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Orbit
Sky Lynx witnessed the attack on the civilian vessel. He suppressed a gasp--he had seen similar tactics before--but nothing quite like this, with the planet in ruins.
"Civilian vessel, this is Sky Lynx!" he radioed, rapidly considering his options in this situation. They would perish without his aid.
------
Iacon City Center
Quickswitch watched, disbelieving, as the dusty silhouette of his foe walked away. He tried transforming again, met only with a painful spasm.
He opened a short-range channel: "Any available Autobots...This is Quickswitch...I'm..." he paused, embarrassed, "I'm stuck mid-transformation and bleeding out energon..."
[New RPG] World at War: The Siege of Iacon
-
Heinrad
- Posts: 6282
- Joined: Sun Dec 23, 2001 5:00 am
- Location: Riskin' it all on my Russian Roulette!
City Center:
Ironhide slewed to a halt, trying to jostle Bumblebee as little as possible, switching channels. "Ah hear ya, Quickswitch. If ya c'n move a li'l an' hang on t'mah roof, Ah c'n take ya back t' th' Academy." He headed towards where he was detecting Quickswitch's signal.
**************
Destroyed Police Station:
"Did you hear that?"
Nightbeat looked up from the Cyclone Cannon he was examining. "Hear what?"
Hot Rod looked out the door to the Heavy Weapons Squad room. "I thought I heard something out there."
Nightbeat picked up the Cyclone Cannon, mounting it on his left arm. He tapped a couple of controls, and the Cannon retracted, folding up and sliding into his arm storage compartment. "Look, kid, don't take this the wrong way, but my hearing's so far above yours in sensitivity that-"
sssccrape.....shuffshuff.....
"That there's something out there?"
Nightbeat scowled, grabbing energy cells and subspacing them. "Just make sure you've got plenty of ammo for whatever you grabbed. We're going to have to leave this room and find a room with an outside, unreinforced wall."
Ironhide slewed to a halt, trying to jostle Bumblebee as little as possible, switching channels. "Ah hear ya, Quickswitch. If ya c'n move a li'l an' hang on t'mah roof, Ah c'n take ya back t' th' Academy." He headed towards where he was detecting Quickswitch's signal.
**************
Destroyed Police Station:
"Did you hear that?"
Nightbeat looked up from the Cyclone Cannon he was examining. "Hear what?"
Hot Rod looked out the door to the Heavy Weapons Squad room. "I thought I heard something out there."
Nightbeat picked up the Cyclone Cannon, mounting it on his left arm. He tapped a couple of controls, and the Cannon retracted, folding up and sliding into his arm storage compartment. "Look, kid, don't take this the wrong way, but my hearing's so far above yours in sensitivity that-"
sssccrape.....shuffshuff.....
"That there's something out there?"
Nightbeat scowled, grabbing energy cells and subspacing them. "Just make sure you've got plenty of ammo for whatever you grabbed. We're going to have to leave this room and find a room with an outside, unreinforced wall."
As a professional tanuki (I'm a Japanese mythological animal, and a good luck charm), I have an alarm clock built into me somewhere. I also look like a stuffed animal. And you thought your life was tough......
3DS Friend Code: 1092-1274-7642
3DS Friend Code: 1092-1274-7642
-
Heinrad
- Posts: 6282
- Joined: Sun Dec 23, 2001 5:00 am
- Location: Riskin' it all on my Russian Roulette!
City Center:
Ironhide rolled to a stop next to Quickswitch. "Climb on an' hold on!"
***************
Destroyed Police Station:
Nightbeat moved slowly down the corridor, and truth be told, he was getting very worried. He was hearing more movement now, that weird, shuffling sound, maybe the odd, slight moan. He didn't know what was going on, but he really didn't want to find out.
He came to a corner and flattened against the wall, motioning for Hot Rod to do the same.
"I think there's somebody out there", he hissed at the younger Autobot. "Stay here and cover me."
Hot Rod nodded, lifting the rocket launcher he's picked up.
Wondering if this truly was a bad idea, Nightbeat went around the corner, his plasma blaster aimed at the back of a mech that was just standing there. "Uhmn....... Excuse me?"
The mech, who was standing there slumped, straightened a little, and started to turn.
Nightbeat's optics widened behind his visor as he tallied up the damage that this mech had taken: Spark core destroyed, half of face blown off, and just general terminal damage. The one remaining optic burned with a glowing purple light, and fluids dripped from the mouth. Or at least what remained of the mouth.
As he was turning to tell Hot Rod to go back, Hot Rod ran past him, grabbing his arm, and yelling back over his shoulder as he partially dragged Nightbeat down the corridor. "There's more of them. LOTS more."
And with that, they started running.
Ironhide rolled to a stop next to Quickswitch. "Climb on an' hold on!"
***************
Destroyed Police Station:
Nightbeat moved slowly down the corridor, and truth be told, he was getting very worried. He was hearing more movement now, that weird, shuffling sound, maybe the odd, slight moan. He didn't know what was going on, but he really didn't want to find out.
He came to a corner and flattened against the wall, motioning for Hot Rod to do the same.
"I think there's somebody out there", he hissed at the younger Autobot. "Stay here and cover me."
Hot Rod nodded, lifting the rocket launcher he's picked up.
Wondering if this truly was a bad idea, Nightbeat went around the corner, his plasma blaster aimed at the back of a mech that was just standing there. "Uhmn....... Excuse me?"
The mech, who was standing there slumped, straightened a little, and started to turn.
Nightbeat's optics widened behind his visor as he tallied up the damage that this mech had taken: Spark core destroyed, half of face blown off, and just general terminal damage. The one remaining optic burned with a glowing purple light, and fluids dripped from the mouth. Or at least what remained of the mouth.
As he was turning to tell Hot Rod to go back, Hot Rod ran past him, grabbing his arm, and yelling back over his shoulder as he partially dragged Nightbeat down the corridor. "There's more of them. LOTS more."
And with that, they started running.
As a professional tanuki (I'm a Japanese mythological animal, and a good luck charm), I have an alarm clock built into me somewhere. I also look like a stuffed animal. And you thought your life was tough......
3DS Friend Code: 1092-1274-7642
3DS Friend Code: 1092-1274-7642
Skies
Skywarp zipped through the air, having teleported down to rescue several Vehicons pinned under rubble or the likes, though not without making fun of them first. This was fun – he finally felt important, felt useful… Starscream was a bit of an arrogant piece of scrap, but Skywarp could at least deal with honest arrogance and anger like that. It’s nothing like how the Autobots had treated him.
They treated him like a thing. An object to be studied. Starscream treated him like an underling, but an underling was still people. And Lugnut? Well Lugnut was just grumpy all the time.
Yes, Skywarp thought to himself. The Decepticons were full of jerks, but at least it’s home.
_________________________________________________________
Medbay, Nemesis
Scorponok nodded at Knock Out as his own scanners delivered readouts to the orange visor in front of his optics, which had been replaced with a spare one. “Yes, I do believe this is satisfactory work – and in such a short time span too! Amazing work, doctor.”
Scorponok walked up to the large CR chamber and nodded. “This is large enough, and will do.” It will certainly be comfortable, from the looks of it – ideal for him to relax and catch up with everything that’s going on. “Thank you, doctor.” He said, inspecting the CR chamber as Knock Out headed off to talk to Sixshot… and Obsidian?
Scorponok gave a nod at Sixshot, who gave him a quick salute, before entering the CR chamber and allowing it to close up on him. Scorponok felt the cool, soothing fluid fill the chamber and seep into his joints and wounds, as the chamber’s mechanisms started to solder the cracks and replace temporary solvents with more permanent ones.
As news continued to flash down his orange visor, he replied to Predacon. “I won’t take that bet, because I’m pretty sure that we killed everyone in Iacon. Though I’m willing to bet that, based on your chipper tone, that you’ve found the ones they did behind everyone’s backs that bypass those ethics laws.” Scorponok chuckled. “And, yes, there is a proper doctor. He could be a potential member of Team Science… certainly isn’t lacking in the medical department and he didn’t flinch when I talked about what we do. Just home in to… whichever medbay this one is. I’m sure you can get a lock on Sixshot’s signal.”
_________________________________________________________
After saluting Scorponok, Sixshot nodded at Knock Out as he moved Obsidian to a scanning table and placed him down there.
Odd.
He turned to Scorponok’s CR chamber. A brief thought flashed across Sixshot’s mind. A brief thought of how easy it would be for someone – someone such as him – to transform into a gun and blast Scorponok into oblivion.
Sixshot looked at Obsidian.
So fragile.
He could snap him like a twig.
Could crush his head between his fingers.
He turned back to Scorponok, inside the CR chamber, seemingly humming a tune. He seemed all right. But then, Sixshot was no healer. “Medic Knock Out, is… Creator Scorponok… unharmed?” Sixshot asked.
_________________________________________________________
War Academy
“Damn.” Prowl said, as he realized the lack of bodies. A hint of movement caught Prowl’s eyes as a couple of the Dark Energon zombies – or were they Autobots? – shambled out of a nearby structure, possibly attracted by the noise they made when they arrived.
Prowl aimed at the head of leading one. With his scope, Prowl quickly confirmed that the Autobot – former Autobot – had a hole through his chest. Fumarole, one of the new cadets Sentinel trained not three days ago. Prowl vetoed him into the War Academy. He remembered facts about the young cadet. Raised in Kalis, worked as a security guard, fought against the Harvester gang once, can play several musical instruments, liable to violence, prefers wind-based technology.
Facts. None of which mattered at the moment. Fumarole was dead. Any facts about him in Prowl’s mind were redundant.
He needed to be analytical. He needed to be Prowl the Strategist, not Prowl the Person. He needed to. Prowl shot a single acid bullet that started to eat through the head. But Fumarole’s body continued to shamble onwards, though noticeably slower.
“Any idea how to permanently stop them?” Prowl asked Terabolt. “I don’t-”
A massive, distinctive sound of a mortar shell being launched filled the air, and Frostwind’s body disappeared as an explosion tore the ground apart. Several zombies behind them were then torn apart by mortars as well.
Prowl whirled around, weapon at the ready, and lowered it, nodding with approval as his vision laid on the medical compound. It was in ruins like everything else, but it was mostly intact. And on the roof were several members wearing the distinct black and yellow bands of the Artillery Squad. A small armed group, led by Ratchet, went out to greet them. Ratchet himself was toting his laser scalpel and cryogenic sprayer like a pair of dangerous weapons.
The medic gave out an exasperated sigh. “Thank goodness some of you made it out alive. What’s going on? Communications were out and we had no chance if we didn’t barricade ourselves in the medbay. And these… these dark things started tearing through the ground and the next thing we know, we’re fighting the living dead.”
“Ratchet.” Prowl said, allowing himself a soft smile. The medic walked up to them and knelt down next to Windcharger and started examining him. “It is good to see you are functional.”
“Talk later, we need to regroup. I do hope you’ve cooked up some kind of plan to get out of this mess, because all this? It’s starting to freak me out.” Ratchet replied as he loaded Windcharger to an Autobot that transformed into a transport truck. Several more zombies continued to crawl towards them, and as much as the artillery team could fire, they can’t get all of them fast enough.
“I don’t.” Prowl replied, the admission hurting him more than the fact. Ratchet looked crestfallen, but continued to work nonetheless as he inspected Prowl’s injuries. “But I’m on line with the Prime. We are to make this the rallying point.” Prowl then took this moment to reply to Optimus Prime. “Apologies, sir. I was dealing with a… problem. I am at the Academy, and it appears that we are overrun with reanimated corpses. I’ve run into a group of survivors. We will try to clean it up before you arrive. I believe we can do so in time.”
He switched channels. “Grimlock, if you’re alive, we need your help.”
He turned to look up at Terabolt. “Do you require medical aid, or can you assist us with… purging our fallen comrades?”
_________________________________________________________
City Center
Ironhide!
He was…. He was saved. He wasn’t dead! Bumblebee tried to speak, but couldn’t. All he could manage was a series of scratchy, noisy bleeps as Ironhide picked him up. All he could manage was to weakly raise his arm meekly.
I failed. Sorry.
He would have liked to say those words, but he couldn’t. He resigned to slumping against Ironhide’s cargo bay as he moved. At least he was alive. That had to count for something, doesn’t it?
Skywarp zipped through the air, having teleported down to rescue several Vehicons pinned under rubble or the likes, though not without making fun of them first. This was fun – he finally felt important, felt useful… Starscream was a bit of an arrogant piece of scrap, but Skywarp could at least deal with honest arrogance and anger like that. It’s nothing like how the Autobots had treated him.
They treated him like a thing. An object to be studied. Starscream treated him like an underling, but an underling was still people. And Lugnut? Well Lugnut was just grumpy all the time.
Yes, Skywarp thought to himself. The Decepticons were full of jerks, but at least it’s home.
_________________________________________________________
Medbay, Nemesis
Scorponok nodded at Knock Out as his own scanners delivered readouts to the orange visor in front of his optics, which had been replaced with a spare one. “Yes, I do believe this is satisfactory work – and in such a short time span too! Amazing work, doctor.”
Scorponok walked up to the large CR chamber and nodded. “This is large enough, and will do.” It will certainly be comfortable, from the looks of it – ideal for him to relax and catch up with everything that’s going on. “Thank you, doctor.” He said, inspecting the CR chamber as Knock Out headed off to talk to Sixshot… and Obsidian?
Scorponok gave a nod at Sixshot, who gave him a quick salute, before entering the CR chamber and allowing it to close up on him. Scorponok felt the cool, soothing fluid fill the chamber and seep into his joints and wounds, as the chamber’s mechanisms started to solder the cracks and replace temporary solvents with more permanent ones.
As news continued to flash down his orange visor, he replied to Predacon. “I won’t take that bet, because I’m pretty sure that we killed everyone in Iacon. Though I’m willing to bet that, based on your chipper tone, that you’ve found the ones they did behind everyone’s backs that bypass those ethics laws.” Scorponok chuckled. “And, yes, there is a proper doctor. He could be a potential member of Team Science… certainly isn’t lacking in the medical department and he didn’t flinch when I talked about what we do. Just home in to… whichever medbay this one is. I’m sure you can get a lock on Sixshot’s signal.”
_________________________________________________________
After saluting Scorponok, Sixshot nodded at Knock Out as he moved Obsidian to a scanning table and placed him down there.
Odd.
He turned to Scorponok’s CR chamber. A brief thought flashed across Sixshot’s mind. A brief thought of how easy it would be for someone – someone such as him – to transform into a gun and blast Scorponok into oblivion.
Sixshot looked at Obsidian.
So fragile.
He could snap him like a twig.
Could crush his head between his fingers.
He turned back to Scorponok, inside the CR chamber, seemingly humming a tune. He seemed all right. But then, Sixshot was no healer. “Medic Knock Out, is… Creator Scorponok… unharmed?” Sixshot asked.
_________________________________________________________
War Academy
“Damn.” Prowl said, as he realized the lack of bodies. A hint of movement caught Prowl’s eyes as a couple of the Dark Energon zombies – or were they Autobots? – shambled out of a nearby structure, possibly attracted by the noise they made when they arrived.
Prowl aimed at the head of leading one. With his scope, Prowl quickly confirmed that the Autobot – former Autobot – had a hole through his chest. Fumarole, one of the new cadets Sentinel trained not three days ago. Prowl vetoed him into the War Academy. He remembered facts about the young cadet. Raised in Kalis, worked as a security guard, fought against the Harvester gang once, can play several musical instruments, liable to violence, prefers wind-based technology.
Facts. None of which mattered at the moment. Fumarole was dead. Any facts about him in Prowl’s mind were redundant.
He needed to be analytical. He needed to be Prowl the Strategist, not Prowl the Person. He needed to. Prowl shot a single acid bullet that started to eat through the head. But Fumarole’s body continued to shamble onwards, though noticeably slower.
“Any idea how to permanently stop them?” Prowl asked Terabolt. “I don’t-”
A massive, distinctive sound of a mortar shell being launched filled the air, and Frostwind’s body disappeared as an explosion tore the ground apart. Several zombies behind them were then torn apart by mortars as well.
Prowl whirled around, weapon at the ready, and lowered it, nodding with approval as his vision laid on the medical compound. It was in ruins like everything else, but it was mostly intact. And on the roof were several members wearing the distinct black and yellow bands of the Artillery Squad. A small armed group, led by Ratchet, went out to greet them. Ratchet himself was toting his laser scalpel and cryogenic sprayer like a pair of dangerous weapons.
The medic gave out an exasperated sigh. “Thank goodness some of you made it out alive. What’s going on? Communications were out and we had no chance if we didn’t barricade ourselves in the medbay. And these… these dark things started tearing through the ground and the next thing we know, we’re fighting the living dead.”
“Ratchet.” Prowl said, allowing himself a soft smile. The medic walked up to them and knelt down next to Windcharger and started examining him. “It is good to see you are functional.”
“Talk later, we need to regroup. I do hope you’ve cooked up some kind of plan to get out of this mess, because all this? It’s starting to freak me out.” Ratchet replied as he loaded Windcharger to an Autobot that transformed into a transport truck. Several more zombies continued to crawl towards them, and as much as the artillery team could fire, they can’t get all of them fast enough.
“I don’t.” Prowl replied, the admission hurting him more than the fact. Ratchet looked crestfallen, but continued to work nonetheless as he inspected Prowl’s injuries. “But I’m on line with the Prime. We are to make this the rallying point.” Prowl then took this moment to reply to Optimus Prime. “Apologies, sir. I was dealing with a… problem. I am at the Academy, and it appears that we are overrun with reanimated corpses. I’ve run into a group of survivors. We will try to clean it up before you arrive. I believe we can do so in time.”
He switched channels. “Grimlock, if you’re alive, we need your help.”
He turned to look up at Terabolt. “Do you require medical aid, or can you assist us with… purging our fallen comrades?”
_________________________________________________________
City Center
Ironhide!
He was…. He was saved. He wasn’t dead! Bumblebee tried to speak, but couldn’t. All he could manage was a series of scratchy, noisy bleeps as Ironhide picked him up. All he could manage was to weakly raise his arm meekly.
I failed. Sorry.
He would have liked to say those words, but he couldn’t. He resigned to slumping against Ironhide’s cargo bay as he moved. At least he was alive. That had to count for something, doesn’t it?
-
Heinrad
- Posts: 6282
- Joined: Sun Dec 23, 2001 5:00 am
- Location: Riskin' it all on my Russian Roulette!
City Center:
Ironhide shifted back into gear, starting to roll forward again, heading for the City Center exit as fast as his overburdened transmission and suspension would carry him. He was starting to get odd readings on his sensors.
Movement where there shouldn't be movement.
And as the first zombie creaked unsteadily to it's feet, Ironhide shunted more power to his drive systems. "Hope ya got some active weapons, Quickswitch. Ah got a feelin' we're gonna need 'em."
**************
Destroyed Police Station:
Nightbeat and Hot Rod ran down one corridor, hooked around a turn, and stopped dead.
The main receiving room - generally full of desks, active duty officers, lots of comm units being answered - looked like zombie central, with one corner of the room taken up by a pillar of Dark Energon. Which was probably why all the officers and civilians who had swarmed to this place for safety when the world started to end, and were gunned down when the Decepticons rolled through the area, were all standing, some shuffling around in little circles. Some moaning quietly.
Hot Rod's optics went wide. No way out. Zombies behind them, lots more zombies in front of them. "Any ideas?"
Nightbeat cringed at the volume of the question, which was whispered, but given the volume the zombies were making, might as well have been a shout.
Fortunately, no purple, vacant, hungry stares turned their way.
Nightbeat lifted his left forearm, deploying the Cyclone Cannon. The Cannon enveloped his forearm, the quad barrels glowing slightly. He tapped a few controls on the side of the Cannon, and swiped his finger from left to right on the small display screen. A warning message popped up on Nightbeat's H.U.D., which he dismissed without reading. "Front wall over there. Blow through the zombies and wall with one shot, then drive like hell."
"Should work."
"I may have to jump on you. The feedback might fry some of my systems." With that, Nightbeat dropped to one knee, aimed at the far wall that was the closest to their position, and pulled the trigger.
The Cyclone Cannon started to hum, plasma lancing from the barrels, flaring a hot white/orange as the beams started to twine around each other, whirling faster and faster, sucking the zombies in the beam's path into a whirling, cyclonic torrent of raw power, blowing through the far wall, the 600 m.p.h. winds sweeping a swath of destruction through the room, blowing the far wall out.
The Cannon's display flared, components inside it flaring to nova brightness as they burned out, the Cannon's roar falling silent.
"Wow....."
Nightbeat scowled as he smacked the Cyclone Cannon a couple of times, finally firing the neural triggers to drop the weapon from his arm. Subspacing it, he transformed, relieved that the damaged seemed limited to his left arm being a bit numb. "Be impressed later! Burn rubber NOW!"
Hot Rod transformed as well, and both of them roared out of the destroyed station, heading away as fast as they could.
***************
War Academy:
Optimus chuckled ruefully into his commlink. "I'm already here, Prowl, just in a different part of the campus. I'll be with you shortly." He then switched to wide frequency. "Attention all surviving Autobots. This is Optimus Prime. Fall back to the War Academy. We will regroup there."
Ironhide shifted back into gear, starting to roll forward again, heading for the City Center exit as fast as his overburdened transmission and suspension would carry him. He was starting to get odd readings on his sensors.
Movement where there shouldn't be movement.
And as the first zombie creaked unsteadily to it's feet, Ironhide shunted more power to his drive systems. "Hope ya got some active weapons, Quickswitch. Ah got a feelin' we're gonna need 'em."
**************
Destroyed Police Station:
Nightbeat and Hot Rod ran down one corridor, hooked around a turn, and stopped dead.
The main receiving room - generally full of desks, active duty officers, lots of comm units being answered - looked like zombie central, with one corner of the room taken up by a pillar of Dark Energon. Which was probably why all the officers and civilians who had swarmed to this place for safety when the world started to end, and were gunned down when the Decepticons rolled through the area, were all standing, some shuffling around in little circles. Some moaning quietly.
Hot Rod's optics went wide. No way out. Zombies behind them, lots more zombies in front of them. "Any ideas?"
Nightbeat cringed at the volume of the question, which was whispered, but given the volume the zombies were making, might as well have been a shout.
Fortunately, no purple, vacant, hungry stares turned their way.
Nightbeat lifted his left forearm, deploying the Cyclone Cannon. The Cannon enveloped his forearm, the quad barrels glowing slightly. He tapped a few controls on the side of the Cannon, and swiped his finger from left to right on the small display screen. A warning message popped up on Nightbeat's H.U.D., which he dismissed without reading. "Front wall over there. Blow through the zombies and wall with one shot, then drive like hell."
"Should work."
"I may have to jump on you. The feedback might fry some of my systems." With that, Nightbeat dropped to one knee, aimed at the far wall that was the closest to their position, and pulled the trigger.
The Cyclone Cannon started to hum, plasma lancing from the barrels, flaring a hot white/orange as the beams started to twine around each other, whirling faster and faster, sucking the zombies in the beam's path into a whirling, cyclonic torrent of raw power, blowing through the far wall, the 600 m.p.h. winds sweeping a swath of destruction through the room, blowing the far wall out.
The Cannon's display flared, components inside it flaring to nova brightness as they burned out, the Cannon's roar falling silent.
"Wow....."
Nightbeat scowled as he smacked the Cyclone Cannon a couple of times, finally firing the neural triggers to drop the weapon from his arm. Subspacing it, he transformed, relieved that the damaged seemed limited to his left arm being a bit numb. "Be impressed later! Burn rubber NOW!"
Hot Rod transformed as well, and both of them roared out of the destroyed station, heading away as fast as they could.
***************
War Academy:
Optimus chuckled ruefully into his commlink. "I'm already here, Prowl, just in a different part of the campus. I'll be with you shortly." He then switched to wide frequency. "Attention all surviving Autobots. This is Optimus Prime. Fall back to the War Academy. We will regroup there."
As a professional tanuki (I'm a Japanese mythological animal, and a good luck charm), I have an alarm clock built into me somewhere. I also look like a stuffed animal. And you thought your life was tough......
3DS Friend Code: 1092-1274-7642
3DS Friend Code: 1092-1274-7642
Nemesis
"Oh, don't be so dramatic!" Predacon told Scorponok. "I'm sure Megatron left some of them alive so that they could spread the word of his dramatic conquest!"
He followed the transmission to the medical bay, then walked in and was almost overwhelmed with disappointment by all the broken, nearly-dead Vehicons he saw scattered about. They were his creations, after all. And while he didn't care about them as people, they were still important reminders of his superior intellect. The fact that so many of them were wounded was a blow to his pride, and he vowed to find a way to make the next batch better.
Maybe some sort of advanced self-repair capabilities? he mused. It's always been rumoured that the earliest Transformers could do that...
He swiftly located the doctor by looking for the one giving the orders (something aided by the fact that he was the only medical personnel in the room who wasn't one of Predacon's own creations), then made his way toward Knock Out and said, "You must be the good doctor! One of my rotors is damaged, my armour has been compromised and I think I left a wing back down on the surface. I'll need you to take a look."
He gestured around the room, which was full of damaged Vehicons. "After you've tended to any of my children that are in critical condition, of course."
___________________________________________
Space
"Sky Lynx, this is the civilian freighter Wanderer," the captain of the damaged transport responded, fear evident in his voice. "Our engines are crippled and we're not going to be able to make it out of Cybertron's atmosphere. Please help us!"
"Oh, don't be so dramatic!" Predacon told Scorponok. "I'm sure Megatron left some of them alive so that they could spread the word of his dramatic conquest!"
He followed the transmission to the medical bay, then walked in and was almost overwhelmed with disappointment by all the broken, nearly-dead Vehicons he saw scattered about. They were his creations, after all. And while he didn't care about them as people, they were still important reminders of his superior intellect. The fact that so many of them were wounded was a blow to his pride, and he vowed to find a way to make the next batch better.
Maybe some sort of advanced self-repair capabilities? he mused. It's always been rumoured that the earliest Transformers could do that...
He swiftly located the doctor by looking for the one giving the orders (something aided by the fact that he was the only medical personnel in the room who wasn't one of Predacon's own creations), then made his way toward Knock Out and said, "You must be the good doctor! One of my rotors is damaged, my armour has been compromised and I think I left a wing back down on the surface. I'll need you to take a look."
He gestured around the room, which was full of damaged Vehicons. "After you've tended to any of my children that are in critical condition, of course."
___________________________________________
Space
"Sky Lynx, this is the civilian freighter Wanderer," the captain of the damaged transport responded, fear evident in his voice. "Our engines are crippled and we're not going to be able to make it out of Cybertron's atmosphere. Please help us!"
Orbit
Sky Lynx radioed back, "Don't worry, I'll be there immediately!" He kept it short as he zeroed in on the falling ship. He moved gracefully despite how urgent the situation was. The dracogryphon swung under the shuttle and felt the weight as he allowed it to settle on his back.
"Brace yourselves, Wanderer!"
Sky Lynx buoyed the smaller shuttle and felt Cybertron's gravity well tug at him. He was confident he could survive a plunge to Cybertron's surface, but not the Wanderer or her crew. He moved upward and pushed the ship as hard as he could until he felt the weightlessness of space.
"Sit tight! Can you repair your engines?" Sky Lynx asked, "I'll distract the Decepticons."
--------
Quick Switch projected his arms forward and materialized his blasters from subspace. He watched as the dead...moved...advanced? How?
He fired on one and watched as it exploded into arms, legs, a fried torso.
"Woah... At least my blasters are functional," he told Ironhide.
He kept an eye out for anymore zombies and a flash of bluish-white laser light took out first one, then another, then another.
Sky Lynx radioed back, "Don't worry, I'll be there immediately!" He kept it short as he zeroed in on the falling ship. He moved gracefully despite how urgent the situation was. The dracogryphon swung under the shuttle and felt the weight as he allowed it to settle on his back.
"Brace yourselves, Wanderer!"
Sky Lynx buoyed the smaller shuttle and felt Cybertron's gravity well tug at him. He was confident he could survive a plunge to Cybertron's surface, but not the Wanderer or her crew. He moved upward and pushed the ship as hard as he could until he felt the weightlessness of space.
"Sit tight! Can you repair your engines?" Sky Lynx asked, "I'll distract the Decepticons."
--------
Quick Switch projected his arms forward and materialized his blasters from subspace. He watched as the dead...moved...advanced? How?
He fired on one and watched as it exploded into arms, legs, a fried torso.
"Woah... At least my blasters are functional," he told Ironhide.
He kept an eye out for anymore zombies and a flash of bluish-white laser light took out first one, then another, then another.
-
Aero Blade
- Posts: 2582
- Joined: Sun Feb 16, 2003 2:16 am
- Location: Somewhere in subspace
- Contact:
War Academy
"Field medicine is part of our basic training, but I have little more on me than a patch kid," Yoketron informed the bot that was now Optimus Prime. "We'd do best to rally everyone to the medbay and garner what supplies we can there."
Medbay, Nemesis
"Doctor," Knock Out corrected briefly to Sixshot, before immediately resuming to talk. "And he's fine, in-tacted. Got tore up pretty well by some Autobots and a Temple Knight, I believe he said, but he's still in working order. He'll just need to have his exterior worked on once the CR cycle is done."
And then even more mechs started pouring in. It was certainly starting to pick up pace now! Knock Out hooked Obsidion up to a medical feed line to give him any necessary energon and fluids, then left the computer to continue it's deep-system scans of the unconcious bot. He had a couple of moments to shout a few orders to the vehicons assisting him before another large mech came up to him. He almost jumped, thinking at first it was Megatron due to their similar builds, but after a moment to look he realized that this was a different mech all together.
"Ah yes, pleasure to meet you. Dr. Knock Out at your service," He spoke, making sure he wasn't speaking too hastily with the increasing activity in the medbay. He took a cursory look over Predacon, checking the foremeantioned areas and inspecting for any other further injuries. "And your name would be...?"
War Academy
"Knights only found two working solutions to these things - dice 'em up in pieces too small to operate on their own, or wait for the dark energon to run dry. And that stuff is as potent as regular raw energon..."
It was somewhat a bit of twisted irony - consuming raw energon caused death, while consuming dark energon would bring something back to life, in a sick, twisted manner. Terabolt didn't muse on the juxtapostion of the energy types for long, as a mortar flew just over their head and smashed the incoming undead.
"See, they have it figured out already," She told Prowl, turning around and headed back towards the approaching allies.
When Prowl relieved Terabolt of her load so that Ratchet could inspect Windcharger, Terabolt changed back into her robot mode, readying her swords and slicing up one of the undead that managed to get past the mortar fire.
"Scorponok cut me a nice deep groove in my armor, but I'm in just fine. Put priority on the ones leaking fluids, I'll keep the shamblers at bay," Terabolt told Prowl and Ratchet without looking back at them.
"Field medicine is part of our basic training, but I have little more on me than a patch kid," Yoketron informed the bot that was now Optimus Prime. "We'd do best to rally everyone to the medbay and garner what supplies we can there."
Medbay, Nemesis
"Doctor," Knock Out corrected briefly to Sixshot, before immediately resuming to talk. "And he's fine, in-tacted. Got tore up pretty well by some Autobots and a Temple Knight, I believe he said, but he's still in working order. He'll just need to have his exterior worked on once the CR cycle is done."
And then even more mechs started pouring in. It was certainly starting to pick up pace now! Knock Out hooked Obsidion up to a medical feed line to give him any necessary energon and fluids, then left the computer to continue it's deep-system scans of the unconcious bot. He had a couple of moments to shout a few orders to the vehicons assisting him before another large mech came up to him. He almost jumped, thinking at first it was Megatron due to their similar builds, but after a moment to look he realized that this was a different mech all together.
"Ah yes, pleasure to meet you. Dr. Knock Out at your service," He spoke, making sure he wasn't speaking too hastily with the increasing activity in the medbay. He took a cursory look over Predacon, checking the foremeantioned areas and inspecting for any other further injuries. "And your name would be...?"
War Academy
"Knights only found two working solutions to these things - dice 'em up in pieces too small to operate on their own, or wait for the dark energon to run dry. And that stuff is as potent as regular raw energon..."
It was somewhat a bit of twisted irony - consuming raw energon caused death, while consuming dark energon would bring something back to life, in a sick, twisted manner. Terabolt didn't muse on the juxtapostion of the energy types for long, as a mortar flew just over their head and smashed the incoming undead.
"See, they have it figured out already," She told Prowl, turning around and headed back towards the approaching allies.
When Prowl relieved Terabolt of her load so that Ratchet could inspect Windcharger, Terabolt changed back into her robot mode, readying her swords and slicing up one of the undead that managed to get past the mortar fire.
"Scorponok cut me a nice deep groove in my armor, but I'm in just fine. Put priority on the ones leaking fluids, I'll keep the shamblers at bay," Terabolt told Prowl and Ratchet without looking back at them.
-
Heinrad
- Posts: 6282
- Joined: Sun Dec 23, 2001 5:00 am
- Location: Riskin' it all on my Russian Roulette!
Heading for the War Academy:
There were times, Nightbeat had thought to himself over the vorns, that having a helper would be great. Somebody to drive while he shot, or somebody to shoot while he drove. Somebody who thought just like him, to make those longs stakeouts just a bit more bearable.
Or in this case, somebody to try to keep him moving.
What had started as a tingling numbness in his arm had advanced, and now his internal damage schematic was showing more and more problems popping up, all from the feedback from the Cyclone Cannon.
It hadn't worried him. After all, he was still moving. Worse came to worse, he could transform, jump on Hot Rod, and have the kid carry him to the War Academy.
Then the schematic showed his transform circuits sputtering and going red.
Nothing now. No pain from firing the neural triggers. No response at all, actually, which was a bit of a worry.
But still, speed was on his side. No engine problems at...... "Slagging SCRAP!!!!!!!!!!"
-----------------
The lowering darkness, it had to be said, was worrying Hot Rod a little bit. Some part of him knew it was a result of all the smoke and soot blasted into the planet's atmosphere by what had happened today, but it just made everything that much more spooky.
It made him want to go faster, kick his superchargers in and just go, get away from all of this.
But he couldn't.
The entire slagging planet was now, in all likelyhood, dead.
And he was stuck on it. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere other than the War Academy to go.
And he had to hold back, otherwise that stupid cop he'd been keeping alive would be all alone and get killed.
At least the cop was trying to keep up...... "That doesn't look good."
-------------
Nightbeat's front end was enveloped in a sparking field of plasma energy, the plasma feedback finally surging through the one system that could deal with it properly, if he'd been near a repair bay.
But they weren't near a repair bay. They were, at best, halfway.
The plasma surge didn't care. But then, it wasn't actually alive. It finished destroying Nightbeat's engine even as the engine drained off it's energies.
Nightbeat managed to shift into neutral just before the engine died, but with no engine to power his drive systems, he immediately began losing speed.
Hot Rod swore under his breath as he locked his brakes and skidded into a 180 degree turn, roaring back towards Nightbeat and skidding to a halt. "You okay?"
Nightbeat just groaned.
And in the distance, the zombie horde echoed his cry.
******************
On the way to the War Academy:
There were certain advantages to flight.
For one thing, whatever those poor wretches were, no matter how hard they tried, they couldn't jump high enough to get at him.
Tracks really had no clue what was going on. He'd seen blue optics before. He'd also seen red, gold, auburn, burgundy, cerulean, and ochre, to just name a few. He'd even seen some with purple.
But this purple was...... Odd. The glow wasn't a healthy one. And given the damage all of these creatures he'd seen had taken, they shouldn't have even been moving, let alone jumping at him.
And until now, they were by far the strangest things he'd seen all day.
Right up until he saw Ironhide, partially concealed beneath Quickswitch's bulk. "Need a hand?"
Ironhide grunted. "Wouldn't....... hurt......."
Tracks transformed to robot mode, swooping down to grab Quickswitch, then lifting higher into the air.
"Don't get too far ahead'a me! Gonna need Quick's fahrepower t' keep them things off'a us."
Tracks nodded. "Understood. And by being a little higher, we can pick them off at a greater distance."
***************
War Academy:
Optimus smiled. "Then let's go." He ran out of the room, heading for the Medbay.
There were times, Nightbeat had thought to himself over the vorns, that having a helper would be great. Somebody to drive while he shot, or somebody to shoot while he drove. Somebody who thought just like him, to make those longs stakeouts just a bit more bearable.
Or in this case, somebody to try to keep him moving.
What had started as a tingling numbness in his arm had advanced, and now his internal damage schematic was showing more and more problems popping up, all from the feedback from the Cyclone Cannon.
It hadn't worried him. After all, he was still moving. Worse came to worse, he could transform, jump on Hot Rod, and have the kid carry him to the War Academy.
Then the schematic showed his transform circuits sputtering and going red.
Nothing now. No pain from firing the neural triggers. No response at all, actually, which was a bit of a worry.
But still, speed was on his side. No engine problems at...... "Slagging SCRAP!!!!!!!!!!"
-----------------
The lowering darkness, it had to be said, was worrying Hot Rod a little bit. Some part of him knew it was a result of all the smoke and soot blasted into the planet's atmosphere by what had happened today, but it just made everything that much more spooky.
It made him want to go faster, kick his superchargers in and just go, get away from all of this.
But he couldn't.
The entire slagging planet was now, in all likelyhood, dead.
And he was stuck on it. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere other than the War Academy to go.
And he had to hold back, otherwise that stupid cop he'd been keeping alive would be all alone and get killed.
At least the cop was trying to keep up...... "That doesn't look good."
-------------
Nightbeat's front end was enveloped in a sparking field of plasma energy, the plasma feedback finally surging through the one system that could deal with it properly, if he'd been near a repair bay.
But they weren't near a repair bay. They were, at best, halfway.
The plasma surge didn't care. But then, it wasn't actually alive. It finished destroying Nightbeat's engine even as the engine drained off it's energies.
Nightbeat managed to shift into neutral just before the engine died, but with no engine to power his drive systems, he immediately began losing speed.
Hot Rod swore under his breath as he locked his brakes and skidded into a 180 degree turn, roaring back towards Nightbeat and skidding to a halt. "You okay?"
Nightbeat just groaned.
And in the distance, the zombie horde echoed his cry.
******************
On the way to the War Academy:
There were certain advantages to flight.
For one thing, whatever those poor wretches were, no matter how hard they tried, they couldn't jump high enough to get at him.
Tracks really had no clue what was going on. He'd seen blue optics before. He'd also seen red, gold, auburn, burgundy, cerulean, and ochre, to just name a few. He'd even seen some with purple.
But this purple was...... Odd. The glow wasn't a healthy one. And given the damage all of these creatures he'd seen had taken, they shouldn't have even been moving, let alone jumping at him.
And until now, they were by far the strangest things he'd seen all day.
Right up until he saw Ironhide, partially concealed beneath Quickswitch's bulk. "Need a hand?"
Ironhide grunted. "Wouldn't....... hurt......."
Tracks transformed to robot mode, swooping down to grab Quickswitch, then lifting higher into the air.
"Don't get too far ahead'a me! Gonna need Quick's fahrepower t' keep them things off'a us."
Tracks nodded. "Understood. And by being a little higher, we can pick them off at a greater distance."
***************
War Academy:
Optimus smiled. "Then let's go." He ran out of the room, heading for the Medbay.
As a professional tanuki (I'm a Japanese mythological animal, and a good luck charm), I have an alarm clock built into me somewhere. I also look like a stuffed animal. And you thought your life was tough......
3DS Friend Code: 1092-1274-7642
3DS Friend Code: 1092-1274-7642
War Academy
"Got it, sir." Prowl replied to Optimus Prime, as he unloaded a clip at an approaching zombie. "Rendezvous on my point, sir -- we have encountered a group of survivors who's set up a safe point."
Ratchet, having made sure that Windcharger is out of immediate danger, left several other medics to supervise the pumping of pure energon into the smaller Autobot, hopefully jumpstarting his fried systems. The chief medical officer walked up to Prowl and Terabolt, and nodded. "I have found that dissection does work on our former comrades." He sighed. "Disrespectful to the dead as it may, I have a greater responsibility to those still living."
"Optimus Prime is coming." Prowl told Ratchet. "I'll relieve operational command, if you don't mind. Have the mortar forces set up the perimeter, if you haven't. Get anyone with sniper training up with them. Conserve ammunition, take out only the zombies that are definitely coming our way. I want runners to help escort any approaching Autobots. Knight Terabolt and I will lead the ground forces to pick off any that may have gotten past the mortars and snipers."
"Well, if you expect me to stand in the sidelines just because I'm a medic…" Ratchet's hands retracted. One was replaced with a scalpel which glinted with sharpness, and the other was replaced with something that looked like a gun with a small barrel from a passing glance, but was actually a laser scalpel. "I'm not letting any of these monstrosities get anywhere near my patients. I'm staying right here with you."
"I really do hope you throw away that particular scalpel after you slice up the undead, doctor." Prowl said as he clicked in a new clip and started picking off an approaching zombie.
"A joke?" Ratchet snorted as he aimed his laser scalpel and expertly severed the knee joints from a zombie, causing him to topple down and be fodder to the mortar team. "From you? We really are doomed."
___________________________________________
Heading towards the War Academy
It would've been a pretty heroic story if Grimlock had told Nightbeat and Hot Rod that he had seen them and rushed over and braved a horde of these undead Autobots to rescue two fellow Autobots from them.
But it was sheer coincidence.
Grimlock didn't even hear Optimus Prime's orders, not over all the roaring in his head and the roaring that he did himself. He moved from Vehicons to the undead, slicing and punching and tearing and crushing. That was all he knew -- anything with a purple insignia, anything that was shambling like zombies -- they were the enemy.
And there was a fairly sizable chunk of them near where Nightbeat and Hot Rod are, and Grimlock, swathed in a layer of energon that was equal amounts his and equal amounts from his enemies, charged towards them, flaming sword in one hand, someone's arm fashioned into a crude club in another. And he charged in swinging into the horde of zombies with a mighty roar, tearing into the reanimated Autobots without any care.
__________________________________________
Medbay, Nemesis
"That sounds like what a brother of yours would do." Scorponok replied to Predacon. "I concede that point. Oh, hey. Look. You found your way here. I'm in the big, fancy CR chamber."
___________________________________________
"Doctor Knock Out. Yes. Apologies." Sixshot replied to the smaller Decepticon. "That news is… most fortunate." Sixshot said, stumbling slightly in word choice. He felt slightly happy that his creators aren't afraid to go toe-to-toe with the enemy alongside the troops. Sixshot knew little about the world, or about Iacon's corrupt higher-ups who would rather sit back behind defenses and bark orders, but what Sixshot knew is that his superiors had… honor.
Honor.
Such a nice word.
Sixshot turned to Predacon and gave him a salute. "Creator Predacon. It is agreeable to see you still functional" He said respectfully, filled with a sense of...
Happiness?
Pride?
Warmth?
…when the Creator put himself second to his nominally disposable creations. And, yes, Predacon himself also seemed to be worse for wear, but alive.
Alive. Victorious. Able to fight another day.
___________________________________________
Obsidian's readouts would show all normal values. None of his physiological readouts showed anything pathological. His eyes were glowing, but dim -- consistent with a Cybertronian in a non-fatal stasis lock, in a comatose state, showing that he was fully alive... but with no obvious causes, and considering the dimness of his optics, a doctor such as Knock Out would be able to draw the conclusion that the problem, was, in fact, a psychological one.
"Got it, sir." Prowl replied to Optimus Prime, as he unloaded a clip at an approaching zombie. "Rendezvous on my point, sir -- we have encountered a group of survivors who's set up a safe point."
Ratchet, having made sure that Windcharger is out of immediate danger, left several other medics to supervise the pumping of pure energon into the smaller Autobot, hopefully jumpstarting his fried systems. The chief medical officer walked up to Prowl and Terabolt, and nodded. "I have found that dissection does work on our former comrades." He sighed. "Disrespectful to the dead as it may, I have a greater responsibility to those still living."
"Optimus Prime is coming." Prowl told Ratchet. "I'll relieve operational command, if you don't mind. Have the mortar forces set up the perimeter, if you haven't. Get anyone with sniper training up with them. Conserve ammunition, take out only the zombies that are definitely coming our way. I want runners to help escort any approaching Autobots. Knight Terabolt and I will lead the ground forces to pick off any that may have gotten past the mortars and snipers."
"Well, if you expect me to stand in the sidelines just because I'm a medic…" Ratchet's hands retracted. One was replaced with a scalpel which glinted with sharpness, and the other was replaced with something that looked like a gun with a small barrel from a passing glance, but was actually a laser scalpel. "I'm not letting any of these monstrosities get anywhere near my patients. I'm staying right here with you."
"I really do hope you throw away that particular scalpel after you slice up the undead, doctor." Prowl said as he clicked in a new clip and started picking off an approaching zombie.
"A joke?" Ratchet snorted as he aimed his laser scalpel and expertly severed the knee joints from a zombie, causing him to topple down and be fodder to the mortar team. "From you? We really are doomed."
___________________________________________
Heading towards the War Academy
It would've been a pretty heroic story if Grimlock had told Nightbeat and Hot Rod that he had seen them and rushed over and braved a horde of these undead Autobots to rescue two fellow Autobots from them.
But it was sheer coincidence.
Grimlock didn't even hear Optimus Prime's orders, not over all the roaring in his head and the roaring that he did himself. He moved from Vehicons to the undead, slicing and punching and tearing and crushing. That was all he knew -- anything with a purple insignia, anything that was shambling like zombies -- they were the enemy.
And there was a fairly sizable chunk of them near where Nightbeat and Hot Rod are, and Grimlock, swathed in a layer of energon that was equal amounts his and equal amounts from his enemies, charged towards them, flaming sword in one hand, someone's arm fashioned into a crude club in another. And he charged in swinging into the horde of zombies with a mighty roar, tearing into the reanimated Autobots without any care.
__________________________________________
Medbay, Nemesis
"That sounds like what a brother of yours would do." Scorponok replied to Predacon. "I concede that point. Oh, hey. Look. You found your way here. I'm in the big, fancy CR chamber."
___________________________________________
"Doctor Knock Out. Yes. Apologies." Sixshot replied to the smaller Decepticon. "That news is… most fortunate." Sixshot said, stumbling slightly in word choice. He felt slightly happy that his creators aren't afraid to go toe-to-toe with the enemy alongside the troops. Sixshot knew little about the world, or about Iacon's corrupt higher-ups who would rather sit back behind defenses and bark orders, but what Sixshot knew is that his superiors had… honor.
Honor.
Such a nice word.
Sixshot turned to Predacon and gave him a salute. "Creator Predacon. It is agreeable to see you still functional" He said respectfully, filled with a sense of...
Happiness?
Pride?
Warmth?
…when the Creator put himself second to his nominally disposable creations. And, yes, Predacon himself also seemed to be worse for wear, but alive.
Alive. Victorious. Able to fight another day.
___________________________________________
Obsidian's readouts would show all normal values. None of his physiological readouts showed anything pathological. His eyes were glowing, but dim -- consistent with a Cybertronian in a non-fatal stasis lock, in a comatose state, showing that he was fully alive... but with no obvious causes, and considering the dimness of his optics, a doctor such as Knock Out would be able to draw the conclusion that the problem, was, in fact, a psychological one.
Medbay, Nemesis
"The name's Predacon." The scientist gave Knock Out a conspiratorial grin. "Don't worry, everyone reacts like that. I'm way nicer than Brother Megs, though."
His optics narrowed.
"Or at least, I will be if you take good care of my Vehicons."
Over the comm, he replied to Scorponok, "Yes, I see that. Nice job getting yourself totalled down there."
Sixshot received a smile for his trouble. "It's good to see you too, my creation. Though I have to say I'm surprised to see you here. The Autobots didn't damage you, did they?"
Once again, the thought sent a mix of parental concern and wounded pride surging through Predacon's circuits. Surely his masterpiece would have survived the battle unscathed?
___________________________________________
Lugnut arrived on the scene then, ducking his head and tucking his shoulders in to pass his massive body through the doorframe.
"Doctor!" he roared. There was a scowl on his face, but once Knock Out turned to face him it transformed to a grin.
"Good job! The Autobots could barely scratch me down there!" He held his hands wide and gestured to everyone in the room. "Take good care of this one, boys! He's the best doc we're ever liable to get."
___________________________________________
Bridge, Nemesis
Shockwave watched as Sky Lynx moved into position to help the freighter.
Predictable, he thought. Were he equipped for it, either physically or emotionally, the thought would have been accompanied by a predatory smile.
"I will deal with him personally," he told the bridge crew as he headed for the exit. "Hold your positions. Megatron will arrive shortly to assume command."
A scant few moments later, the Decepticons' military operations commander was falling out of an airlock, transforming into his flying cannon mode and heading towards his Autobot target.
___________________________________________
Space
"It will take some time," the Wanderer's captain said to Sky Lynx, "but we should be able to make repairs once we don't have to worry about falling down the gravity well. Thank you!"
"The name's Predacon." The scientist gave Knock Out a conspiratorial grin. "Don't worry, everyone reacts like that. I'm way nicer than Brother Megs, though."
His optics narrowed.
"Or at least, I will be if you take good care of my Vehicons."
Over the comm, he replied to Scorponok, "Yes, I see that. Nice job getting yourself totalled down there."
Sixshot received a smile for his trouble. "It's good to see you too, my creation. Though I have to say I'm surprised to see you here. The Autobots didn't damage you, did they?"
Once again, the thought sent a mix of parental concern and wounded pride surging through Predacon's circuits. Surely his masterpiece would have survived the battle unscathed?
___________________________________________
Lugnut arrived on the scene then, ducking his head and tucking his shoulders in to pass his massive body through the doorframe.
"Doctor!" he roared. There was a scowl on his face, but once Knock Out turned to face him it transformed to a grin.
"Good job! The Autobots could barely scratch me down there!" He held his hands wide and gestured to everyone in the room. "Take good care of this one, boys! He's the best doc we're ever liable to get."
___________________________________________
Bridge, Nemesis
Shockwave watched as Sky Lynx moved into position to help the freighter.
Predictable, he thought. Were he equipped for it, either physically or emotionally, the thought would have been accompanied by a predatory smile.
"I will deal with him personally," he told the bridge crew as he headed for the exit. "Hold your positions. Megatron will arrive shortly to assume command."
A scant few moments later, the Decepticons' military operations commander was falling out of an airlock, transforming into his flying cannon mode and heading towards his Autobot target.
___________________________________________
Space
"It will take some time," the Wanderer's captain said to Sky Lynx, "but we should be able to make repairs once we don't have to worry about falling down the gravity well. Thank you!"
-
Aero Blade
- Posts: 2582
- Joined: Sun Feb 16, 2003 2:16 am
- Location: Somewhere in subspace
- Contact:
War Academy
Yoketron stayed closed to Optimus, if not out in front of him at all times, keeping alert for threats as they moved. The only thing to present itself so far was what the others were starting to encounter, the staggering corpses now rising to pursue the living.
Yoketron would not spend much effort on them, tossing an occasional throwing star at ones that seemed like they might get in their way, wounding a limb or other critical part as to slow down the shambling zombmechs. It would not be a wise move to get into a battle with these things, not until they had safe ground, which they knew waited for them at the medbay.
____________________________________________
"Don't expect me to give up these swords," Terabolt would speak, as though adding to the joke Prowl had spoken perhaps, though she had no recognizable humor in the tone.
Her first inclination was to take Ratchet and shove him back into the safe part of their 'bunker' to avoid any encounters with the zombmechs, but as that would effectively leave her with just the injured Prowl, and whoever else was still scrambling around the area, she decided against it. She doubt it would have kept him in there for long anyways, not without locking him in...
"If more than a few get too close for comfort, you're going back inside," Tera spoke aloud towards Ratchet. She wouldn't look at him, keeping her eyes instead on their coming opponents.
____________________________________________
Medbay, Nemesis
The knowledge that Predacon was Megatron's brother did little to sooth Knock Out's nerves, nor did the veiled threat about the care of the vehicons... Knock Out's thoughts immediately went back to the vehicon that he had disabled before in a rather unpleasant manner, and he found himself grateful to be behind Predacon where the other mech couldn't see his expression. Would the vehicons be as chatty as this Sixshot was, that the information might circulate back to their creator?
Knock Out pushed the thoughts aside, going back into professional socialite mode. Such distracting thoughts would keep him from treating the incoming wounded, and that would do little to improve his standing.
"Might I guess that you're part of this Team Science that I have been hearing about?" Knock Out would ask. "Your work certainly speaks for itself."
Knock Out would have gone on further with the ingratiating chatter, but then the loud booming voice of Lugnut would draw all of his attention. Knock Out's first reaction was to flinch, looking up with a fear that wasn't quite terror, remembering Megatron's orders from before for the behemoth to return and do him harm if things went badly on the battle field. Then Lugnut smiled, and Knock Out felt some... relief, as he spoke again. At least that was one less thing to worry about for the moment.
"Always glad to see my patients doing well after recovery!" Knock out replied cheerfully, though with great effort. Oh this was going to be a long day if it kept up at this rate...
Yoketron stayed closed to Optimus, if not out in front of him at all times, keeping alert for threats as they moved. The only thing to present itself so far was what the others were starting to encounter, the staggering corpses now rising to pursue the living.
Yoketron would not spend much effort on them, tossing an occasional throwing star at ones that seemed like they might get in their way, wounding a limb or other critical part as to slow down the shambling zombmechs. It would not be a wise move to get into a battle with these things, not until they had safe ground, which they knew waited for them at the medbay.
____________________________________________
"Don't expect me to give up these swords," Terabolt would speak, as though adding to the joke Prowl had spoken perhaps, though she had no recognizable humor in the tone.
Her first inclination was to take Ratchet and shove him back into the safe part of their 'bunker' to avoid any encounters with the zombmechs, but as that would effectively leave her with just the injured Prowl, and whoever else was still scrambling around the area, she decided against it. She doubt it would have kept him in there for long anyways, not without locking him in...
"If more than a few get too close for comfort, you're going back inside," Tera spoke aloud towards Ratchet. She wouldn't look at him, keeping her eyes instead on their coming opponents.
____________________________________________
Medbay, Nemesis
The knowledge that Predacon was Megatron's brother did little to sooth Knock Out's nerves, nor did the veiled threat about the care of the vehicons... Knock Out's thoughts immediately went back to the vehicon that he had disabled before in a rather unpleasant manner, and he found himself grateful to be behind Predacon where the other mech couldn't see his expression. Would the vehicons be as chatty as this Sixshot was, that the information might circulate back to their creator?
Knock Out pushed the thoughts aside, going back into professional socialite mode. Such distracting thoughts would keep him from treating the incoming wounded, and that would do little to improve his standing.
"Might I guess that you're part of this Team Science that I have been hearing about?" Knock Out would ask. "Your work certainly speaks for itself."
Knock Out would have gone on further with the ingratiating chatter, but then the loud booming voice of Lugnut would draw all of his attention. Knock Out's first reaction was to flinch, looking up with a fear that wasn't quite terror, remembering Megatron's orders from before for the behemoth to return and do him harm if things went badly on the battle field. Then Lugnut smiled, and Knock Out felt some... relief, as he spoke again. At least that was one less thing to worry about for the moment.
"Always glad to see my patients doing well after recovery!" Knock out replied cheerfully, though with great effort. Oh this was going to be a long day if it kept up at this rate...
(OOC: Sorry for the very short posts. I'm moving IRL. 
)
Sky, approaching the Academy
Quickswitch found himself being picked up by Tracks and looking down at Ironhide. As he was lifted, rivulets of energon and oil and fluids rained down onto Ironhide from his wounds.
"Hey there buddy," Quick said to Tracks, weariness and weakness evident in his voice at the steady energon loss, and then said to both, "I've...got the targets...."
He aimed downward to blast a path for Ironhide to get through.
------
Space
Sky Lynx observed as Shockwave left the Nemesis in gun mode.
"I have your back, Wanderer," he radioed the ship.
The Lieutenant Commander then turned his attention to Shockwave and very shortly opened his mouth wide, releasing a jet of flame at him!
"Eat this, cyclops!" he taunted his foe, recognizing him immediately.
)Sky, approaching the Academy
Quickswitch found himself being picked up by Tracks and looking down at Ironhide. As he was lifted, rivulets of energon and oil and fluids rained down onto Ironhide from his wounds.
"Hey there buddy," Quick said to Tracks, weariness and weakness evident in his voice at the steady energon loss, and then said to both, "I've...got the targets...."
He aimed downward to blast a path for Ironhide to get through.
------
Space
Sky Lynx observed as Shockwave left the Nemesis in gun mode.
"I have your back, Wanderer," he radioed the ship.
The Lieutenant Commander then turned his attention to Shockwave and very shortly opened his mouth wide, releasing a jet of flame at him!
"Eat this, cyclops!" he taunted his foe, recognizing him immediately.
-
Heinrad
- Posts: 6282
- Joined: Sun Dec 23, 2001 5:00 am
- Location: Riskin' it all on my Russian Roulette!
Heading for the War Academy:
With Quickswitch's weight gone, Ironhide picked up speed, still trying to not jostle Bumblebee, noting with relief that the temperature indicators for his transmission were rapidly sliding back down out of the red. "Not much longer, guys. We're almost there!"
---------------------
Nightbeat's world was a world of pain.
It felt like every one of his systems was on fire. Worse yet, he was fairly certain his engine was fried. Not exactly life threatening under normal circumstances, but being stuck out in the middle of the end of the world with the undead hordes coming after you weren't exactly normal circumstances.
The big worry, though, was the steady THOOM-THOOM-THOOM!!!!!!!! of something massive headed his way. He knew Hot Rod was still with him, but at this point, he wouldn't be surprised if the kid took off. Growing up in the 'End meant you could handle a lot of things, but this, he was pretty sure, was about as far beyond normal as you could get.
------
You could almost call it a defining moment. The moment that makes a hero. The moment, as referred to by many heroes down through the years when talking about medals they'd gotten for doing something so stupidly brave that, more often than not, it was the people they'd saved who were doing the telling, when the general answer would simply be, "Wasn't really anything to it, just wanted to save my buddies."
Of course, the heroes in question haven't had, in fairly short order, their whole world pulverized and then suddenly filled with the slavering possessed hordes of the undead, or a giant, roaring THING covered in gore, waving a flaming sword in one hand and a severed limb in the other, come surging towards them surrounded by ravening zombie hordes.
In fact, by some minor miracle, Hot Rod's sanity didn't fragment right then and there. Nor did any primal instincts kick in and send him screaming for the War Academy. Or high orbit. Or even deep space.
Was it a sense of loyalty, perhaps? One punk from the 'End helping another? Was it his military training kicking in? Maybe some inner sense of bravery?
Actually, it was none of the above. The sight of Grimlock bearing down on them scared Hot Rod so much that it kicked him through the far wall of his fear. Something inside him snapped. He was so scared that he wasn't scared anymore. He simply transformed, pulled e rocket launcher from subspace, and aimed it at the approaching monster.
***************
War Academy:
Once out of the building, Optimus felt his new body bursting with energy. No confined corridors, no small rooms.
Of course, this body felt like it was at least twice the size of his old one, so it could simply be a breaking in period.
He saw zombies shambling towards them, and suddenly his faceplate slid back into position as he kept charging towards Prowl's position. He sent the mental command to pull his ion rifle from subspace, his arm coming up so he could fire the rifle once it had materialized.
What he got was a heavy Gatling Cannon, flaring into existence, the grip in his hand. He pulled the trigger, the Cannon roaring to life, flinging a stream of ion bolts across a line of zombies, cutting them in half.
As much as he loved this new body, his first chance he was getting another ion rifle.
With Quickswitch's weight gone, Ironhide picked up speed, still trying to not jostle Bumblebee, noting with relief that the temperature indicators for his transmission were rapidly sliding back down out of the red. "Not much longer, guys. We're almost there!"
---------------------
Nightbeat's world was a world of pain.
It felt like every one of his systems was on fire. Worse yet, he was fairly certain his engine was fried. Not exactly life threatening under normal circumstances, but being stuck out in the middle of the end of the world with the undead hordes coming after you weren't exactly normal circumstances.
The big worry, though, was the steady THOOM-THOOM-THOOM!!!!!!!! of something massive headed his way. He knew Hot Rod was still with him, but at this point, he wouldn't be surprised if the kid took off. Growing up in the 'End meant you could handle a lot of things, but this, he was pretty sure, was about as far beyond normal as you could get.
------
You could almost call it a defining moment. The moment that makes a hero. The moment, as referred to by many heroes down through the years when talking about medals they'd gotten for doing something so stupidly brave that, more often than not, it was the people they'd saved who were doing the telling, when the general answer would simply be, "Wasn't really anything to it, just wanted to save my buddies."
Of course, the heroes in question haven't had, in fairly short order, their whole world pulverized and then suddenly filled with the slavering possessed hordes of the undead, or a giant, roaring THING covered in gore, waving a flaming sword in one hand and a severed limb in the other, come surging towards them surrounded by ravening zombie hordes.
In fact, by some minor miracle, Hot Rod's sanity didn't fragment right then and there. Nor did any primal instincts kick in and send him screaming for the War Academy. Or high orbit. Or even deep space.
Was it a sense of loyalty, perhaps? One punk from the 'End helping another? Was it his military training kicking in? Maybe some inner sense of bravery?
Actually, it was none of the above. The sight of Grimlock bearing down on them scared Hot Rod so much that it kicked him through the far wall of his fear. Something inside him snapped. He was so scared that he wasn't scared anymore. He simply transformed, pulled e rocket launcher from subspace, and aimed it at the approaching monster.
***************
War Academy:
Once out of the building, Optimus felt his new body bursting with energy. No confined corridors, no small rooms.
Of course, this body felt like it was at least twice the size of his old one, so it could simply be a breaking in period.
He saw zombies shambling towards them, and suddenly his faceplate slid back into position as he kept charging towards Prowl's position. He sent the mental command to pull his ion rifle from subspace, his arm coming up so he could fire the rifle once it had materialized.
What he got was a heavy Gatling Cannon, flaring into existence, the grip in his hand. He pulled the trigger, the Cannon roaring to life, flinging a stream of ion bolts across a line of zombies, cutting them in half.
As much as he loved this new body, his first chance he was getting another ion rifle.
As a professional tanuki (I'm a Japanese mythological animal, and a good luck charm), I have an alarm clock built into me somewhere. I also look like a stuffed animal. And you thought your life was tough......
3DS Friend Code: 1092-1274-7642
3DS Friend Code: 1092-1274-7642
Medbay, Nemesis
Sixshot noted Predacon’s next words of care for the Vehicons and felt another surge of that same… emotion? Feeling? Reaction?
Creator Predacon then addressed him, however, and he shook his head. “Not significantly. They had replicated my… your six-changer technology, albeit crudely, but he was not worth fighting. He was not worth killing.” Sixshot paused, and placed a finger on the one scar he got from Quickswitch, then moved to the one scar he got from Grimlock. Both were already healing, the bleeding stopped by Sixshot’s self-repair mechanisms. “There was another, who had enough… brute force… to cut my armour, but a single cut is nothing.”
Sixshot gestured at Obsidian. “I was not here for my injuries – I was told to deliver Air Commander Obsidian, who had became… unresponsive partway through the battle.”
The six-changer regarded Lugnut as he entered boisterously, and, unsure of proper social protocol, gave the equally-large Decepticon a nod. He deserved Sixshot’s respect – he too fought the six-changer and lived. “Warrior Lugnut.” Sixshot said in greeting.
___________________________________________
“Next time, I’m gunning for more firepower and less armour.” Scorponok replied to Predacon. “It isn’t a total waste, though. Once I get out of this CR chamber I’m going to try some new modifications on this body. Though I certainly didn’t gain as much as you did, so I’ll have to give you that.”
Scorponok frowned. “Did you fight one of the Templars as well? Or an Elite Guard? You look a bit more damaged than I would peg mere footsoldiers would do to you.”
___________________________________________
War Academy
“The sword’s purpose is indeed for killing.” Prowl told Terabolt. “The purpose of this fool medic’s scalpels is for surgery. I would not dream of mixing the two up.”
“Oh goodness.” Ratchet said, launching a pinpoint blast of laser at another zombie. The medic rolled his optics. “So this is how two people with sticks up their exhausts, y’know, joke.”
“You must forgive Ratchet.” Prowl said, turning to Terabolt. “He acts like this around everyone.”
“That is an accurate assessment.” Ratchet nodded.
Prowl did not reply to Ratchet, not because he didn’t want to bother with their little series of battle-time talk, but because something else attracted his attention. Optimus Prime and Yoketron burst out of one of the buildings, and the new Prime was indeed a sight to behold… Prowl instantly recognized the aesthetic as belonging to Orion – or at least similar enough that it was unlikely to be a coincidence – but saved questions of how he obtained the Matrix for later. It didn’t matter.
He could work with Orion.
“Cover Prime!” Prowl bellowed at the other Autobots fending off the zombies, making good on his own orders by aiming his acid rifle up at the zombies between Optimus and their position, but Optimus Prime ended up not needing said cover, tearing through the zombies with some firepower of his own. Prowl allowed himself a dry smile – Optimus Prime certainly knew how to make an entrance.
____________________________________________
Heading for the War Academy
Bumblebee’s vision blurred. He heard gunshots, he heard Ironhide’s gruff, accented voice, he heard Quickswitch and Tracks’ voices, a series of imcomprehensible blurs, scream in his audio sensors and his receiver channels. He heard all those, and didn’t really particularly care – there was absolutely nothing he could do to change his fate anyway.
Absolutely nothing.
It was all up to the other Autobots.
____________________________________________
Grimlock roared as he slashed, as the cold, curdled energon of the living dead splattered on his exostructure with every swing of his sword, with every swing of the improvised Vehicon limb. Nothing had given him pause the moment he decided to give in to his rage. Not Vehicons, not the group of angry Decepticons, not when the dead corpses of his former allies suddenly came to life and attempted to attack him.
In the sea of red, Grimlock only knew one thing: kill or be killed.
Nothing had given him pause, yet the sight of Hot Rod, a small red Autobot barely reaching Grimlock’s chest, did make him pause. He stopped after one last swing as the zombies around him, all recently liberated of their upper bodies, dropped onto the ground. It wasn’t because Grimlock was afraid of a rocket launcher – he had taken several rockets to the face and lived – it was the simple fact that Hot Rod was… different.
Was it the fact that he was alive? That he wore the Autobot brand? That he was one of the few people out there who didn’t immediately run away or flinch in fear at the sight of him?
Regardless, the short pause cut through Grimlock’s sea of red. It cut through the rage and anger, a cold sharp breeze that blew away a good chunk of the rage blinding Grimlock’s optics.
Grimlock blinked once, as if unaware of what’s been happening up until that point, then dropped the Vehicon arm he was holding. He lifted that arm and wiped away the curdled energon caking his chest, and pointed at the Autobot brand crudely soldered on there. “Me.” Grimlock managed, not without difficulty, as he pressed his finger against the brand, then pointed at Hot Rod and Nightbeat. “Me. Autobot.”
Grimlock exhaled, the energy and rage leaving his body, and at that instant all the pain, the exhaustion, the numerous cuts and burn damages and broken sinews and gears, all ran through his body. But Grimlock did not show any pain other than a slump.
Sixshot noted Predacon’s next words of care for the Vehicons and felt another surge of that same… emotion? Feeling? Reaction?
Creator Predacon then addressed him, however, and he shook his head. “Not significantly. They had replicated my… your six-changer technology, albeit crudely, but he was not worth fighting. He was not worth killing.” Sixshot paused, and placed a finger on the one scar he got from Quickswitch, then moved to the one scar he got from Grimlock. Both were already healing, the bleeding stopped by Sixshot’s self-repair mechanisms. “There was another, who had enough… brute force… to cut my armour, but a single cut is nothing.”
Sixshot gestured at Obsidian. “I was not here for my injuries – I was told to deliver Air Commander Obsidian, who had became… unresponsive partway through the battle.”
The six-changer regarded Lugnut as he entered boisterously, and, unsure of proper social protocol, gave the equally-large Decepticon a nod. He deserved Sixshot’s respect – he too fought the six-changer and lived. “Warrior Lugnut.” Sixshot said in greeting.
___________________________________________
“Next time, I’m gunning for more firepower and less armour.” Scorponok replied to Predacon. “It isn’t a total waste, though. Once I get out of this CR chamber I’m going to try some new modifications on this body. Though I certainly didn’t gain as much as you did, so I’ll have to give you that.”
Scorponok frowned. “Did you fight one of the Templars as well? Or an Elite Guard? You look a bit more damaged than I would peg mere footsoldiers would do to you.”
___________________________________________
War Academy
“The sword’s purpose is indeed for killing.” Prowl told Terabolt. “The purpose of this fool medic’s scalpels is for surgery. I would not dream of mixing the two up.”
“Oh goodness.” Ratchet said, launching a pinpoint blast of laser at another zombie. The medic rolled his optics. “So this is how two people with sticks up their exhausts, y’know, joke.”
“You must forgive Ratchet.” Prowl said, turning to Terabolt. “He acts like this around everyone.”
“That is an accurate assessment.” Ratchet nodded.
Prowl did not reply to Ratchet, not because he didn’t want to bother with their little series of battle-time talk, but because something else attracted his attention. Optimus Prime and Yoketron burst out of one of the buildings, and the new Prime was indeed a sight to behold… Prowl instantly recognized the aesthetic as belonging to Orion – or at least similar enough that it was unlikely to be a coincidence – but saved questions of how he obtained the Matrix for later. It didn’t matter.
He could work with Orion.
“Cover Prime!” Prowl bellowed at the other Autobots fending off the zombies, making good on his own orders by aiming his acid rifle up at the zombies between Optimus and their position, but Optimus Prime ended up not needing said cover, tearing through the zombies with some firepower of his own. Prowl allowed himself a dry smile – Optimus Prime certainly knew how to make an entrance.
____________________________________________
Heading for the War Academy
Bumblebee’s vision blurred. He heard gunshots, he heard Ironhide’s gruff, accented voice, he heard Quickswitch and Tracks’ voices, a series of imcomprehensible blurs, scream in his audio sensors and his receiver channels. He heard all those, and didn’t really particularly care – there was absolutely nothing he could do to change his fate anyway.
Absolutely nothing.
It was all up to the other Autobots.
____________________________________________
Grimlock roared as he slashed, as the cold, curdled energon of the living dead splattered on his exostructure with every swing of his sword, with every swing of the improvised Vehicon limb. Nothing had given him pause the moment he decided to give in to his rage. Not Vehicons, not the group of angry Decepticons, not when the dead corpses of his former allies suddenly came to life and attempted to attack him.
In the sea of red, Grimlock only knew one thing: kill or be killed.
Nothing had given him pause, yet the sight of Hot Rod, a small red Autobot barely reaching Grimlock’s chest, did make him pause. He stopped after one last swing as the zombies around him, all recently liberated of their upper bodies, dropped onto the ground. It wasn’t because Grimlock was afraid of a rocket launcher – he had taken several rockets to the face and lived – it was the simple fact that Hot Rod was… different.
Was it the fact that he was alive? That he wore the Autobot brand? That he was one of the few people out there who didn’t immediately run away or flinch in fear at the sight of him?
Regardless, the short pause cut through Grimlock’s sea of red. It cut through the rage and anger, a cold sharp breeze that blew away a good chunk of the rage blinding Grimlock’s optics.
Grimlock blinked once, as if unaware of what’s been happening up until that point, then dropped the Vehicon arm he was holding. He lifted that arm and wiped away the curdled energon caking his chest, and pointed at the Autobot brand crudely soldered on there. “Me.” Grimlock managed, not without difficulty, as he pressed his finger against the brand, then pointed at Hot Rod and Nightbeat. “Me. Autobot.”
Grimlock exhaled, the energy and rage leaving his body, and at that instant all the pain, the exhaustion, the numerous cuts and burn damages and broken sinews and gears, all ran through his body. But Grimlock did not show any pain other than a slump.
Medbay, Nemesis
Sixshot noted Predacon’s next words of care for the Vehicons and felt another surge of that same… emotion? Feeling? Reaction?
Creator Predacon then addressed him, however, and he shook his head. “Not significantly. They had replicated my… your six-changer technology, albeit crudely, but he was not worth fighting. He was not worth killing.” Sixshot paused, and placed a finger on the one scar he got from Quickswitch, then moved to the one scar he got from Grimlock. Both were already healing, the bleeding stopped by Sixshot’s self-repair mechanisms. “There was another, who had enough… brute force… to cut my armour, but a single cut is nothing.”
Sixshot gestured at Obsidian. “I was not here for my injuries – I was told to deliver Air Commander Obsidian, who had became… unresponsive partway through the battle.”
The six-changer regarded Lugnut as he entered boisterously, and, unsure of proper social protocol, gave the equally-large Decepticon a nod. He deserved Sixshot’s respect – he too fought the six-changer and lived. “Warrior Lugnut.” Sixshot said in greeting.
___________________________________________
“Next time, I’m gunning for more firepower and less armour.” Scorponok replied to Predacon. “It isn’t a total waste, though. Once I get out of this CR chamber I’m going to try some new modifications on this body. Though I certainly didn’t gain as much as you did, so I’ll have to give you that.”
Scorponok frowned. “Did you fight one of the Templars as well? Or an Elite Guard? You look a bit more damaged than I would peg mere footsoldiers would do to you.”
___________________________________________
War Academy
“The sword’s purpose is indeed for killing.” Prowl told Terabolt. “The purpose of this fool medic’s scalpels is for surgery. I would not dream of mixing the two up.”
“Oh goodness.” Ratchet said, launching a pinpoint blast of laser at another zombie. The medic rolled his optics. “So this is how two people with sticks up their exhausts, y’know, joke.”
“You must forgive Ratchet.” Prowl said, turning to Terabolt. “He acts like this around everyone.”
“That is an accurate assessment.” Ratchet nodded.
Prowl did not reply to Ratchet, not because he didn’t want to bother with their little series of battle-time talk, but because something else attracted his attention. Optimus Prime and Yoketron burst out of one of the buildings, and the new Prime was indeed a sight to behold… Prowl instantly recognized the aesthetic as belonging to Orion – or at least similar enough that it was unlikely to be a coincidence – but saved questions of how he obtained the Matrix for later. It didn’t matter.
He could work with Orion.
“Cover Prime!” Prowl bellowed at the other Autobots fending off the zombies, making good on his own orders by aiming his acid rifle up at the zombies between Optimus and their position, but Optimus Prime ended up not needing said cover, tearing through the zombies with some firepower of his own. Prowl allowed himself a dry smile – Optimus Prime certainly knew how to make an entrance.
____________________________________________
Heading for the War Academy
Bumblebee’s vision blurred. He heard gunshots, he heard Ironhide’s gruff, accented voice, he heard Quickswitch and Tracks’ voices, a series of imcomprehensible blurs, scream in his audio sensors and his receiver channels. He heard all those, and didn’t really particularly care – there was absolutely nothing he could do to change his fate anyway.
Absolutely nothing.
It was all up to the other Autobots.
____________________________________________
Grimlock roared as he slashed, as the cold, curdled energon of the living dead splattered on his exostructure with every swing of his sword, with every swing of the improvised Vehicon limb. Nothing had given him pause the moment he decided to give in to his rage. Not Vehicons, not the group of angry Decepticons, not when the dead corpses of his former allies suddenly came to life and attempted to attack him.
In the sea of red, Grimlock only knew one thing: kill or be killed.
Nothing had given him pause, yet the sight of Hot Rod, a small red Autobot barely reaching Grimlock’s chest, did make him pause. He stopped after one last swing as the zombies around him, all recently liberated of their upper bodies, dropped onto the ground. It wasn’t because Grimlock was afraid of a rocket launcher – he had taken several rockets to the face and lived – it was the simple fact that Hot Rod was… different.
Was it the fact that he was alive? That he wore the Autobot brand? That he was one of the few people out there who didn’t immediately run away or flinch in fear at the sight of him?
Regardless, the short pause cut through Grimlock’s sea of red. It cut through the rage and anger, a cold sharp breeze that blew away a good chunk of the rage blinding Grimlock’s optics.
Grimlock blinked once, as if unaware of what’s been happening up until that point, then dropped the Vehicon arm he was holding. He lifted that arm and wiped away the curdled energon caking his chest, and pointed at the Autobot brand crudely soldered on there. “Me.” Grimlock managed, not without difficulty, as he pressed his finger against the brand, then pointed at Hot Rod and Nightbeat. “Me. Autobot.”
Grimlock exhaled, the energy and rage leaving his body, and at that instant all the pain, the exhaustion, the numerous cuts and burn damages and broken sinews and gears, all ran through his body. But Grimlock did not show any pain other than a slump.
Sixshot noted Predacon’s next words of care for the Vehicons and felt another surge of that same… emotion? Feeling? Reaction?
Creator Predacon then addressed him, however, and he shook his head. “Not significantly. They had replicated my… your six-changer technology, albeit crudely, but he was not worth fighting. He was not worth killing.” Sixshot paused, and placed a finger on the one scar he got from Quickswitch, then moved to the one scar he got from Grimlock. Both were already healing, the bleeding stopped by Sixshot’s self-repair mechanisms. “There was another, who had enough… brute force… to cut my armour, but a single cut is nothing.”
Sixshot gestured at Obsidian. “I was not here for my injuries – I was told to deliver Air Commander Obsidian, who had became… unresponsive partway through the battle.”
The six-changer regarded Lugnut as he entered boisterously, and, unsure of proper social protocol, gave the equally-large Decepticon a nod. He deserved Sixshot’s respect – he too fought the six-changer and lived. “Warrior Lugnut.” Sixshot said in greeting.
___________________________________________
“Next time, I’m gunning for more firepower and less armour.” Scorponok replied to Predacon. “It isn’t a total waste, though. Once I get out of this CR chamber I’m going to try some new modifications on this body. Though I certainly didn’t gain as much as you did, so I’ll have to give you that.”
Scorponok frowned. “Did you fight one of the Templars as well? Or an Elite Guard? You look a bit more damaged than I would peg mere footsoldiers would do to you.”
___________________________________________
War Academy
“The sword’s purpose is indeed for killing.” Prowl told Terabolt. “The purpose of this fool medic’s scalpels is for surgery. I would not dream of mixing the two up.”
“Oh goodness.” Ratchet said, launching a pinpoint blast of laser at another zombie. The medic rolled his optics. “So this is how two people with sticks up their exhausts, y’know, joke.”
“You must forgive Ratchet.” Prowl said, turning to Terabolt. “He acts like this around everyone.”
“That is an accurate assessment.” Ratchet nodded.
Prowl did not reply to Ratchet, not because he didn’t want to bother with their little series of battle-time talk, but because something else attracted his attention. Optimus Prime and Yoketron burst out of one of the buildings, and the new Prime was indeed a sight to behold… Prowl instantly recognized the aesthetic as belonging to Orion – or at least similar enough that it was unlikely to be a coincidence – but saved questions of how he obtained the Matrix for later. It didn’t matter.
He could work with Orion.
“Cover Prime!” Prowl bellowed at the other Autobots fending off the zombies, making good on his own orders by aiming his acid rifle up at the zombies between Optimus and their position, but Optimus Prime ended up not needing said cover, tearing through the zombies with some firepower of his own. Prowl allowed himself a dry smile – Optimus Prime certainly knew how to make an entrance.
____________________________________________
Heading for the War Academy
Bumblebee’s vision blurred. He heard gunshots, he heard Ironhide’s gruff, accented voice, he heard Quickswitch and Tracks’ voices, a series of imcomprehensible blurs, scream in his audio sensors and his receiver channels. He heard all those, and didn’t really particularly care – there was absolutely nothing he could do to change his fate anyway.
Absolutely nothing.
It was all up to the other Autobots.
____________________________________________
Grimlock roared as he slashed, as the cold, curdled energon of the living dead splattered on his exostructure with every swing of his sword, with every swing of the improvised Vehicon limb. Nothing had given him pause the moment he decided to give in to his rage. Not Vehicons, not the group of angry Decepticons, not when the dead corpses of his former allies suddenly came to life and attempted to attack him.
In the sea of red, Grimlock only knew one thing: kill or be killed.
Nothing had given him pause, yet the sight of Hot Rod, a small red Autobot barely reaching Grimlock’s chest, did make him pause. He stopped after one last swing as the zombies around him, all recently liberated of their upper bodies, dropped onto the ground. It wasn’t because Grimlock was afraid of a rocket launcher – he had taken several rockets to the face and lived – it was the simple fact that Hot Rod was… different.
Was it the fact that he was alive? That he wore the Autobot brand? That he was one of the few people out there who didn’t immediately run away or flinch in fear at the sight of him?
Regardless, the short pause cut through Grimlock’s sea of red. It cut through the rage and anger, a cold sharp breeze that blew away a good chunk of the rage blinding Grimlock’s optics.
Grimlock blinked once, as if unaware of what’s been happening up until that point, then dropped the Vehicon arm he was holding. He lifted that arm and wiped away the curdled energon caking his chest, and pointed at the Autobot brand crudely soldered on there. “Me.” Grimlock managed, not without difficulty, as he pressed his finger against the brand, then pointed at Hot Rod and Nightbeat. “Me. Autobot.”
Grimlock exhaled, the energy and rage leaving his body, and at that instant all the pain, the exhaustion, the numerous cuts and burn damages and broken sinews and gears, all ran through his body. But Grimlock did not show any pain other than a slump.
Medbay, Nemesis
"A member? Why, I coined the name!" Predacon raised an eyebrow at Knock Out, then smiled and said teasingly, "Are you trying to angle your way into an invite? Because we have very strict entrance requirements. You need to prove yourself a Level 5 Mad Scientist before we'll even consider you." He shrugged. "Or you can sponsor our research grants like Thunderwing did, but since Brother Megs had you kidnapped I'm guessing you don't have many shanix on you..."
He responded to Sixshot with faux-shock. "They bootlegged you? For shame, Autobots. I thought that went against everything you believed in." He chuckled. "I knew we'd break 'em. Don't be too quick to dismiss your Autobot counterpart, though. If nothing else, it might be interesting to capture and dissect him."
He looked down at the wounds that he'd suffered, then shrugged. "Oh, nobody special," he said, with a joking air of superiority. "Just one of their better-known masters, is all. You'll notice he barely scratched me."
___________________________________________
Lugnut's amusement over the childish joke he'd played on Knock Out was interrupted by Sixshot's subdued greeting. The sixchanger sort of gave him the creeps. Anyone who was that deadly right out of the protoform, without even having to learn anything...it wasn't natural.
I'm glad he's on our side, though...
"It's Sixshot, right? Nice to finally meet you. You did pretty good out there, for a newbie."
___________________________________________
Bridge, Nemesis
As Megatron strode out onto the command deck, he scowled when he saw a random subaltern sitting in the command chair.
"You," he demanded, "Where is Shockwave?"
"He left his post to personally deal with an Autobot who was pestering us, Mighty Megatron," the low-ranking nobody responded.
Megatron didn't bother to reply, taking the captain's chair and staring at the burning surface of the world that had birthed him, scorned him and cast him aside.
He had finally gotten his revenge.
"Helm, prepare to break orbit."
___________________________________________
Space
The blast of flames narrowly missed Shockwave, but forced the Decepticon commander to dodge, taking his massive cannon barrel off line and preventing him from returning fire at Sky Lynx.
"Suggestion: dispense with the tiresome heroics," he replied to the Autobot, deadpan. "Your feeble assaults can neither harm myself nor the Nemesis. Your time and efforts would be better spent elsewhere."
(OOC: Shockwave has the worst trash-talk ever...)
"A member? Why, I coined the name!" Predacon raised an eyebrow at Knock Out, then smiled and said teasingly, "Are you trying to angle your way into an invite? Because we have very strict entrance requirements. You need to prove yourself a Level 5 Mad Scientist before we'll even consider you." He shrugged. "Or you can sponsor our research grants like Thunderwing did, but since Brother Megs had you kidnapped I'm guessing you don't have many shanix on you..."
He responded to Sixshot with faux-shock. "They bootlegged you? For shame, Autobots. I thought that went against everything you believed in." He chuckled. "I knew we'd break 'em. Don't be too quick to dismiss your Autobot counterpart, though. If nothing else, it might be interesting to capture and dissect him."
He looked down at the wounds that he'd suffered, then shrugged. "Oh, nobody special," he said, with a joking air of superiority. "Just one of their better-known masters, is all. You'll notice he barely scratched me."
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Lugnut's amusement over the childish joke he'd played on Knock Out was interrupted by Sixshot's subdued greeting. The sixchanger sort of gave him the creeps. Anyone who was that deadly right out of the protoform, without even having to learn anything...it wasn't natural.
I'm glad he's on our side, though...
"It's Sixshot, right? Nice to finally meet you. You did pretty good out there, for a newbie."
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Bridge, Nemesis
As Megatron strode out onto the command deck, he scowled when he saw a random subaltern sitting in the command chair.
"You," he demanded, "Where is Shockwave?"
"He left his post to personally deal with an Autobot who was pestering us, Mighty Megatron," the low-ranking nobody responded.
Megatron didn't bother to reply, taking the captain's chair and staring at the burning surface of the world that had birthed him, scorned him and cast him aside.
He had finally gotten his revenge.
"Helm, prepare to break orbit."
___________________________________________
Space
The blast of flames narrowly missed Shockwave, but forced the Decepticon commander to dodge, taking his massive cannon barrel off line and preventing him from returning fire at Sky Lynx.
"Suggestion: dispense with the tiresome heroics," he replied to the Autobot, deadpan. "Your feeble assaults can neither harm myself nor the Nemesis. Your time and efforts would be better spent elsewhere."
(OOC: Shockwave has the worst trash-talk ever...)
Medbay, Nemesis
Scorponok gave Predacon a snort. “One of their better-known masters? Well, did you kill him then?” He sighed. “I really need to work up on my own combat skills. I wonder if downloading Sixshot’s battling capabilities would have any sort of lasting side effects…”
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Sixshot nodded to Predacon respectfully, not detecting nor responding to the melodramatic reaction that his creator did.
“Yes. They indeed… bootlegged me.” Sixshot said, and shook his head. “The Autobot sixchanger was… durable, but I do not think it will pose too much of a trouble. It seemed to be glitch as well.” Sixshot turned to Lugnut, not sure if mentioning the fact that the other Decepticon fought the sixchanger as well would be perceived as an insult or not, but Sixshot supposed stating the facts won’t hurt.
“He fought against the sixchanger after I did.” Sixshot told Predacon, gesturing at Lugnut.
The other sixchanger fought against this normal Decepticon and lost.
He is inferior.
Absolutely worthless.
Or is this Lugnut the powerful one?
Interesting.
And Lugnut called him a ‘newbie’. Yes, Sixshot thought. To the Vehicons he might be the most powerful, but to the other Decepticons, he was a newborn. A newcomer. For all he knew, his own perceived powers might be an exaggeration. There might be other, stronger Decepticons.
Deciding that nothing in Lugnut’s words were demeaning or insulting, Sixshot gave Lugnut a light bow of the head, hopefully taken as a sign of respect. “Likewise, it is nice to meet you.” The sixchanger said, returning Lugnut’s greeting.
And, after a pause, “Your praise humbles me.”
Scorponok gave Predacon a snort. “One of their better-known masters? Well, did you kill him then?” He sighed. “I really need to work up on my own combat skills. I wonder if downloading Sixshot’s battling capabilities would have any sort of lasting side effects…”
___________________________________________
Sixshot nodded to Predacon respectfully, not detecting nor responding to the melodramatic reaction that his creator did.
“Yes. They indeed… bootlegged me.” Sixshot said, and shook his head. “The Autobot sixchanger was… durable, but I do not think it will pose too much of a trouble. It seemed to be glitch as well.” Sixshot turned to Lugnut, not sure if mentioning the fact that the other Decepticon fought the sixchanger as well would be perceived as an insult or not, but Sixshot supposed stating the facts won’t hurt.
“He fought against the sixchanger after I did.” Sixshot told Predacon, gesturing at Lugnut.
The other sixchanger fought against this normal Decepticon and lost.
He is inferior.
Absolutely worthless.
Or is this Lugnut the powerful one?
Interesting.
And Lugnut called him a ‘newbie’. Yes, Sixshot thought. To the Vehicons he might be the most powerful, but to the other Decepticons, he was a newborn. A newcomer. For all he knew, his own perceived powers might be an exaggeration. There might be other, stronger Decepticons.
Deciding that nothing in Lugnut’s words were demeaning or insulting, Sixshot gave Lugnut a light bow of the head, hopefully taken as a sign of respect. “Likewise, it is nice to meet you.” The sixchanger said, returning Lugnut’s greeting.
And, after a pause, “Your praise humbles me.”