[Oh look, it's a cat. A white robot cat, sitting quite primly, not a highgrade cube in sight.
...They are all probably hidden behind the camera.]
My name is Glit. For those of you not aware, I am a medic - a field surgeon, to be precise. To answer the top three questions: yes, I am in fact an especially capable medic; yes, my paws are as, if not more dexterous than the average Cybertronian's servos; and no, you may not pet me.
[At least not while he's on the job.]
Whatever doubts you fraggers may have about my frame design, that does not change that I am a medic, and that is what I am here to do for however long I'm stuck here. I'd offer letters of recommendation, but most of them are either not here or eaten so you'll have to settle for a verbal service record.
So. While there is apparently an unusual wealth of medics on this planet - where all of you were during the war I don't even know - I am formally adding myself to the list of 'available for walk-ins'. ...Not that you couldn't have commed me before.
[Huff. He gestures out behind himself with a paw, pinging the system with his coordinates within Nexus' temple.
It seems someone has been pilfering. Be it from the junk yard, other rooms, other medbays, or all of the above, he's managed to
commandeer turn a regular temple room - his room - into a very sparse but very clean examination room.
...Cassette-cats aren't good at asking permission. Oops.
There is barely any equipment - but he carries most of that on his frame. A single random, blue lava lamp glowing merrily in the corner is the only bit of decoration around.
His tail swooshes, pleased.]
As you can see, I am now able to take visitors. Anyone is welcome, though my experience with organics is limited. No, I don't give a flying frag about your faction. Just leave the bickering outside. Ping me for an appointment, come by for a walk-in; doesn't hesitate to emergency comm me, up to and including if you're lying in a ditch with your own severed arm up your exhaust. Whatever.
>[He pulls a datapad out of his hip storage, browsing it idly with a claw.]
...Especially you, Thundercracker. A massive pit-insect invasion is no excuse for missing your appointment.