Knock Out's just as confused and disoriented as everyone else after being spat out by the portal, his gyro sensors screaming vertigo at him. So much so that he actually moves away several meters from anyone else on the vague concern that he might misstep and actually squash someone. (He's already got plating full of murderbot shrapnel, he doesn't need messy organic squish in his pede joints on top of it.)
Unfortunately for the medic, his size makes him an easy target to spot for reporters and government officials who want to know exactly what happened, and he ends up being thronged by a large group of them. So despite wanting nothing more than a hot cube, a strong magnet, and a comfortable recharge slab, Knock Out pulls it together and gives the crowd exactly what they want.
It doesn't take long before his animated recount and apparent forthcoming detail even pulls some of the reporters away from imPorts who look like they really, really need to be left alone.
He weaves the tale of imPort cooperation and dedication, of them valiantly placing themselves in harm's way to protect the ritual's designates, of them throwing themselves between the OTO's dangerous spiderbots and ushering the citizens of Jeopardy to safe shelters. He lauds the bravery of the Jeopardy natives too, which seems to please the press in particular. He describes the feeling of entering the storm, of being cut off from the outside world, where time seemed to distort so that hours conflated with days until none of them were sure how long they'd been fighting monsters and being challenged by the Fates.
Knock Out is a good storyteller, and it's obvious that he's handled large crowds before. He's articulate enough with his words to dance around exactly what choices were offered in Clotho's test, and at the end of the Fates' battle. He carefully frames it instead as a test of courage, rather than morality, all the while obscuring exactly what each option had entailed.
"Of course we held the safety of this world forefront," he says artfully, as if the question surprises him. "Where would we be without you all as our gracious hosts?"
CELEBRATION;
Eventually the press and officials are satisfied, and hopefully those imPorts who don't want to be harassed have beaten hasty retreats by now, that Knock Out finally lets some of the dynamism fade. The celebration is in full swing by now, spilling into the park across from City Hall, and he finds an area that's a little less crowded to finally let some of the tension out of his struts.
The locals are trying really hard to include him in said festivity, but he has to keep turning them down with polite but increasingly wry refusals. "I appreciate the offer, but I can't eat cake."
"Oh. Diabetic? There's a sugar free one I can get you!"
"That's not the--" Knock Out starts, but the helpful person has already dashed off, presumably to find a mech-sized slice of sugar free cake for him. The medic groans tiredly, and accepts another free T-shirt (they must, he thinks, believe that simply giving him enough will somehow magically merge them all into one large enough to wear) and adding it to the pile next to him.
If any other imPorts are nearby, Knock Out might throw them under the metaphorical bus by pointing them out to the well-meaning citizenry to ply their refreshments off to.
Knock Out | OTA
DEBRIEF;
Knock Out's just as confused and disoriented as everyone else after being spat out by the portal, his gyro sensors screaming vertigo at him. So much so that he actually moves away several meters from anyone else on the vague concern that he might misstep and actually squash someone. (He's already got plating full of murderbot shrapnel, he doesn't need messy organic squish in his pede joints on top of it.)
Unfortunately for the medic, his size makes him an easy target to spot for reporters and government officials who want to know exactly what happened, and he ends up being thronged by a large group of them. So despite wanting nothing more than a hot cube, a strong magnet, and a comfortable recharge slab, Knock Out pulls it together and gives the crowd exactly what they want.
It doesn't take long before his animated recount and apparent forthcoming detail even pulls some of the reporters away from imPorts who look like they really, really need to be left alone.
He weaves the tale of imPort cooperation and dedication, of them valiantly placing themselves in harm's way to protect the ritual's designates, of them throwing themselves between the OTO's dangerous spiderbots and ushering the citizens of Jeopardy to safe shelters. He lauds the bravery of the Jeopardy natives too, which seems to please the press in particular. He describes the feeling of entering the storm, of being cut off from the outside world, where time seemed to distort so that hours conflated with days until none of them were sure how long they'd been fighting monsters and being challenged by the Fates.
Knock Out is a good storyteller, and it's obvious that he's handled large crowds before. He's articulate enough with his words to dance around exactly what choices were offered in Clotho's test, and at the end of the Fates' battle. He carefully frames it instead as a test of courage, rather than morality, all the while obscuring exactly what each option had entailed.
"Of course we held the safety of this world forefront," he says artfully, as if the question surprises him. "Where would we be without you all as our gracious hosts?"
CELEBRATION;
Eventually the press and officials are satisfied, and hopefully those imPorts who don't want to be harassed have beaten hasty retreats by now, that Knock Out finally lets some of the dynamism fade. The celebration is in full swing by now, spilling into the park across from City Hall, and he finds an area that's a little less crowded to finally let some of the tension out of his struts.
The locals are trying really hard to include him in said festivity, but he has to keep turning them down with polite but increasingly wry refusals. "I appreciate the offer, but I can't eat cake."
"Oh. Diabetic? There's a sugar free one I can get you!"
"That's not the--" Knock Out starts, but the helpful person has already dashed off, presumably to find a mech-sized slice of sugar free cake for him. The medic groans tiredly, and accepts another free T-shirt (they must, he thinks, believe that simply giving him enough will somehow magically merge them all into one large enough to wear) and adding it to the pile next to him.
If any other imPorts are nearby, Knock Out might throw them under the metaphorical bus by pointing them out to the well-meaning citizenry to ply their refreshments off to.