“What the…interesting…” Onslaught noted from the corner of the office as Swindle perked up from his newspaper and wailed in alarm, finding Onslaught had set up a desk in his office. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?! THIS IS MY OFFICE, YOU STUCK UP LIME BOT!!!” He protested before Onslaught pointed to a picture tree of company hierarchy, with Onslaught right at the top and connected to all four Combaticon Subordinates, who in turn were connected to Tracks before branching back out to every employee in the company. “WHAT!?!” Swindle panicked as Onslaught kicked his legs up on his desk. “It gets better! I’m a higher rank than Wing Commander, so now I have TWO of them under my command! But that’s not the point. The point is: Hartmann has been declared ‘mentallyunfit’ for active duty! As leading officer of what I shall call the R18 Platoon (copyright pending), I am going to instruct you as my Gunnery Sergeant to find Officer Hartmann and reevaluate her mental capabilities, so that we can confirm if the paper is dodgy or not.” Onslaught declared. “And if I were to deny that order, as the CEO of the arms dealing company that owns your namesake island?” Swindle demanded as he tapped his finger impatiently on the desk and Lugnut loomed behind him. “Then this’ll take but a moment.” Onslaught declared as Swindle went wide-opticked in terror upon hearing the sound of a warhead arming behind him.
<meanwhile>
“So…why’re you off duty?” Brawl asked as an explosion erupted from the HQ, debris flying in the air as he and Hartmann relaxed on the beach outside, the flight officer enjoying a piña colada while resting on a towel in a bikini and the Combaticon building a sand castle. “Thanks to medical evaluation, I’ve been removed from active duty.” Hartmann answered before taking a sip from her drink. “Oh. What’s the prognosis?” He checked. “I’ve been diagnosed with the mental condition Dysaesthesia Aethiopica! It renders me unable to do any work without going through great stress upon my mind, body and spirit! To help my recovery, the Wing Commander and Major have jointly decided to dismiss me from service. Though it disheartens me to be unable to potentially save Karlsland from the Neuroi, it is a sacrifice my friends and comrades clearly didn’t want to make.” Hartmann admitted, poking her sunglasses up to wipe away a tear, Brawl realizing something. “That’s not a mental disease. It’s a made up term for, quote, ‘unwillingness to perform slave labour’. Are you saying that you faked the information on your medical record to bunk off work?” Brawl demanded, Hartmann gasping dramatically. “YOU’RE ACCUSING ME OF CLAIMING ILLNESS!?!” She exclaimed before breaking into tears. “I’m accusing you of playing your superiors like fiddles and using an obsolete piece of Confederate BS previously used to justify abusing slaves as a method to bum off work indefinitely!” Brawl declared as Hartmann frowned in disappointment. “I hate smart muscle-heads!” She cursed while flicking her sunglasses back down, Brawl picking her up by the nape and stomping back to HQ.
<a short while later>
“NOBODY TRIES TO SWINDLE ME AND GET AWAY WITH IT, NOBODY!!!” Swindle roared as he continually beat Onslaught with what remained of his desk, the munitioner getting flung into the wall when Brawl smashed him while opening the door. “What the…eh! Onslaught, I’d like to report Hartmann for exaggerating her medical condition to get out of combat.” Brawl reported as Onslaught got up from the floor. “GOOD!!! GOOD FOR YOU!!! IN THE MEAN TIME, I FORMALLY RESIGN AS LEADER OF THE R18 PLATOON AND HEREBY DISBAND THE AFOREMENTIONED OUTFIT!!! I’M DONE!!!” Onslaught exploded as he stormed out the room and started an adult temper tantrum outside. “Ah…what’ll your superiors say about this?” Brawl pondered as Hartmann grimaced in fear.
<a short while later, at the 501 camp basement>
“So…in retort for Hartmann using a flimsy excuse for abusing slaves, you’re having her do sweatshop work by packing…uh…*Arnold Schwarzenegger Red Heat reference*…into prosthetic limbs?” Brawl delivered clunkily as he, Minna and Barkhorn monitored Hartmann’s new work ethic, involving packing said prosthetic limbs with medicine (as of circa 1800 to circa 1970) while still wearing her bikini. “Cocainum!” Barkhorn confirmed as she popped a cork from a polymer leg and poured the contents to the floor. “I CALL ANTI-BLONDE BIAS!!! I DID NOTHING TO DESERVE THIS!!! ALL I DID WAS DRINK A COCKTAIL ON THE BEACH AND FAKE A MEDICAL RECORD!!!” Hartmann whined as she continued packing the prosthetics. “That’s ALSO a bad excuse!” Brawl pointed out. “At least in THIS context, it is.” Minna corrdcted. “For the record Hartmann, this is to repay the funds we lost retiring you!” Barkhorn revealed, Brawl noticing a docket before inspecting it. “WHAT!?! BUT I’VE BEEN HANDLING NEARLY 50,000 MARKS WORTH OF COCAINE!!! HOW EXPENSIVE WAS MY RETIREMENT!?!” Hartmann wailed. “About 20 million Marks. Because it also included the dismantling of your Striker, repair of your weapon, resupply of ammunition AND your life insurance.” Minna elaborated. “I HAVE LIFE INSURANCE!?!” Hartmann exclaimed before Brawl noticed something suspicious on the docket. “What’s this about funneling all but Karlslandian food items out of rotation in the base?” He demanded, Barkhorn and Minna perking up in alarm. “I thought you said he’d be TOO STUPID to find it if we left the docket on the table!” Barkhorn growled as Brawl grimaced in disappointment. “I only said that BEFORE he found out Hartmann!” Minna groaned as Brawl picked up the landline on the wall and dialed up the next-highest ranking officer’s quarters.
<slightly later>
“Somehow, I think this might just be an inherent problem with Karlslandians and Germans from WWII: assuming that they can get away with just about anything!” Sakamoto figured, the cocaine packing going much quicker now that all three Karlsland aces within the 501st were on the production line, a slow ceiling fan being installed and the Lieutenant and Wing-Commander also in workshop uniform for productivity boosting. “Noted. Just don’t attempt these stunts yourself!” Brawl warned as Shirley poked her head out from behind him with a shit eating grin, neither Brawl nor Sakamoto aware of her presence. “Duly noted! But rest assured, we’ll at least put the cocaine to good use!” Sakamoto reassured as Shirley pulled out a fire bellows and aimed it toward the pile of not-yet-packed cocaine. “It’s only medical use is the 1000% guarantee of a heart attack.” Brawl pointed out, Shirley sighing in disappointment before pulling back the bellows. “But you do have a medic that can heal all bodily damage, so (pun intended) go blow yourself!” Brawl allowed as Shirley perked up in joy before leaping into the pile, jumping out instantly after, laughing hysterically and bouncing off the walls before getting stricken with a heart attack and collapsing to the floor wall eyed and twitching. “I’ll take her to medical, contact Swindle when this shit’s ready to sell.” Brawl advised as he looked away from Sakamoto. “Understood.” She agreed while looking away from Brawl as he grabbed Shirley by the leg and dragged her to the infirmary. “THAT…WAS…WORTH IT!!!” Shirley stammered as she and Brawl departed. “I really should do my homework before trying to weasel myself out of active duty…” Hartmann sighed as she and her fellow countrywomen continued with the packing. “Du bist ein Idiot, Hartmann!” Minna and Barkhorn growled in unison, Sakamoto tapping her foot impatiently as the workforce continued their duties into the next day.
Records of an Aspie 