Ghosts of Battles Past: Part 2
Previous villans sneak up on the now worn out maximals, attempting to strike an ultimate revenge.
PART TWO
Buckshot headed out into the corridor, cursing under his breath, to see Querion and Trance waiting for him. He was seriously annoyed- all he'd wanted to do was get a beer, call his mom, and have a long nap. But NOOOO...this made like three femmebots that had been injured or killed. It right pissed him off.
"A'ight, we're running a perimeter sweep." he said to Trance and Querion. "And promise me that if we find anyone, I get the first shot. I got a kick in the balls with some Predacon's name written all over it. Let's move."
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Weede lay on the floor for a moment, snoozing, before he finally figured out that he'd fallen out of bed. He snorted, sat up, and looked at Rubmur with bleary optics.
"Uhhh...serious munchies, dude. We got any food?" he drawled lazily.
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Filch heard on his comm that there was some kind of trouble with Rhapsody. He didn't care. Nothing mattered. Nothing at all. He walked down the hall, head bowed, the hoverboard floating next to him. He was leaving this damned place forever. He couldn't bear to stay around with all these people who'd known Rita, be reminded of her loss every single moment of every single day...
"No more." he whispered with uncharacteristic gloom and shortness. "I'm hanging it up. I'm done. No more. It's not fun anymore. Never will be again."
The hoverboard beeped and swivelled to face him.
"Sure, you can come." Filch said with an uncaring shrug. "I'm not going to be going anywhere special. Just...leaving. Gone. Out of here. Die in obscurity in some nowhere place years from now."
He tried to keep walking, but the hoverboard gave him a sharp swat on the leg with its back end. Filch turned to face it, frowning, and it looked accusingly up at him.
"What?!" Filch asked, annoyed. "What would I stay here for?! I've no friends left! I've no combat use! I'm a damn SALESMAN, not a soldier! They don't need me and I don't need this!"
The board hovered up to his face and swished from side to side, before pointing upwards. Filch glanced at the ceiling and heard a long nose-blowing from the roof. Unnecessarily, almost comically loud. The same place where he'd heard that deafening crying from earlier. Catfish.
"...She probably hates me." he said quietly.
The board poked him in a way that reminded him so much of Rita it made his spark ache. He blinked, and put a hand on it.
"You've got a good point. Maybe I will stay. For her. She needs a friend now, more than ever."
Filch turned tail, and began heading to the roof.
Penji was up out of bed and singing a happy tune. There were no words, just avian vocalizations, which, considering he was a penguin, were not nearly as good as one would expect from a bird's song. Nevertheless, it was a boucy, happy tune, sort of like what Super Mario Bros. plays when you get a star. He'd slept fairly late, after an all in all good night featuring a meal, wanton destruction, and a free ion cannon, which he considered a worthy replacement for the nuclear hand grenade he had lost a few months back. By lost, I of course mean used to destroy a squadron of Predacon warships that was on his tail. Anyway, he passed by the recovery room, and noticed something was going on there, so he walked in. Rita was encased in a CR chamber, but clearly was far beyond recovery..that kinda sucked.. and in the far corner he saw that Rhapsody was back.. but pretty bang up. By now it seemed all the concious Maximals in the room were staring at him.
Probably a good time to stop singing.
[The Charr Space Station – Cloaked In High Orbit around Andronicus]
“A mission! Wow!” Calamari blurted. “I like, totally thought you didn’t trust me after what happened last ti…” The menacing Predacon Seaclamp cut her off abruptly with a wave of his vice-grip hand.
“Not at all, my dear. Not at all. I was, of course, upset…but as you know, nothing could ever make me lose faith in you permanently. You are, after all, my only niece. That makes you irreplaceable in many respects.” Calamari positively beamed at the carefully layered ‘compliment’. The Tripred’s delivery was utterly convincing. To an impartial observer it would have seemed that the shadowy Predacon had suddenly, inexplicably, grown a heart. Seaclamp smiled and regarded his niece with calculated warmth.
“Awesome. Can I like, bring Porter and some of my other friends ‘cause I know they’d all probably really think it was cool and stuff that we were going on a real, like, actual mission for the Council and helping the entire, like, faction to…” Again Seaclamp quieted her with an impatient wave of his vice clamp. A strained smile played across his metallic lips.
“I must apologize, Calamari, but I am afraid this is intended for you and you alone. You see, this is a very personal matter that involves your well being…” Seaclamp paused with his mouth partially open, as if trying to decide what to day next. “Calamari…Cal, you…like boys, correct?”
Calamari’s optics skipped the middle steps and warped straight to ‘widened in outrage’. Her hands went stubbornly to her hips in a gesture so universally female that it hurt Ramhorn to watch. He grabbed a crystal decanter from the mini-bar and pretended to mix himself a drink.
“Like, Uncle SeeeeeeeeeaClaaaaaaaamp, what kind of a question is that!!? I am so totally a grown up now, and not, like, a little girl who plays with…um, nevermind, but who…ummm why?” Her head jerked coyly to the side. “Did you, like, hear something?” She twirled a finger absently in one hair tentacle.
Now Seaclamp smiled for real. It was a chilling sight. Perhaps Calamari could have noticed that something was wrong right then. Emphasis on ‘could have’, however. At the moment she was too busy recalling a list of every cute Predacon politician she’d ever seen. It was not a long list (Predacon statesmen tend to be rather menacing as a rule), but the ones on it were certainly worth remembering. She almost giggled.
“As a matter of fact, I have,” Seaclamp continued. “Though it concerns a Maximal, and I’m not sure how you would feel about that. I myself would discount the rumors as a Maximal attempt to subvert my power, if I were not so concerned how a reprisal might hurt your chances with this individual. Family before politics, correct?”
“Uncle Clampy, you’re the best!! Who is it? Who?”
“Well, I’m not sure if you are concerned with the Junior Elder Nova. He…” Calamari exploded.
“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, are you kidding!?!? He’s, like, the cutest one on the entire High Concil!! Not crusty like that Garrak, or a bully like Tachyous Prime…he’s…” Cal’s words trailed off as her thoughts outstripped the ability of her voice to follow. “And he likes me?” she asked when she returned. “You’re sure, right, cause I’d look dumb if I walked up and was all, like, hey, what’s up, I’m Calamari, do you want to go out, and he’s like, no, who are you, and you’re fat,”
There was a loud gulping sound in the corner of the room as Ramhorn finished his first drink, and a clatter of crystal as he quickly poured himself another.
“From what I understand,” Seaclamp began, “He has heard marvelous stories about the niece of a Tripredacus Councilman, and has over the course of the last few months, grown completely in love with this girl he has never met, and whose name he still does not know,” Seaclamp paused to work up the courage to deliver his next line. “Very…romantic…I think anyway. There is a bi-functional ball to be held in a few days. If you’d like, I have a ship standing by, the Obsidian Bolt, one of our fastest, to take you to Cybertron for the event. You could introduce yourself there and, who knows, make a connection…”
Calamari almost burst into another marathon run-on, but instead caught herself and drew up into a very lady like stance. “Well, I don’t know,” she said, “But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to attend. If you don’t mind, that is,”
“Oh, I encourage it, by all means. A young eligible lady such as yourself should not…oooff!!!” Seaclamp caught Calamari as she jumped at him again, catching her more as a reflex than out of consideration. She hugged him hard enough to realign his metal spine.
“You’re the best uncle ever!!!” Calamari exclaimed. At length she disengaged and hurried out of the room in search of he Obsidian Bolt. Seaclamp rubbed his back, wincing. After a moment he returned to his place at the bar.
“By the all the fires in the Pitt!” Ramhorn gurgled, setting the decanter down with a clank (he had abandoned the formality of a glass and went straight for the stuff). “I’d almost forgotten…the way she was…is…” Seeing that the container was empty, he uncorked and upended another. “You truly believe that this will work?” He turned to Seaclamp, whose face was now its cold unsympathetic self again. Red optics burned without pity or remorse.
He didn’t respond.
In fact, he didn’t speak at all.
"I can't promise nothing." Trance told Buckshot as they began their sweep. "Whatever happens happens. I'm not risking mine or Querion's or even yours because you want revenge. We find someone hostile, we incapacitate them quickly and painfully. It always works the best that way."
Trance, Querion and Buckshot searched the entire complex top to bottom. The only thing they could find was a blood trail from Rhapsody but no sents of Grapple or anyone else for that matter anywhere. The entire search party seathed with anger as more seaching turned up fruitless. Eventually further searching was counteracted but a comm transmission from Gaul.
"Return to med lab at once, things just got worse." He said in a tone completly deviod of emotion. The trio looked at each other and hastily returned to the med lab. Gaul was standing next to Rhapsody's CR chamber most all the maximal had gathered into the med labs for what looked like some kind of briefing just getting started.
"THis is bullshit!" Solarflare stated throwing somthing at the wall.
"What now?" Buckshot said his shoulders slumping.
"I just recieved word from Jonas that he was so impressed with our performance last night that we are being put on a special assingment to retrieve an item for him. We leave in 4 hours."
"What!?" Querion blurted out in amazment.
"We have to find and secure whoever did this to Rapsody first!" Trance said in protest.
"If we don't go on this assignment our cover will be blown and we will most certinaly be thrown off the planet. It is clear the predacons want us dead and, i don't know how highly the maximal goverment thinks of us right now either."
"Another set up." Burnout said swearing, he still seemed as he was waiting for a flood of emotions to slam into him.
"I will understand if some of you would not like to go, but i need most of you to come along as not to arowse suspsicon. Who is in?" Gaul said looking around the room."
Caska looked around. One, she was absolutely certain this 'mission' was a set up, something they'd be lucky to get out of alive. Two, though this team seemed to be very competant and resourceful, half of its members were emotional wrecks at the moment. It was best if those with clear heads went. She raised her hand.
across the room cam another voice. "Ooh! Penji go! Bullshit missions fun!"
Dusty looked around the room, noting the charged up emotions. It'd probably be a good idea to get clear of all that at the moment, even if the mission shouted out "trap!" from every angle. She nodded slightly at Gaul and said quietly, "I'm in."
“I think I’m gonna stay here.” Catfish said. She was sitting on top of a terminal and absentmindedly drumming her feet against it every now and then.
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The hoverboard circled roof again, but it was still empty. Catfish had gone down with Jungle, just missing Filch as he made his way up. It turned and headed back to the giraffe.
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The rope had left the medbay for more fermented climes. It was currently hanging about Relic’s kitchen curled up inside a bottle of vodka. It morosely, and literally, watched the world through the bottom of a bottle as it absorbed alcohol through its fibers.
A loud smirk leaves Jungle’s throat, getting Gaul’s attention and that of a few others. After all, considering this solemn scene, a smirk wasn’t appropriate. The dark warrior had found his way into a corner and was cleaning the tips of his fingers with a hand sword. Not exactly an approved use for a combat weapon, but whatever. His black frame and eyes meshed well with the shadows. If it wasn’t for those before mentioned motions, one could probably walk right by him.
“All this sitting around is making me soft. I’m in, chief.” All this sitting around? It had only been a few mega cycles since Jungle was engaged in a deadly combat sequence with Grapple and a couple mystery Preds… something isn’t right with him…
“Though, I’d hate to think this was all some rouse to get us away from our little HQ. On that note chief, I’d suggest a few of whoever ain’t going, go back and baby sit the Penance. If the song bird is stable, she might be safer there as well.” Wait a nano, the ex-slug has yet to mention to anyone about all that money he took from Grapple’s humble establishment… I’m sure he’s got a reason though…
Jungle's eyes shift to Catfish, briefly. She deffinately needed a friend right now...
[Elsewhere]
Take the simple act of running for example. On the outside it can seem so simple. One foot flashes out, plants itself, then the other, and again and again. The runner moves forward or backward at will, the desire to move and the physical act of it one and the same. We take it for granted, but running is a more of a dance than anything else, and an extremely complicated one at that. Consider the musculo-skeletal system in a Human, or the superstructure on your average Cybertronian. Muscle fibers and cables expand and contract, pulling and pushing against leveraging bone and metal. Walking for a biped is essentially a controlled fall, interrupted at regular intervals by that bone / muscle setup and started again. Imagine the laws of physics that govern the minutia of that fall; the laws of chance and nature, the endless stream of variables, shaping the environment in which the fall takes place. Electrons and electrochemical signals run their own race throughout the body, giving commands, relaying data, and moving the strings of their self-determined marionette. Running is hard, despite how well we pull it off. Yet, there is something about it, about the physical act of moving…running…that is as exhilarating as it is strenuous. The pleasure, the pain, the fatigue of it; the pounding of your heart, and feel of pavement as it passes beneath your feet – every moment a screaming declaration of life and vitality at an animal level.
Exciting
Proactive
Switchblade ran information, and there were days when she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Retro rockets screamed and burst into fiery existence beneath the cargo freighter Adeptsilon, furiously scrubbing speed as it plummeted to the planets surface. The ship’s hull groaned as it hit heavy atmosphere. Inside, Switchblade could hear the tick-tock creak of expanding metal as friction turned drab metal an angry cherry red. The Adeptsilon shook, banked, and shook again, still falling. In an ideal world, a ‘proper’ reentry doesn’t happen quite as fast or at quite the angle the Adeptsilon was taking it. Her captain was a practiced smuggler, though, and certain things just had to be done to slip in with as little exposure as possible. Switchblade was fine with that. It also grounded her faster, and she was fine about that too. It was hard to get fast commercial transport as far away as Andronicus – even Garrak couldn’t have placed her on-planet less than five days after the Pennance through legitimate channels. So the badger ‘bot had compromised a little, cutting corners, and paying the right amounts at the right time to the right individuals. It was what she did for a living. This was her type of run, after all, and for all its added complexity, she ran it well.
Turning from the small dirty porthole, Switchblade pulled out a small hand held data pad and keyed it on. She thumbed through a few different sub-menus, eventually halting on a standard send / receive message screen. The data pad had limited broadcast range, but a fairly advanced set up for receiving and decoding incoming transmissions. She located an unused sensor hook up just aft of the bridge and jacked in. The courier tapped ‘receive’ and the pad hooked itself into the ships main antenna. Smuggler rigs were good, and Adeptsilon, her captain had bragged, was able to pick up a coded signal even in the process of reentry. Switchblade’s pad searched…searched…and then bleeped as it located one repeat transmission on her selected frequency. The message downloaded, and read simply:
//Traul, SW cit sec, Conformist ‘camp’, converted barracks, 116/Longrehn ave, 2 st. Watch yourself. –G//
Switchblade memorized the data and hit ‘delete’. She hadn’t asked for the location of the Resistance ‘bots. She hadn’t even hinted where she was going. –G, her angel of sorts, just knew. Over the past two years they'd developed a sort of silent arrangement. This G whatever provided her the information she needed to do her job, and in return, she survived the assignment. Switchblade didn’t know why her shadow had such an interest in keeping her alive, but that was surely his intent. How many times had she missed that stray bullet after being warned off by the falling of a tin can? How many times had she breezed through an alley where there should have been guards, but weren’t, with fresh blotches of mech-fluid her only proof that someone had been there at all? She didn’t know, and a part of her no longer cared. He (she thought of it as a he) was there with what she needed, when she needed it, and that was good enough for the moment.
The female badger ‘bot jacked out stowed the data pad, watching out the porthole as the ship screamed through the last leg of its descent. She moved back to her seat (shouldn’t have been up in the first place) and strapped in moments before the larger landing jets kicked. The jolt was so rough it seemed that her teeth would shake out of their metal sockets. Was it uncomfortable, annoying? Yes. Of course. But it was the price one paid for a relatively safe landing not twenty-four megacycles after the Maximal strike force. Not bad considering what she had had to work with. Not bad at all. Just another step in the dance.
They’d hit dirt in less than ten minutes, and then she’d be off. Running. Living. Doing what she did best again, and taking care of old business. Switchblade swallowed as her ears began to pop. With any luck she’d be to the barracks in half an hour.
What would happen then, she could only imagine.
Relic listened intently, his own farewells to the departed Minx done privately. They had never really known each other that well… and rarely talked unless it concerned the assassin being saddled with another baby-sitting job, but they had been through a lot together and she would be missed.
“I’ll go” Relic murmured, raising a clawed hand, his quiet voice somehow projecting to the front of the barracks.
Trance thought the situation over a little bit, especially after hearing Jungle's words of advice. "I'll stay behind." he spoke up. "I'll keep an eye on the Penance too."
"I'll go," said Querion. He felt Timber place an anxious hand on his. He returned the favour.
"I'm worried, Querion. Right now... it's not..."
"I know. Don't worry. I know what I'm doing," the wolf-bot smiled, kissing Timber softly on the forehead.
"In that case, I'm coming along too," said Timber.
"Fine by me."
"I-I gotta stay." Solarflare said unsure of himself. "At least one of the active commanders needs to stay right?" he said giving a weak smile. Gaul smiply nodded noticing that Solarflare still didn't seem himself. His normal light heat wasn't even there.
"Is that it?" Gaul said looking around.
"I'm going." Mimi said. "I feel much better."
"Alright, anyone that is going pack up your gear and report to the barraks in.. 3 megacycles. The rest you will head back to the penance and keep it secure. Solarflare you will stay hear until Rhapsody awakes, Trance keep him company while your not patroling the penance. YOu also have temporary command of the ship Trance. Keep it locked down tight. Let's move." With that Gaul motioned for Jungle to follow him and the two exited.
"You still want to stay with me?" Filch asked the board curiously. It nudged affirmatively against him. "Fair enough- what goes around, comes around."
His voice caught a little at that. He sniffled, and turned down the corridor as the board floated next to him. As he walked, he saw Caska leaning against a wall with her arms folded.
"I don't believe we've met." Filch said with a weak smile, glancing at her. "What's your name?"
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Buckshot glanced at Jungle and spoke up:
"I'm goin'." he said simply. "All there is to it."
Weede and Rubmur had stumbled into the big meeting room on accident. They were searching for the cafeteria, but had had no luck so far. That was when they heard the news.
Rubmur had only spoken to Rita once. It was when they were introduced to each other. And she was one femmebot who wasn’t that all appalled by his music loving, dance craving personality. And that, in Rubmur’s mind, was a good thing. He didn’t know her, but he mourned for the team’s loss. He also knew, from having spent time with him, Weede felt the same.
And so, while there was the situation of Rhapsody, Rubmur and Weede decided to go on Jonas’ quest for the item.
"Caska," Caska said, barely giving Filch an unconcerned glance.
Jungle complied with Gaul’s request. As the team’s second, it was Jungle’s responsibility above all to show support for the commander. The dark warrior was realizing that real fast as things continued to deteriorate. Rhapsody’s capture, Rita’s death… those events should have been avoided… and above all, when Jungle had the chance to liberate the song bird, he choked. He choked. Inexcusable.
And Rita, Rita… where was JJ when she was in danger – off settling a vendetta. Maybe if the panther hadn’t been so preoccupied with Grapple, which ultimately lead to no where, maybe he could of saved her. He was a warrior damn it, he’d trained his whole life for combat - most of it wasn’t by choice - but nonetheless he processed great skill - he was an above average combat… not greatly above average, but above average nonetheless and yet he had failed…
He had let the team break down into a mob. He cursed at himself. Generally one should never second guess their actions once done, for what is once done, can never be undone. Still, at times that can’t be helped.
And yet despite his mistakes, as both a combatant and a commander, he had come out of all this unharmed. It was Catfish, Flinch and Wraith who’d bare the burden in his stead. By Primus did he need a drink…
Exiting the room, flanking Gaul, Jungle rubs Catfish’s head. Once in the hallway, Jungle ups to speak to Gaul. “What’s up chief?”
"We are losing them Jungle." Gaul said flatly. Jungle was taken aback a moment. "If we don't do somthing soon these team will be nothing more then a pack of vigilantes. The only thing stringing them together now is vengence and the fact that all they have is each other. It's no ones fault but we must act quickly to get the team back together."
Jungle said nothing for a moment and then nodded.
"This mission coming up feels like a bad set up but I don't think it is, i think it is more of a test from Jonas. Whatever it is i am sure it will be dangerous so i am asking you, and i will do the same, to keep aggresion to a minimum and if conflict nessecary that we be the ones to engage in it. If another one of them is hurt or injured we will lose all faith left in them." Gaul paused for a moment. "Comments, questions, COncerns?" he asked his second.
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