I mean it when I say I'm an RPG nut
Sleek
Sanctum Interior -> Sanctum Bridge
Sleek smiled. Even as boring as patrolling the ship was, she still couldn't help but be giddy. Three hundred years since Pax Cybertronia was signed. Though she couldn't join the festivities on planet, it was still something she wanted to have a small celebration for the occasion. Maybe a little get together to relax in a part of the ship?
She made her way to the bridge and entered.
"Nothing to—" she was about to say but she stopped when she heard someobody on a holographic screen talk of their new objective.
Sleek waited until after Framework commented on the sitution. She didn't understand what was so bad though. But never mind that.
"Shall I man one of the guns?" she asked the Maximal.
edited 17th Jun '16 6:00:07 PM by ShoutmonZ
"You said you had a dream... That dream... Make it come true! ... If anyone can, it's you!" - N (shortened) Oh, and I'm a girl.
The Mighty Pen
Deconstruction - Cybertron Spaceport
To an outside observer, Deconstruction might have seemed as though he was in stasis, for he stood motionless, his optics almost completely dark. But all that missing power and processing capability was being routed to his mind, which was hard at work. Successful missions, he had learned, involved a great deal of waiting, and if there was someone else to keep watch with more specialized auditory receptors and optics than he had, such as their comm specialist, he could devote himself to things he was good at to maximize - the pun never ceased to amuse him - their odds of success. Intricate mathematical calcuations and matrices whirled about in his little mental thought-space, a blur of numbers, symbols, and shapes that made sense only to a bot who had thoroughly streamlined and refined his programming in engineering. He was deciding where he would need to plant explosives depending on how much of the spaceport or the ships docked within it needed to be destroyed. Some of them might still have skeleton crews aboard, if he dropped debris from the spaceport right, it would have a high probability of injuring or killing others, and both of those things would slow down pursuers. To this day, he wasn't sure why more places weren't built with high-explosive hazards in mind.
As the two Predacon agents came speeding towards them, the black-and-orange bot came to life, triggered by a brief message burst from Uplink. His optics lit up again and he reached up to detach the boxy grenade launcher that poked up over one shoulder and disengage the safety. Through the weapon's contact interface, he sent a code-burst and a soft thunk sounded as the magazine shifted to load adhesive grenades. Then he took careful aim at the oncoming vehicles. The probability that it was someone besides their allies was almost zero, but the probability that things would go very badly for them if it wasn't was almost one hundred percent. Few things were absolute, that was another lesson.
As it turned out, the mission had been successful thus far and a satisfied smile appeared on his face. The Maximal security had been tested to destruction and thoroughly failed. On such holidays, discipline and security fell sharply as everyone shifted priorites towards celebration rather than routine. Another lesson, but one that he doubted they would ever learn. No time or place is safer than any other. He turned and headed towards the ship they had decided on long before now, while sending a test pulse to the little surprises he had set up in anticipation of this moment. All of the detonators returned positive.
As he loped along, he glanced over to Undermine. "Provided the precautions regarding ground-to-space weaponry are effective - and there's no reason they shouldn't be - no, no questions. You've done your part admirably, now we'll do ours."
A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent upon arriving. -Lao Tzu
"Excitement continues to mount all across Cybertron as Maximals and Predacons alike prepare for the 300th anniversary of the signing of the Pax Cybertronia.” The massive video billboard flickered away from the news broadcaster to display brief snatches of the celebrations erupting across Cybertron. A Maximal marching band paraded down the streets of New Kaon; a contingent of Predacons in Pescus Hex knelt in reverence to a statue of Razorclaw. A sculptor in Nova Kalis unveiled his newest masterpiece- an ornate Energon fountain in the shape of Fortress Maximus and Cerebros. Fireworks and holo-shows, displaying the greatest battles and triumphs of the War, flickered over the glowing buildings of Cybertropolis.
“Ratified by Razorclaw and Fortress Maximus in the wake of Autobot leader Optimus Prime’s heroic sacrifice,” continued the newscaster, "every Maximal and Predacon should take a moment on Pax Cybertronia Day to remember the struggles of their ancestors. Where would we be without the courage and heroism of the Autobots, whose legacy lives on today in us, the Maximals?” The orange and blue fem-bot smiled at the camera, proudly displaying the bright green Maximal insignia embossed on her shoulder.
“Wise words, Oscillate.” The other Maximal at the news desk turned his attention back to the teleprompter feed plugged into his optics. “Coming up next: famed Sonic Canyons compser Gearhammer unveils his latest symphony, ‘’Defensor in Repose’’ …”
“What a bunch a' slag." The green Predacon turned away from the floating vid-screen, rolling his optics as he rummaged through a bag of tools. The trio of Predacons sat perched on the roof of the Ratchet Memorial Hospital, shrouded by the shadows and well out of sight from any peering eyes. “Buncha’ sentimental industrial run-off.” He crept over to the main access shaft and flipped open the maintenance panel, revealing a holographic keypad.
“In other news, Cybertronian security is still on high alert after the theft of the Golden Disk from Cybertropolis’s Forever Vaults,” babbled the newscaster on the billboard. “Known criminal and Decepticon sympathist Megatron is suspected to have orchestrated the heist…”
“Fraggin’ Megatron,” observed the Predacon. “He goes runnin’ off through a transwarp portal and then we get stuck cleanin’ up his glitches-“ His hunchbacked compatriot- blue, with lanky arms that stretched down to his ankles- smacked him upside the head with one beefy hand before he could continue griping.
“Shut up and get this open, Snapper.”
Snapper grumbled something to himself as he keyed in the passcode to the maintenance shaft. “Listen here, Spittor, I'm the Council liason for this mission, you hear? One more word outta you and-“
Snapper and Spittor both found themselves lifted into the air by the third member of their group - a hulking orange Predacon, all hard angles and sporting an unusually tall, triangular head.
“-and if you don’t both shut your mouth-holes this instant then I’m going to throw both of you to the MCSF.”
“1…9…9…6.” Snapper typed in the last piece of the access code; the hatch chirped and obligingly swung open. “There. Ya happy, Undermine?”
"Good,so you're not completely useless. Inside!" Undermine picked up Snapper and slung him into the vertical shaft, ignoring his comrade's protests to the contrary.
While Cybertropolis’s top mnemosurgeon was otherwise occupied note Pneumatix had been – not interred, because Maximals didn’t inter the sick or injured –temporarily placed in a secure holding cell. And just to make sure that he was safe, they’d opted to protect him from the outside world with three pairs of locks and a pair of armed guards.
Undermine had already taken care of the two tired security officers – they’d wake up in a CR chamber after a few hours, groggy and unable to remember anything beyond the massive green fist that had punched their lights out. “Maximal security, everyone,” he sneered, tossing the two unconscious Transformers over his shoulder. “,lazy as ever. Peacetime, my drivetrain.”
One of the Maximal guards hadn't quite gone down with one punch, groggily fumbling for a button on a nearby security console. Undermine picked him up and slammed another fist into the back of his head, then tosed him against the wall before turning back to his comrades. “Crack that lock, Snapper.”
“I thought I was in command here, so-“
“Crack that lock, Snapper, or I’ll crack your 'head."
“Oh boy. No pleases, no thank yous, crack this, hack that, just another day in the glorious life of Snapper, thought working for the Council would- erp” Snapper looked up from the computer terminal to see Spittor pointing a gun at the back of his head.
“alright fine, fine, I’ll shut up.”
Click. Hiss. Gears ground, the armored doors swung open… to reveal a small, average looking ‘bot- green and white- with a querulous expression on his face. Judging by the long bars poking up over his shoulder , he transformed into some kind of light forklift.
“A-are you the mnemosurgeons?” Pneumatix blinked up at the two with an utterly guileless expression on his face.
“You could say that.” Spittor leaned down and took a long look at the little industrial ‘bot. "Are you the crazy one they locked up?"
“I... I don't think I'm crazy. I mean, if I was crazy, y-you'd know, right? Or can you be so glitched in the processor that you don't even know you've glitched?" Pneumatix rolled that around in his mind for a few seconds before turning his attention back to Undermine. "Would... would you help me remember what happened? Last thing I remember… we were in orbit, and there was a-“
Before Pneumatix could say anything further, an alarm began to blare in the background. Clearly someone had realized that the security on this floor hadn’t checked in for a few minutes. “ugh, Primus, not now, not now!” groaned Snapper, looking from their new hostage to the flashing alarms outside.
“Spittor!”
The hunchbacked robot stared blankly at Snapper for a few seconds."What? Oh? Realization dawned as he looked from Snapper to Pneumatix. "Oh! Right.” One cuff to the head, an injection of a temporary dose of cyber-venom from a wrist-mounted needle, and Pneumatix was out cold.
“Vehicle modes, everyone!”
Undermine had already transformed into a bulky paddy-wagon, with just enough room to carry an unconscious passenger. The other two Predacons shoved Pneumatix inside- their hostage’s legs comically dangling out of the rear- before transforming into their own vehicle modes.
“What did he want to say?” The disc-shaped ATV that was Snapper swerved out the door, and ploughed through a gaggle of Maximals.
“Is that really our problem?” roared Undermine as he careened through the door, spilling out into the streets. Maximals and Predacon partygoers scattered as the trio pulled onto an interchange, trying to get onto the nearest highway out of Cybertropolis. Wailing sirens grew louder as a low-riding Maximal vehicle swerved around a corner.
“All we need to now is get to the rendezvous point!” Shaped like a brick and just as durable, Undermine didn’t really weave through traffic as much as he did smash. Maximals and Predacons alike went skidding to avoid him; the hulking vehicle clearing a path through traffic for his smaller comrades.
“Wait! I… don’t think I can keep up!” cried Snapper. His vehicle mode, ponderous at the best of times, was already starting to fall behind as he struggled to weave around the chunks of debris that Undermine left in his wake. “Then meet us at the point!” Undermine and Spittor gunned their engines, swerving onto one of the massive highways that wove through Cybertropolis.
“The Energon refinery, right?" asked Snapper as he skidded around another corner. "Don’t ya dare go anywhere else; ‘cause I’m still in charge of this mission, and-urgh!“
“Pull over!” One of the Maximal security officers slammed against Snapper’s rounded vehicle mode, siren blaring. A second Maximal officer swerved in from a nearby intersection; Snapper spun wildly and smashed against the wall. Out of reflex, Snapper transformed into his robot mode and stared helplessly up at the looming shape of the stasis cuff-wielding police officer. The Maximal spoke into his wrist-mounted commlink.
“Officer Switchblade reporting successful acquisition of a suspected Predacon insurgent at sector seven, precinct twelve, requesting backup and extraction. Under the Pax Cybertronia , you are under arrest for breaking and entering, kidnapping, reckless driving, assault on an officer of the law…”
“Undermine?” shouted Snapper over his commlink, his mind racing as furiously as it could- under the circumstances. “Undermine, you can’t just leave me behind!” he shouted. “I’m the leader of this outfit! I’m… the… liason… to…” Snapper trailed off as he realized what he had just blabbed in front of a trio of skeptical Maximal officers. There was a crackle as Undermine began to slowly laugh derisively over the communications systems. His tone was aloof, sneering.
“You really thought you were in charge all along, did you? You thought we were really going to that abandoned energon refinery?” There was a snort of derisive laughter. “And you honestly, really thought that the Predacon Secret Police would let a two-gigabyte stooge like you lead this mission? Think again.”
“Undermine, you little hunk a’ molten-“ Snapper roared in frustration as Shatterpoint slapped a stasis cuff on his hand. “Wait, what I was saying, it was, it was…”
“Save it for the stockade, Pred.” There was a slap and a hiss as Snapper found himself cuffed, unable to move or transform.
"Undermine, I swear I’ll rip you a new waste disposal unit-"
"This is Agent Wreckloose reporting to Agent Ravage. The package is secure.”
On most days, the spaceport was a bustling hive of activity. Cargo ‘bots loaded stasis pods and scientific equipment onto outgoing exploration ships; colonists, tourists, and immigrants all mingling within the massive, flower-like structure. Today, though, the structure was almost entirely empty. Neon advertisements for exotic flavours of foreign Energon and vacations on offworld colonies flickered faintly in the empty hallways.
It was here that the Predacon crew and their stolen ship had been stationed, ready to transport their valuable asset off-planet.
Uplink sighed and leaned against the wall, checking her internal chronometer. Their contacts from the Tripredacus Council were late. Not unacceptably late, but late enough to start putting her on edge. Had they been compromised?
“What if they didn't make it?" she asked rhetorically floating the question past her comrades. A few seconds passd before she saw a pair of glowing headlights on the horizon, engines gunning wildly. The boxy shape of Undermine skidded to a halt, metal tires sparking against the steel floor of the spaceport. The nimble blue motorbike beside him transformed into the hunchbacked Spittor, who produced the unconscious form of Pneumatix from Undermine’s vehicle mode.
“Agent Undermine of the Predacon Secret Police.” The green-and-orange ‘bot transformed and extended his hand, flashing a holographic badge from the center of his palm. “My compatriot, Spittor.” The blue hunchback nodded to the group. Every few seconds, he turned his head back to the street, hopping from one foot to the next as though anticipating another firefight.
“I thought there were …three of you?”
“Our team member Snapper was... compromised during the extraction efforts. ”Undermine hefted Pneumatix over his shoulder and started lumbering towards the nearest spaceship. “You’ve only got a few kliks to steal a ship and get this lump-” he roughly jolted Pneumatix with one shrug of his shoulder, prompting a groan from the unconscious Maximal – “hooked into the ship’s systems, hack his core consciousness before the Maxies realize that our little stooge has led ‘em wrong, and head to that Mirtonian sector. Any questions?”
Spittor skittered behind the group as they started heading towards the docking corridors - alternating between a sort of fighting half-crouch and ambulating using his distended arms.
Framework sat on the bridge of the ship, tapping buttons every so often and executing the various micro-burns necessary to keep the sleek spacecraft in a stable orbit. Perhaps that’s why – several hours before you’re supposed to ship out – the hologram projector on the bridge flickers to life, revealing what could have been Optimus Prime himself
◊ – if Optimus Prime had had his armor done up in chestnut and bronze.
“General Big Convoy paging the Sanctum. Come in. Do you read me, Sanctum?” The holographic image wavered in and out for a few seconds; Framework tapped a few buttons on the communications console.
"Sorry- transmission is a little hard to read - give me a sec to decode it-"
“-‘’krz’’- approx-‘’hzt’’- ten cycles ago, a group of Predacons broke into a nearby hospital and absconded with Pneumatix, last known survivor of the Destiny.” Brief footage of the three Predacons swerving recklessly across the street displayed for a moment. “Intelligence leads us to believe that they have hired mercenaries and stolen a transwarp-capable vessel from Cybertropolis’s Central Spaceport, and will attempt to jump to the Mirtonian Sector to intercept your vessel. We’ve had suspicions that the Tripredacus Council has been making deals on the side, but they’ve denied any involvement in this incident. Allegedly, this is an uncoordinated attack by a group of Decepticon sympathists, but we've got intelligence that suggests otherwise. If we can track them down, then we can get evidence that the Tripredacus Council orchestrated this whole kidnapping. We suspect that the victim - named Pneumatix - may be unwillingly colluding with the Predacons.”
“Our ground forces are moving in on their position as fast as possible, but if they manage to steal a ship then it will fall to ‘’you’’ to contain them. Your previous orders have been ‘’rescinded’’. Your new objective: intercept the Predacons and remove them from play by any means necessary. This mission is above top secret – the Maximal Elders will deny any responsibility in this crisis.”
There was a long, pregnant pause. Big Convoy cut in as he tapped his internal comns system. "Yes? What? I see. Fall back to coordinates 113. He turned his attention back to the Sanctum's crew. Ground forces have failed to contain the fugitives in time - they have gone off the radar. We estimate that they will breaking Cybertron’s orbit within two cycles. You have three cycles to prepare for ship-to-ship combat.”
Framework stared out the window at Cybertron below as the holographic feed cut out.
"Well... that's just prime."
edited 17th Jun '16 8:47:55 PM by Locoman