Ratchet hears his name and barely looks up--if whoever is calling him is on their feet and speaking, they aren't as bad off as the patient he's tending right now.

"What?" he snaps, sharp enough to be heard over the familiar din of a medical bay, the clatter of instruments and patients crying out. He turns his head slightly toward the source of the voice without taking his eyes off the bandage he's wrapping around someone's arm until he's finished and he straightens, wiping blood and burn salve from his hands. "I'm Ratchet. If you're not injured you'll have to talk to me while I'm working. What do you need?"