifty thousand years after the end of the War. After Vortex’s last, hazy memory of… something, and then nothing at all. The room dims; the room goes black.

Nothing but a pair of red optics, staring out of the dark.