A New Direction: Part 16
A brand mission, a brand new world where many things are not as they same and thier true objective is not even known to them.
PART SIXTEEN
“Backstabbing little sunofa…”
Grapple hit the concrete hard, not expecting the panther ‘bot to be…so cheap. The Predacon ex-general brought a gnarled arm to bear on Jungle in one swift movement. Preoccupied by the process of putting his opponent into a leg-breaker lock, it was all the Maximal could do to roll out of the way. The roar of a shotgun blast exploded overhead, tearing through the space Jungle had occupied just half a second before. A near miss. It paid to read up on your targets, the MSP ‘bot though darkly.
The killer tortoise levered himself to a standing position, shotgun ports raised. “You fight like a damn Slug!” the Pred cursed aloud. He took a bead on Jungle, whose chest cannons were now exposed and ready to fire. Neither pulled the trigger, though, as the world suddenly went dark in a barrage of black razor flechettes. Grapple swore. The TMII raven had closed the gap. His companion, the modeless sub-commander stood a few feet to the right, lining up a laser bolt as he charged forward.
From Jungle’s angle, it wasn’t clear which of them was being attacked.
**********
Closer…
Closer…
Now!!
With a burst of speed Querion leaped at the fleeing Croak. He connected in mid air, sending the two of them tumbling through an open doorway. Though dark and cluttered in most places, the floor was clear near the entrance where they fell. ‘Reuiem’ was out in an instant, reverse edge gleaming dangerously in the low light. “Time to end it,” he said coldly. The wolf ‘bot’s optics glowed a menacing neon green, tinged with red near the edges.
Croak danced back a step, putting a small bit of distance between himself and the tip of his assailant’s blade. A quick glance toward the edges of the room confirmed his worst fears: the door was his only exit, and Querion was standing in the way. If he wanted to keep on breathing, he’d have to fight his way free.
“Tell me,” Croak growled, hoping to buy himself a moment to regroup. “How does it feel to be a traitor, Monster? How does it feel down here in the dirt with us Preds?”
Querion frowned. What was he talking about? “Talking isn’t going to get you anyware,” the Maximal replied gravely. “I have a job to do, and I’m not leaving this room until it’s done,”
Croak snorted in disgust. “Oh, and what job would that be? Protecting Endport? Look around you!! Endport is safe!! I went AWOL!! Leave me the hell alone!! It isn’t enough that I ran to the edge of the universe, is it? Those two bastards had to send you to hunt me down. The gratitude of the Predacon military is astounding.”
Querion didn’t say a word. Instead, he took a measured step closer. One more and he’d be in range...
Croak circled slowly to the right, hoping that the swordsman would move far enough away from the door for him to make his move. The Predacon forced a cruel little laugh. “You just do me then,” he said. “Do it, and sink that last little bit into the mud - Monster!”
The red began to creep farther and farther toward the center of the wolf ‘bot’s optics. “Quit saying that,” he commanded. He took a half step…
“Make me,” Croak taunted. “Primus you kids are blind. Blind as I used to be almost. Rediculous, just like half of everything in my life” The bull-frog straightened to his full height of twelve feet, twice as tall as Querion. A degree of lost confidence and military bearing began to flow back through his fear soaked veins. “You may think you’ve got it all figured out, but let me tell you something, you’re being played. We’re all being played. Only difference between me and you is that I see it!”
“You have proof of this?” Querion asked. He took the last half step. He crouched nearer to the ground. His fingers touched concrete. Any second now…
Croak saw his opening. It could work…
Silence.
“Ask Cicadon, he's got your proof,” the Pred spat. Suddenly Croak sprang for the doorway, e-disks lighting the room with their harsh yellow light.
The energy disks sped dangerously towards him, filling Querion's ears with a low 'hum'. The wolf-bot snarled. He ducked under one, then roared before slicing at the remaining disks. The blunted-edge of his sakabatou struck the disks, releasing a short burst of energy. The small explosions jolted his system, but Querion did not care.
When he was done, the wolf-bot stood still, chest heaving slightly. Querion looked around, surveying the damage caused. His blade was clutched tightly in his hand, marred by a little soot, as were certain patches on the ground.
The damage done to property was repairable. The damge done to his faith and conscience were not.
"... A monster? A monster? A..." Querion mumbled softly to himself, ignoring the battle outside. His body trembled slightly and his blade fell to the ground. The wolf-bot dropped backwards onto his rump, and stared at his trembling fingers.
Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood.
Querion roared, leaping to his feet, punching the concrete walls. The pain barely registered. His blade, as though on cue, quickly blinked out of existence. Querion was left in an empty room, nursing a damaged conscience.
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"Fool," sneered Croak to himself, as he made his way to safety. He was not afraid now. He knew how to deal with the wolf.
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It had been a while. Querion slowly clambered to his feet. His face was an impassive mask, his chest heaving slightly.
Croak had mentioned Cicadon. One of the Predacon Triumvirate. Politics.
"I hate politics," spat Querion. Any soul-searching would have to wait. He had a job to do. But first, he would have to find Croak again. And he was not letting the Pred go this time.
"Just remember to use the blunt side," Querion mumbled repeatedly to himself, as he left in search of Croak again.
"RITA!!" Filch cried out. He ran towards her, and the scarab jumped in his way and roundhouse-kicked him in the chest, sending the giraffe flying backwards through a pile of chairs. Filch shook it off and got to his feet. Ricochet gun, no good. Arc welder, no good. He needed to help Rita. He glared at the femme and reached into his transporter buffer. He emerged with a large wrench. Steel titanium alloy, five adjustable settings, a steal at only sixty-five credits.
He rushed forward and slammed the wrench into the scarab's shell, throwing her off course. Filch whirled around and elbowed her in the face, and uppercutted her with the wrench. She was knocked a full six inches into the air, and fell to the floor, clutching her face. Filch hopped over her and went to Rita's side.
"Hold on.." he told her, fumbling in his tunic. "I make a point of carrying repair kits on me. Hang in there."
Rita might have reacted; it was hard to tell the difference between an aware movement and the reflexive twitching. Filch fumbled with the repair kit, but couldn’t find any real wounds past a few nicks from the short tussle with the scarab and one large black burn to the left of her spark. On the bright side she’d stopped spurting sparks so frantically. Or that might be a bad thing.
The rope was going insane. Slithering around its downed master like a snake on stimpacks. Coiling and uncoiling frantically with the horrified panic of someone who’s facing the worst possible scenario and doesn’t know what to do with his hands. At a loss it decided to attack Filch, coiled, and sprung.
Catfish caught it in midair. It didn’t resist, but wrapped around her arm and clenched it in a stranglehold. Catfish was holding a fluid drenched spear in one hand and a large, light blue butterfly had made a temporary home on her head (completely unrelated fact: the body of the TM2 caterpillar Catfish was fighting earlier was never found. Really, totally unrelated). She looked at Rita with innocent curiosity, then drew her gaze up to Filch.
“What’s wrong with Rita?”
The dark warrior had found cover behind a corpse - the other unfortunate soul that Grapple broke his fall on. Had Jungle not been so aware of his surroundings, its likely he’d be out of the game. As it was JJ had one or two of those damn flechettes in his leg. Could be a lot worse though; they could of struck a joint. Rolling, Jungle crotches behind a chair, giving him a better vantage point and source of cover…
From what Jungle could tell; two Preds were now engaging the tortoise. One was modeless, the other, a TM2 raven, now ain’t that just Prime? How J hated TM2’s - they processed more power then any ‘bot had the right to… not to say Jungle would complain if he ever got reformatted into a TM2, mind you…
… what to do, what to do…
Part of the panther-bot wanted to let the three Predacons work out their differences. But, the fact is, J and his team needed Grapple, needed him functional - he was the key to getting the MIA songbird back.
Part of the panther-bot considered Rhapsody to be a casualty of war. She was gone, thus best to move on. But the fact is, Jungle wasn’t MSP no more. He was second in command of a MHC sanctioned taskforce. She was apart of his team, thus it was his duty as her commander to get her back. In a lot of ways she was the heart and soul of the squad - thus whether dead or alive, she had to be liberated.
Conclusion; Jungle needed to get re-involved in the fray - it wasn’t clear who those other Predacon soldiers were working for or even what they wanted with Grapple - ie; his spark on a stick.
They could be PSP agents, but frankly it didn’t matter - J needed Grapple, needed him functional.
Clearly, Grapple’s injuries were taking their toll on him. Wouldn’t be long before the tortoise was KO’ed in Jungle’s view. Jungle guessed the TM2 wasn’t the senior partner, rather the modeless one was…
"No risk, no fun." The dark warrior mumbles, as he lunges at the modeless Predacon, via a jump jet burst. The Pred was just too focused on Grapple to counter, thus he is easily impelled by J’s hand swords and brought down. No vital systems were struck, but the attack was enough to daze the Pred and shift the TM2 raven’s attention to Jungle, having sensed his commander in danger.
Grapple capitalizes by expelling a shot gun shell at the TM2 warrior. Grapple didn’t take the time to properly aim, thus saving the raven from serious harm. J follows up Grapple’s attack on the TM2 with a quick burst from his chest guns - in crowded rooms, Jungle liked to reframe from using his guns for obvious reasons. But when the situation called for it, he employed short bursts… in case he missed…
Any rate a courtesy fist from Grapple to the TM2’s head finally brings him down - at least for the moment - non of the injuries he sustained were serious. Grapple and Jungle working together… must be a full moon… nothing to it other then it being mutually beneficial, ‘cides old Grapple probably figures that Jungle will be easy enough to deal with once these Preds are out of the picture…
Jungle groans, remember the modeless Pred? Well he was up had just upped to nail JJ in the upper back with a laser bolt. Spinning, Jungle fires off a burst from his chest guns to act as suppression fire. Not a bad tactic, but he does take another blast, this time in his chest, which penetrates the armor.
Before the Pred can emerge from his cover, Jungle charges Grapple, planting him with a drop kick.
After wrapping his legs around the tortoise, in such a way that restrains his arms, the ex-slug fires up his jump jets once more, propelling the pair the final yard to the exit. The stress of that maneuver did put a great deal of strain on the dark warrior’s systems. A bit of smoke was rising from his jump jets.
Knowing the two Preds were close behind, Jungle places a hand sword against Grapple’s neck. “Either we co-exist or we die.” Jungle was no fool, he knew he only accomplished what he did back there because he had the element of surprise. That was lost and his abilities were now known… scale wasn’t exactly tilting in his favor…
Bruised, bloodied, with mech-fluid trickling form a dozen odd wounds, Grapple grunted…and smiled sadistically. “My thoughts…exactly,” he gasped raggedly between breaths. “Look down,” The business end of Grapple’s two shotgun ports hovered less than an inch from the dark warrior’s spark chamber. Jungle didn’t even flinch.
A drop of blood collecting at the Predacon’s chin grew heavy and fell, splattering against his chest armor. Grapple flexed his jaw experimentally and laughed at the former MSP agent. Trapped, and an inch from death, the killer tortoise was amused. Absolutely amazing.
“Heh. I knew it, a @#%$ slug,” he growled, drawing out first syllable in an insulting manner. “They're letting just anybody join the party now, aren't they? I thought the High Council nicked you losers a long time ago,” Jungle held himself in check. Grapple snorted at his unresponsiveness. The tortoise elaborated. “Bastards of the faction from what I hear - donated to the program like that," His smile widened into an even more sadistic grin. "With a sweet little thing like you, though, I bet they’d do more ‘en jus' beat you those first ten…gaak!!”
Grapple’s optics widened and his speech halted suddenly as Jungle pushed his blade forward a tiny bit. Just enough to draw blood. “Where is she?” Jungle asked in a cold voice. “I’m not here to play with you,”
“The bird-bitch is safe ‘fer now,” hissed the scarred Pred. “How long she stays that way’s up to you. Kill me now and I swear in Unicron’s name the only way you’ll get her back is face down in a pool of her own blood!” He paused for a tense moment to let his statement sink in. “My life for hers, that’s as good as you’re gonna’ get. Take it or leave it…but if I don’t walk out of here alive, neither do you,”
The Predacon sneered and waited for his answer.
***********
Back in the arena, Filch worked frantically to repair the injured Rita. Worry filled his optics. She was hurt bad this time…real bad. A small spear wielding form approached from behind, catching the sentient rope as it leapt into the air.
Catfish looked up at Filch. “What’s wrong with Rita?” she asked with innocent curiosity. A pool of shadow swelled and grew around her unnoticed. Filch opened his mouth to answer, still working.
“Nothing is wrong…” came the harsh reply, “She is just as we want her - dead,”
Filch’s mouth snapped shut abruptly. He stiffened and turned. The words hadn’t been his…
“Oh, sla…’Fish - look out!” the giraffe cried.
Scarab stood not three feet away, a tower of glistening black armor. Mech-fluid covered nearly every square inch of his frame, none of it belonging to him. From his back he drew the horn from his scarab Beast Mode. A giant deadly saber, it too was smeared with the Transformer equivalent of blood. He brought the blade up and prepared to strike…
Dusty fended off a blow aimed at her head by a TM2 goanna and dove behind a pile of trashed chairs, gaining a slight reprieve as the goanna was distracted by something else. The dingo femme had several dents and other minor inguries, along with a gash on her left shoulder and down her arm where a piece of the falling ceiling had hit her earlier. None of it was slowing her down much though.
She crouched there in the shelter of the chairs (which incidentally contained the unconscious form of some SiC bot, pointless piece of info there) to catch her breath, glancing around to see how things were going.
The sight of a massive black TM2 scarab standing over Rita, Filch and Catfish caught Dusty's attention, and her optics widened as she realised she'd never be able to get there in time... there was one other option though. Dusty's hand reached over her shoulder into her back compartment and drew out one of her boomerangs, then drew her arm back and let it fly with a flick of her wrist.
The silvery boomerang spun through the air with a barely audible whizz-hum, somehow managing to miss all the bots in the way, and finally sank deep into the back of the scarab's knee joint. He let out a yell as his leg buckled, giving the others time to act.
“Oh.” Catfish said in a neutral tone. She seemed to think for a moment, using up the seconds gained by Dusty’s intervention. Her eyes flickered purple.
“Are you sure?” She asked, turning abruptly and stepping over to Rita just as the deadly saber cleaved the ground she’d been standing on. “No, I don’t think so. Her shell’s fine, just charred, and it didn’t hit the spark.”
Catfish knelt to examine Rita’s body. A nanosecond later the saber made a swishing noise as it passed a hairsbreadth above her head. “It’s internal damage. I think some of the chips must have fused. Damaged memory, damaged personality. You can't repair things like that.”
Catfish hopped over the corpse just in time to just miss the twirling blade, again. She landed lightly opposite Filch and flipped open a panel on the side of Rita’s frame, talking in a constant calm voice. “Motor functions are shot too. If we get her to a CR chamber in time we might be able to fix some of that, but I’m pretty sure she’s permanently paralyzed at least from the waist down.”
Catfish rolled back for a cycle to avoid Scarab’s next thrust. She continued undaunted, not even bothering to look at him. “The body is savable. Parts of the mind are savable. But I think the big black buggy is right and I do not think Rita would appreciate existing as a deranged cripple.”
Catfish did a small hop-skip to the right, against all odds evading another perfectly executed attack. With solemn the air of someone doing an unpleasant, but necessary task, she drove her spear into Rita’s spark chamber in one clean strike.
A tremor ran down the rope and it sagged a little. The butterfly, disturbed by all the movement, took off from Catfish’s shoulder and fluttered up through the open ceiling. Catfish stood, recovered her weapon, and looked up at Scarab in an “okay, it’s your turn to be dealt with” kind of a way.
Finally Caska got a clean slash in, cleaving her serpent opponent in half. It'd taken a few cycles of blocking, getting glancing cuts from poisoned blades, and figuring out the lightning fast TM2's moves, but now the thing was quite dead, and Caska had a chance to look around. Yep, chaos. The team seemed to be holding its own though.. as far as she could tell. Suddenly she felt something, and looked up, pointing her sword in that direction as well. A smallish Pred immediately fell on it and impaled himself in the chest. She looked at him, as the life passed from his optics. Thrown at her? No, he was in a pouncing position, with two vibroblades drawn. Odd angle for a pouncer though. And she had felt it coming out of nowhere, barely in time.. Could it be she was losing her edge? Caska furrowed her brow as she flung the bot away, at another oncoming Pred. Actually, that one had had a teleportation power that let him get the jump on her, but she never found that out.
=========
Howler came to. He was upside down.. but being a monkey, that wasn't ususual. The problem was, he was also tied up, and his ion cannon was gone.. as was his right leg. The room was a blur, but he could tell it was small, and could hear the battle still going on outside. Obviously he was captured.. but by whom? His briefing hadn't said to expect anything like this. Stringing up opponents while the battle still rages just didn't make sense for the Conformists.. in fact only a few deranged Preds were known to pull such things. His optics came back into focus, and he saw what had happened to his components. His gun was propped up against the wall on the other side of the room, and his leg was in the center- being munched on by a penguin!
"GyAH!"
"Hi!" said the penguin. He remembered it now. After he fell from the rafters when the roof gave way, he landed lightly and then was pinned by a girder. His gun still in hand, he tried to take out any Conformist that came near, but then he felt someone light, standing on his back. Turning, he saw the face of a penguin, breathing mist on to him. After that he blacked out.
"What the-"
"Mmm. TM2 is good eatin!"
"Is this some sort of interrogation? It won't work."
The penguin shrugged, and continued eating. after chewing another bite, it paused. "Needs seasoning.. Spark energy!" Howler gasped, and then breathed a bit of a sigh of relief when the Penguin pulled a spark out of subspace. Not his. The relief didn't last long however, as the penguin got out what appeared to be some sort of coffee grinder, squeezed the spark into it, and then held the contraption over the leg, turning the crank quickly. Glowing blue particles fell over the meal, and there was a faint call.. like a sould crying out... Howler nearly threw up.
"So," the penguin said, in a conversational tone, as he stowed the grinder and set back to eating. "Whatcha doin on Andronicus?"
Catfish's bravery was to be noted but in all actualty she didn't stand a chance. "Poor child," Scarab said with a rasp "You do not know what you are getting into." Catfish was hardly phased by his words and said nothing. Scarab drew his other horn and thrusted both down. Catfish held her spear to block but it was instantly knocked away from the force of his impact. "All you maximals, fools to think you can defy the Predacons." Catfish jumped lightly away from his next attack and landed next to Flich. The giraffe stood in a stern manner to defend Catfish. Scarab punched Flich in the face and then sliced the trader down the quadrcept muscle cables rendering his leg useless and sending him to the ground in pain.
"FOOL!" Scarab said at the pairs faliure to see his combat skills. Distracting his rage was a spear pentrating through his shoulder. He truned angrly and kicked Catfish backwards and readied the death blow. He swung the deadly sabre down but it was caught by a large metal hammer from the side. Scarab looked to the side and was met with a fierce backhand. The predacon warrior fell to the ground disoriented.
"Go now, get him out of here." Gaul said to catfish and motioning to Flich. "Now." He said his voice more stern. Gaul turned and clutched his war hammer. Scarab stood angrily flipping both of sabres 360 degress and catching them in a display of skill. Gaul wasn't phased by the display and the battle began. Both Sabres came in from seperate angles in a flash of speed. Gaul flipped his hammer in md air to aviod both attacks. He caught his hammer once it was free from hitting the blades and swung it upwards striking Scarab in the jaw sending him flying backwards.
THe warrior landed on his hands and rolled out of the blow. "Impressive." Gaul said still expresionless. Scarab charge with both sabres wanting blood.
Deep in shadow, far from the battling near the stage, a pair of dark blue optics watched with interest. They watched Scarab. They watched Gaul. One was a member of the assault party, the other the captain of the Honor Guard of all 'bots. His eyes passed over the disabled Filch and (was it comatose or dead) body of Rita. But most of all,
...the eyes watched Catfish.
Every move, every expression...the unnatural way she danced between the blade of a seasoned warrior, as though she were utterly unconcerned by the towering threat.
The figure had been watching as 'Fish plunged her spear through Rita's spark chamber. The figure trembled with delight. She was perfect. Absolutely perfect. The strong survived, and the weak...put out of their collective misery before they could harm themselves. All the luck and power of a TMII, in an optimistic and (most importantly) impressionable package.
"Sir, we should leave. As long as the fight continues, you are not safe here," It was a voice from behind him. A member of the his 'real' guard. They had certainly done a poor job of it tonight, he thought, remembering how Gaul had thrown him aside, saving his life without regard for his own safety. Yes, this Honor guard would bear close watching in the coming days. Close watching indeed.
"Yes," Jonas agreed belatedly. Already the wheels of his mind were spinning furiously. "We shall go...for now,"
The Predacon behemoth stood unmoving, chest heaving as he sought to catch his breath. His claw-like arm hung limply from a side, while he stared at his opponent. She too, stood unmoving, panting heavily. Only difference, was that she was grinning widely.
Both of them seemed to be locked in a stalemate, in a battle with only each other. This had to end soon. The large bear of a Pred closed his eyes, putting on a face of intense concentration. Thick veins grew from the sides of his neck, and down along his arms, as his muscles suddenly ballooned. A faint yellowish glow surrounded the Predacon, and the bear snarled. TMII power.
Timber looked at her opponent in the eye, her grin not leaving her face. She watched as the creature lumbered towards her, claw outstretched, ready to attack. The she-wolf crossed her hatchets, and moved. Quickly, fluidly, like rushing water. She disappeared from her spot swiftly, much to the chagrin of the slower Pred.
"Stop running away, damnit!!!"
"I'm not running, sugah," Timber cooed in his ear, letting out a soft giggle. She crossed her blades in an 'X' under the Predacon's throat, and heard the TMII gurgle as his throat was ripped apart. He fell, like a big tree, the ground around Timber trembling slightly when he did. His mech-fluid trickled out of his neck, into a puddle on the ground.
Timber stepped calmly over it, and bent down. The she-wolf took a deep sniff, and lapped at the puddle forming around her feet.
Outside: Jungle and Grapple…
The dark warrior’s eyes widen slightly. No, not from anything Grapple had said… something… else…
In the next split second that follows, Jungle rolls and maintains his leg lock on Grapple, thereby repositioning the near titian on top. Before Grapple even has a chance to fire his weapon, much less curse, projectiles impact his frame…
Angling back we see that pesky modeless Predacon and his TM2 raven sidekick. Obviously Jungle had sensed their presence, thus upped to use Grapple as a shield from their first attack sequence.
Rolling backwards, Jungle reclaims the top position, quickly firing his chest guns at the Pred tag team. As expected, they separate in order to dodge, granting Jungle and Grapple a few seconds in reprieve before the Preds can re-organize for their next attack - the ex-MSP agent takes full advantage of that break. Still maintaining his hold on Grapple, Jungle rolls backwards again, taking Grapple with him. This series of rolls continues for several rotations.
The TM2 fires several of his flechettes from the air, but can’t quite compensate for the travel and rotation speed of his targets. Nevertheless a few strike both the panther-bot and the tortoise-bot.
We can’t have that now can we?
Jungle who is on top fires his chest guns at the raven. When the next roll occurs, putting Grapple on top, he fires off a couple rounds from his shotgun ports at the raven. This sequence of constant artillery hammering continues, till it commentates when the raven is knocked from the sky.
Score one for J and G.
Not taking the time to wonder where the modeless Pred got to, Jungle and Grapple train their attention back to one and other. They are back in the exact same position they were before this last fray started.
Jungle’s hand sword is jabbing into the ex-general’s throat and Grapple’s shotgun port is against the ex-slug’s spark casing.
“What makes you think I give a damn about the songbird? She’s not the best eye candy the rim has to offer…” The dark warrior states in a tone that would send children home crying to their mothers.
Never sacrifice control of a situation - another covenant MSP rule.
Grapple was a tad confused... before the last bout with the Pred tag team, Jungle had demanded to know where Rhapsody was... so that last statment was out of left field... oh of course, more mind games...
Filch cursed and activated his transporter buffer. He emerged with a crutch and set it up under his arm, standing up slowly and taking Rita with him. She slumped against him and he began hobbling after Catfish with the mink in tow.
For a few minutes there, his world had grown very, very dark and lonely. But, just now, his optics held something new:
Hope.
They'd been in worse situations than this. Rita was his best friend, and he'd help her come back. He followed Catfish slowly, but dutifully, whispering words of reassurement to the likely not-hearing Rita.
------------
Buckshot shoved the girder off and easily picked up Mimi. He slung her over his shoulder and looked around for someone to help her. He saw Querion walking by and grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him over.
"Whatever you were doing, forget about it for now." Buckshot said, worry on his face. "We gotta find some help."
"But... I..."
"Please, damnit!"
Drip. Drip. Drip.
"We need to find a slagging chamber, Querion!"
Drip. Drip. Drip.
"..."
"..."
"How is she?"
"I don't know. I don't fricking know. I... I think she's gonna die, man. We've got to hurry. We gotta..."
Drip. Drip. Drip.
"OK. Calm down. Stop waving your bat around like that. We'll get Mimi to a CR chamber, or a med-lab. But first we've gotta get out of this mess-"
"Yea, yea. Come on! This way!"
Drip. Drip. Drip.
[Outside]
Grapple hawked loudly and spat in the dark warrior’s face. The thick wad of mech-fluid splattered loudly and started to run. “Eye candy?” the tortoise repeated. His face twisted into a disapproving scowl. “ You’re going to do it because you’re a damn Maxi, that’s why. MSP or no MSP, you’re all the same. Big talk with nothing backing it up. Either I kill you, or your ‘friends’ do when they find out that the slug executed their only chance of getting her back. Dollars to pesos her life is a lot more important to them than yours,” Grapple swallowed painfully. “Back off, though, and we both get what we want,”
No response from Jungle.
No response from Grapple.
“Figured as much,” the Predacon replied. “Nice knowing you,” Grapple didn’t fire. Instead, his hands shot out toward Jungle’s blade arm, locking onto it even as the blade itself flashed toward his jugular. Jungle didn’t even think about the reaction. Years of Maximal Secret Police training did it for him. Grapple jerked his neck to the side at the last moment, pushing upward with all his strength. The blade’s tip veered off its course, striking right of center. The resulting wound was deep but not fatal. Fluid gushed. Grapple twisted the arm hard and used a portion of Jungle’s own momentum to spin him off to the side. The scarred Transformer threw himself the opposite direction, narrowly missing the other warrior’s return slash.
The burly Pred vaulted to his feet. Just out of range for his melee weapons, Jungle did the same. What greeted the ex-slug was a grisly sight. Blood coated nearly all of Grapple’s left side like a second skin. The tortoise depressed a small fluid covered badge on his left breast. It flashed dimly beneath the sickly film. Calling reinforcements, Jungle knew. Not a good thing.
The following series of events happened all at once. Right hand still pressed to his LC com, Grapple bent his left at the elbow and fired a pair of shots (the last in that arm, though Jungle couldn’t have known). There was no cover, so Jungle dove. He winced as few errant pellets raked across his near leg. The modeless Pred, having chosen a bad moment to reenter the fight, took the blast full in the chest. His external armor all but disintegrated as he too fell to the floor. Mech-fluid flew everywhere.
Jungle and the Predacon commando hit the floor at the same time. More shots rang out as Grapple laid cover fire for his escape. None of them were very well aimed, and therefore came nowhere close to Jungle or the modeless ‘bot. Clamping a thick hand over his painful neck wound, the blood soaked monster made for the exit at top speed.
**********
In another part of the complex, Penji surveyed his inverted prisoner / meal with an angry frown. Optics dark and jaw hanging slack, Howler was absolutely, positively, and unfortunately dead. Thick almond colored foam flecked the corners of his mouth. More of it had collected in a sticky glob just beneath his head. Transformer strength cyanide - worse for your appetite than a Ralph Bachaci film.
Waddling up, the penguin ‘bot prodded him with a cautious flipper. Something small and silver fell out of the Pred’s mouth, tinkling as it hit the concrete floor. It didn’t take a genius to see that it was a hollow metal tooth. Blast. It had been funnier when he only though the ‘bot was trying to swallow his own toung. As a fellow consumer of body parts it had been too interesting to question.
In retrospect, it was a good thing he’d eaten that other ‘bot. Otherwise he might have gone without dinner!
**********
Cold…
Solarflare could feel it as his internal circuitry froze. If it weren’t for his flame aura, he’d have been dead almost instantly. As it was the ice covered TMII polar bear was forced to keep him in a powerful headlock to stop him from fighting back and distracting his dwindling companions. Solarflare had done well so far…but he was losing ground quickly now. The bear was huge and immensely powerful. There just wasn’t anything he could do to break the lock. He’d attempted every disengage he ever learned, and failed miserably.
Switchblade…
Primus, he wished she could have been here. Not for the fight, obviously. He wouldn’t wish that on her. But even so, it would have been nice to see her…hear her voice one last time. Solarflare tried to recall the sound of the badger femme’s voice but found he was having difficulty concentrating. In an offhanded way he knew it was a combination of asphyxiation and freeze damage. In an offhanded way, he didn’t really care. He was as good as dead, and that was all that counted.
Switchblade…
Crimson Flames…
Fire…Brimstone……Phoenix
Black blotches clouded the edge of his vision. Thought fled from the constant cold, pressure, and pain. Solarflare’s body relaxed as he accepted the fact that he was going to die. And then it happened.
There was a blinding yellow flash and suddenly the pressure was gone. The TMII finch fell to earth like a cold brick, followed directly by the gargantuan polar bear. The two ended up face to face…or rather what probably should have been face to face. In place of a forehead the Predacon now sported a gaping hole. Carbon scoring around the edges of the blast point and the lack of bleeding would have pointed to a high intensity laser bolt, but Solarflare was already unconscious. Just before blackout he could have sworn that he saw a figure in the rafters, a figure with wings. He could have been seeing things. After all, his brain was starved for oxygen. Or perhaps not. He only noticed it in an offhand manner.
Angels on our shoulders…of the dark variety.
**********
Scarab’s next move was a package deal. The first saber came in a straight arc toward Gaul’s head, intended to cleave him down the middle. The modeless Maximal swung his hammer up, catching where the handle and blunted head met at ninety degreese. Just a fraction of a second behind the first blow came the second, a sweeping side cut designed to halve him on the other axis. Using gravity to help move the blade, Gaul let the ax blade drop. It swung in a half circle of its own, parrying the new threat blade to blade. When Scarab followed the attempt with a short cut on the first blade Gaul leaped backward, conveniently out of distance.
The best way to parry any sword or edged object is, of course, not to be there. A good rule to follow, and in this case, utterly necessary. The sabers flashed out again, this time in a scissors like cut, one blade from each side. Gaul blocked one, ducked the other, and again retreated. Without a second weapon of his own, he was at a distinct disadvantage. The gray ‘bot drew his combat knife quickly and brandished it in his left hand (the right wielded the war hammer - ax). With its mid sized cross guard and mangosh (circle of metal set to one side of a dagger blade at a 90 deg angle to the flat of the blade, and extending over the knuckle set closest to the wrist. Can be used in limited capacity to block a sword / dagger blow) perhaps he stood a better chance. This insect Pred was good, and if a bit cryptic, didn’t mess around when it came to fighting. His form was flawless, and powerful to boot.
Another overhead blow. Gaul crossed the ax haft and dagger, catching the other blade at their meeting point. He threw the other ‘bot’s sword arm off to the side with his dagger blade and swept aside a second angled blow with the ax. This time he didn’t retreat.
Gaul attacked.
Penji scowled. He hated it when food didn't play fair. Taking his time now to savor, he finished the non-poisoned leg, cut down Howler, and then waddled out back to the battle, with his free ion cannon.
Buckshot and Querion ran quickly towards the exit until Buckshot noticed a yellow and black form laying on the ground unconsious. "Flare.." He said almost silent. For a split second he was thinking wether to leave the bastard to be cut down by a random predacon. He sighed and pointed at the Finch yelling to Querion. "GO get him!" Buckshot yelled over the continuly explosive combat. Querion quickly hopped over and put a hand on Solarflare to check is status.
"He's ice cold..." Querion said not comprehending.
"Flare's ice cold? SOmthing is wrong... Is he alive?"
"Yeah barely."
"Alright pick him up lets go!" Buckshot said as Querion hoisted the TM2 and the two headed out the back exit and towards the barracks. On the way the thought of what happened the last time these two were in the CR together keep repeating through buckshots mind.
======================
Around the great hall the overall numbers of Jonas's combined army still clashed with Predacon heavy assault troops, the light corps and military seeming to began to win the battle. The huge ion cannons were begining to run out of ammo and the predacons were force to fight hand to hand.
Two on the stage were fighting notably violent as sparks flew from the metal on metal contact of there weapons. Gaul spun around dropping to the ground at the same time. His left leg extended and relieved Scarab of his vertical base. The commander well backwards but again rolled out and was back to his feet. Not fast enough this time however as Gaul planned on the move and was already there. His dagger came down firststopped hallway by the back edge of one of the sabbers. Gaul tiwsted his body and wrist and swung himself to the outside of Scarab strikeing the Predacon in the ribs with his hammer. Scarab fell backwards a moment and regained his footing as Gaul was on him again.
The large but moved at an unbeliveable pace for his size, charging and dropping to the ground at the same time. He angled his dagger upwards and jumped from a crotched postion slicing Scaravs leg open with his dagger. The handle of his war hammer stopped a dobule slice from the sabres and again he swung his body around behind Scarab stabbing him through the shoulder with his dagger. The commander was more angry then dmaged however and brough both sbares around from different directions. Gaul bloked one with his Ax but the other connected to his thigh but was half stopped by the dagger.
Both held each others weapons in a arm bar as Scarb attmped a head butt. Gaul moved his head to the side and returned with one of his own when Scarab missed. The modless bot then leaned backwards keeping his feet planeted as long as possible. He groaned in strain as he lifted Scarab up and suplexed him backwards, an amzing feet of strength Any maximal from the side would now look at Gaul in a neww light. He fought like a possed beast, seeming to have already fought the battke and knew everystep but yet still foguth with the same intensity. The Maximal Commander stood and flipped his hammer around to the Ax side. Time to finish him. "All Maximals retreat back to the barraks, lighting corps will handle it from here." Gaul said holding his ax high in the air.
======================
Croak was still running, his chest burning... what a coward he had become, running scared from that damned wolf. He swore as he stopped running, spitting at the ground. he took a corner and saw a form standing on top of a building down the alleyway in which he was headed.
"What the pit is that." He said quietly. It was huge, as big as grapple with wings.. it looked like an angel, and angel of death. He made a move to turn aroudn hoping it didn't see him.
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