| abstract
| - Summary: A group of misguided Nebulans attempt to reanimate the Decepticons to combat the growing Transformer threat on Nebulos. The Highly Intelligent Vehicle Exterminators are an ultra-secret black division of the Ministry of Science, dedicated to preventing another robot disaster from ever befalling Nebulos again. All kinds of unethical research are conducted here. There are vast hangers and garages full of strange machinery, and dissection laboratories abound. Mysterious dark green tubes, which seem to have something growing inside, bubble malevolently. The place is cold, dim, and clammy overall, a dreadful place to work. There is a nice cafeteria, though. Contents: Aimless Blowpipe Krunk Zarak Obvious exits: Up leads to Ministry of Science - Nebulos. Mr. Grax has arrived. A lot can change in a day. Nebulos is once more living in fear of gigantic robots from space, and no-one knows that more than Zarak. He doesn't like what has happened, and he doesn't like what has has heard from Arcana. And so deep in the bowels of the Ministry of Science, in the secret basement he sits. And waits for the great and good of Nebulos, each of whom will have found a personal invitation and helpful guard to bring them to the secret location. But why. For what? Vorath is a drawn and gaunt man with what would be an unhealthy pallor on a human but might just mean that his grandmother was green, here. He wears a dark outfit, as if in mourning, perhaps in mourning for his world, and he paces the H.I.V.E. complex, hands folded behind his back. Any scientists and technicians that he passes try to look busy. Soon, his invitees will arrive, and they can begin. Standing beside the frail form of Zarak is his mighty right-hand, his forbidding gaze surverying the room as he waits for his master's guests to arrive. This man is Krunk, former thug and now full-time bodyguard to Zarak's family. His heavy brows and thick jaw bely his animal-like cunning, but his big frame and thick muscles tell the truth: Don't mess with Krunk. Blowpipe is sitting by Lord Zarak with a treacherous gleam in his eye. As Zarak's brother-in-law, he was contractually obligated to be Evil, Scheming, and Conniv...well. Okay. No, he wasn't contractually obligated, but he -did- enjoy the power-games, no matter how often he pulled a Star...a Blowpipe. He rubs his hands about a bit, watching Krunk and Zarak as he decides this probably isn't a good time to stab anybody in the back. "Sooo," he offers, "What did I miss while I was at my massage?" "So, is there going to be food or....or what?" Aimless asks as he's escorted by a none too friendly guard. "I mean, if I had to cancel my gig at the Ring of Fire for nothing I'm going to be pretty pissed," the Tom Cruise look-alike continues. He's wearing the typical garb you'd expect from a hipster wannabe: tight pants, a shirt with something 'oh so witty' on it, and a jacket that looks like it was pulled out of a Goodwill dumpster. In his right hand he's grasping the handle of a large guitar case. "Soo...." Mr. Grax isn't among the good, but he is among the great. Undeservedly, of course. He strides in officiously and shoots his cuffs, hair gleaming and tan perfect. He doesn't have even a single spot of blood on his pristine shirt collar. "I'm here, you can begin." Spasma has arrived. Spasma is off in a corner, pretending to be fascinated with a potted plant. Zarak nods slowly as the room slowly fills, and then he sees Aimless, and squints again at the invitation list. "Huh..." he mutters to himself. And then his eyes gleam with a new-found steel as he glances towards Vorath. "My fellow councilors, dignitaries and uh..." he stares at Aimless for a moment, faltering. "By now you will be aware of the return to this world of the mechanical monsters that once ravaged out planet. You may have heard of the schism that struck the Council of Peers in half when rogue elements tried to halt the meting of justice." He pauses dramatically. "But you will not have heard of the TRAITOROUS actions even now being undertaken by the scientist Arcana, and Galen's accursed World Watchers." He nods to Vorath. "Vorath, the floor is yours." Vorath bows in a perfunctory fashion to Lord Zarak, and he folds his bony hands together before gesturing to one of the spacious hangers, leading them that way. "Come this way, please, gentlemen. You see, I recently had a most... enlightening discussion with my colleague, Arcana." His eyes narrow. "He believes that the so-called 'Automobile Robots' can be revived by a rather radical procedure, which simply will not do at all, but we can fight fire with, hrm, fire. You see, many of our brave soldiers died to bring this monstrosity to you..." Zarak simply stares at Aimless, and a shaky hand puts a big /cross/ next to his name on some sort of list he has in front of him.... Krunk keeps a watchful gaze from under his heavy brow, just in case any of the invited guests make any sudden movements towards his boss. Most of the visitors are of Zarak's trusted inner circle, hence thier presence here... but Aimless and Spasma could pose a security threat. "Very well, Vorath, lead the way. This had better be good." Blowpipe peeks over Zarak's shoulder at the list, listening to Vorath. He was trying to determine how he could get something out of this. "I'm through taking orders from you and your smary attitude, Zarak," Spasma mutters from the corner, not loud enough for others to hear. "That's what I *should* have said yesterday..." "I hope this doesn't take too long, I have a mani-pedi appointment at four," remarks Mr. Grax to no one in particular as he follows Vorath. Aimless just snerks, showing his weird, generally 'off' teeth. "Yeah, yeah, okay. I /guess/ I'll follow you. You know, just so I can write a song about how lame this whole thing was. Heh." Worse comes to the worse, he can just plug in the mini amp he has in his case and rock everyone's faces off. Inside the hanger, there is a massive robot scorpion sprawled out on a dais in the centre, white-coated Nebulans fussing over it, recording every detail. On massive crane-hooks on the walls, other robots, beasts, and jets are hung. Armed guards patrol the area, staring the ruined robots down with clear disdain and harted. Vorath flourishes a hand out, gesturing to the panorama. "Behold. The future of warfare on Nebulos. These machines... with /us/ at the helm. Stopping any threats posed to our fair world." He also has no idea how Aimless got in here and will need to smack some people over this oversight later. Blowpipe makes the proper 'oohs' and 'aahs', examining the machines. "Fascinating, brother...take control of these...things...and fight down the peace-lovers?" And, perhaps, you yourself, 'brother'... Aimless lifts his sunglasses up and whistles. "Hoo boy, look at all that stuff. What are those? Are those robots? Where did you get them? Can we ride in them? Do we get to keep one? I want the scorpion." He obviously wasn't listening to a thing. Slowly and painfully, Zarak gets to his feet, leaning perhaps more heavily on his walking stick than he had done in the past. "Galen may be weak but he is politically strong and he has the support of most of the army. Conventional methods will not curb his madness." He halts underneath the body of Scorponok. "This one made landfall over the Plains of Thok a day ago. The battle to subdue it cost many lives and lasted well into the night, despite the heavy damage it had already taken. Imagine that Blowpipe..." he mutters, and then pauses. "And imagine something of such power in the hands of one as Galen! Already he and Arcana are plotting to resurrect the 'Automated Robots' that fell in the second shuttle. Vorath has been privvy to their plans - they will bring the war BACK to Nebulos. It is our duty to drive them OFF /our/ world, and for that, we will need POWER" "Soooo...can I have the scorpion?" Aimless asks again. Spasma looks up from the potted plant (however interesting it may have been) to the giant scorpion. "Oh my..." he whispers, clearly in awe. There's other robots too. They all look... powerful. "W-...what are you saying, Zarak?" he protests, speaking up for the first time in a while. Krunk shoots a piercing look at Spasma, and grits his teeth. "you will give Zarak the RESPECT he deserves, Spasma, or you might find yourself missing a few of your TEETH." He SNAPS, before looking over the menangerie of giant robots and machines. "Power?" He asks, beady eyes lighting up. "Just -what- are we going to do with them?" Spasma stammers, taken aback at Krunk's threats. "I-i-i meant no disrespect, of course..." "Indeed Krunk, indeed." Zarak looks across at the robotic beasts behind them. "A procedure has been developed by Arcana to restore these creatures using the bodies of Nebulons. A byproduct of one of Thunderwing's experimentations. The two will become one, restoring life to shattered 'laser cores', or so I am told. But at this very moment our world hangs in the balance. At this very moment Arcana and Galen have turned half the council, and are preparing to call down reenforcements from space and..." He twitches again, remembering how Astrotrain smacked him aside with one blow of his hand. "And Nebulos will not again be humbled. *I* will not be humbled! We will unite with these machines, and we will drive this war off Nebulos for good." Steely eyes matching his steely hair flash about the room. "What say you?" Grax's cold blue eyes fix intently on the giant robot scorpion, then flick to the other mechanical beasts, settling finally on an alligator. "Monsters, yes. One can only imagine the horrific damage something like this could inflict on a fragile living body. Rending, tearing, grinding. One shudders to think. Obviously this power should only be left to those who have proven themselves responsible." Aimless rubs his chin, deep in thought. "Hmmm....hnnnn...hrrrrrrnnnn...." He drops his guitar case and claps his hands together. "This is a totally awesome idea, Zarak-man! Man...could you imagine how popular my solo gig would be with one of these.." Yessss, yess! With this power, maybe he could carve out a name for himself, instead of just being 'Lord Zarak's brother-in-law!' Maybe...maybe even...-Chairman-... Fantasies in his mind, Blowpipe rubs his hands together, eyeing one of the jets. "Unite with these machines, control them...I agree with the shifty drifter! This is an excellent idea, Brother." Vorath steeples his fingers under his chin, and he explains, confirming more or less what Zarak just said, "These machines appear to be primarily animated by a form of laser storage, a 'laser core', if you will. In addition, they would appear to have secondary battle and targeting computers. Some of them have ruined battle computers, from the injuries sustained; others have ruined targeting systems. It was Arcana's conjecture that a Nebulan mind could fill in for the destroyed battle or targeting computer and thereby restore the machine to operational status. Based off my notes from my... tenure under Thunderwing, I believe this plan to be feasible." "I don't know..." Spasma demurs, shying away and returning to the safety of his potted plant. "Maybe we could just... file for a legal injunction against Galen? He respects the rule of law, I think..." Of course, Krunk must support Zarak's plan, but not for his master's reasons of safeguarding Nebulos, oh no. Krunk has always been here to look after himself, at any cost. An easy decision. "You know I'm behind you, Lord Zarak. for the good of Nebulos, we must make the sacrafice." He says, a smile breaking his stony visage. "For the people." "I volunteer," says Mr. Grax immediately. "I have no doubt at all that I can bend this machine to my will." Ah, control. "The issue of control is a... difficult one." Zarak nods at Blowpipe. "I am informed that the mind of these creatures is vast, and can easily swamp a Nebulan. And so you have been chosen by the finest psychoanalysts at my disposal as those most likely to be able to fight the influences of these machines. He nods at Grax. "Very well Mr Grax. Knowing what you now know, and the balance in which the fate of Nebulos lies, is there any of you who wish to continue no further. Speak up, and Krunk and his guards will happily... see you out" Vorath rolls his eyes at Spasma's suggestion, and he reminds sharply, "Our military was decimated just capturing these specimens. Imagine how many fathers and mothers, sons and daughters, brothers and sisters we paid to obtain these few. One remains, and worst of all, it could summon more of its pestilent kind should it escape our Spiral Zone interdiction field." He calls to a pair of technicians. "Fifi! Sophia! Prepare Mr. Grax for the process. It is not... pleasant, I will caution, but these are dark times." Blowpipe...very much doubts that. Aimless was the finest mind they had? They were -screwed-. "W-w-well maybe we could call for help from the Assembly of Worlds?" Spasma suggests, phrasing it as if it were a question. He looks nervously up at those robots. Even deactivated, they look threatening. That one robot's fists look like they're in line to crush him. Spasma bites his lower lip. Vorath could explain that the structure of Aimless's brain means that the indie rocker is, in fact, almost entirely immune to mind control, but that would also mean explaining that there is no mind in Aimless to control. "Pain is only temporary," says Mr. Grax as he adjusts his tie and strides off with the technicians. Aimless sticks a finger in his ear and wiggles it. "I'm sorry, what?" Zarak's hand weakly pats Aimless on the shoulder. "Indeed. Such bravery, you face the pain and torment of an uncertain future with the innocence of youth. How I envy you." He then turns to Vorath. "You may begin, Vorath. By invoking the Assembly of Worlds, I believe Mr Spasma has volunteered to be first. He can have..." he looks at his list. "The /ape/" And then he looks to take in his surroundings. "We stand on the cusp of a new age gentlemen, for the sake of our world and our people. In the history of the universe, this moment is UNIQUE. Savour it." Krunk says, "This is no time to go sniveling to that overblown council, Spasma!" Krunk retorts. "We have no time to waste with petitioning the assemby of worlds. We must, as Nebulons, stand up to protect our OWN kind. Get up and volunteer, worm. You were summoned here, so you /will/ bow down and submit to the procedure." He looks over the selection of massive, deadly machines. The large jet, while filthy, should suffice. Big, fast, and armed. "That one... Is mine."" Fifi and Sophia are easy on the eyes, with pleasant if overly white smiles. What follows, however, is anything but easy on the eyes as Mr. Grax's joints are all surgically replaced. Vorath paces about as the procedure is conducted, occasionally consulting some monitors, and he reports, "It would appear, Mr. Grax, that your brainwaves are most compatible with the oversized aquatic reptile. Prepare yourself. You will be a pioneer!" "W-what?!" Spasma exclaims as his voice goes a few octaves higher. The ape's fists continue to rest in his direction, looking like they could smash something. No, not smash something... smash /whatever he tells them to smash/. Still, he is terrified. Spasma tries backing away, but ends up backing into the potted plant, which blocks his escapes. "Et tu, potted plant?" he asks wearily. Misfire reaches over and slaps Spasma on the back five or six times. "Oh MAN! Stuck with an ape! Sucks to be you, dude. I bet I'm going to get something really sweet. Heh!" He begins to pick at his teeth with one of his nails. "Heh. Heheh..Heh.." Mr. Grax grimaces, eyes glittering with the firey look he gets when he's closing a deal or telling a date about his favorite soulless pop album. "Excellent. I thought it had a certain look to it which appealed." Blowpipe watches a bit nervously as Grax's joints are replaced. Terribly disturbing... Zarak watches the procedure on Grax with interest too, perhaps... hungry in his eyes. Grax has impressed him this day, he thought like most businessmen he was just a hollow shell. Not so. "Immortality, Blowpipe" he mutters. "Watch it." Blowpipe just nods. "Yes, brother. Immortality. -Power-." His lips part in a grin. "Great power." Spasma shrinks with each pat on the back Aimless gives him. His knees grow weak. "I... ohhh..." he then faints, falling on the floor. Vorath commands, "Fifi, Sophia, fetch Mr. Grax his /Master armour/!" The two technicians do so, kitting out Mr. Grax in an oddly designed set of armour that seems to have far too many joints. Vorath instructs, "Mr. Grax, as soon as the helmet is on, initialise the binary bonding process and take control of your newest... employee." Vorath chuckles. Blowpipe tilts his head at Zarak. "Brother...would you mind, terribly...if -I- went next?" Krunk watches intently, the grisly details stealing his attention away from the sniveling Spasma(who names their kid 'spasma'?). The armor presented seems interesting, but the joints are... wrong, somehow. What follows next will certainly be an unforgettable sight. Sweating from the pain even through the drugs, Grax accepts the helmet calmly. He has a strangely high tolerance for pain, for a businessman. "Yes... I do enjoy taking control." He settles it on his head. "I am Grax!" he commands the alligator. "You will obey me!" He flips the switch. Zarak nods approvingly at Grax as he watches the process take place, and twitches his head to Blowpipe. "Patience, first we observe Mr Grax. And then we shall meet our destiny, whatever that will be." He glances over to Aimless. "And I am sorry young man, the scorpion is mine. You may have..." he waves his hand in the direction of Misfire "...the neon pink jet" Blowpipe nods at Zarak. "Of course. And which will be mine, brother? I'm eager." Vorath glances over some of the scans again and reports. "Ah. Blowpipe." Unfortunate name, that. "You would appear to be best suited as the targeting system for the blue jet. However, as Lord Zarak commands, we shall see just how Mr. Grax manages this new hostile acquisition." Skullcruncher stirs, whirring and buzzing as he slowly powers up, red eyes glowing to life. The huge jaws work back and forth as the head swings this way and that, considering the many small Nebulons around. Tasty morsels! Skullcruncher lunges forward, maw yawning open with a roar. "You will NOT!" shouts Grax, holding out a hand. The alligator lurches to a stop, transforms awkwardly, and reaches out blindly. Grax leaps into the air with superhuman strength, undergoes a bizarre reconfiguration of his limbs, and snaps onto the robot's shoulders. "Head... ON!" grunts Skullcruncher, staggering a moment before recovering his balance and looking around. "We live." "Heh..Heheheh...heh," Aimless turns to look at the jet Zarak points at. His smug laughing ceases immediately and the toothpick drops from his lips. Jaws agape and eyes wide, he stares at the jet. Then at Zarak. Then the jet. Then he turns back to Zarak and laughs. "Hehehahaha! Oh man! You're one funny guy! Heheheh, hoohohoho. But seriously, which one is mine?" The alligator splits in half, spins around, straightens up, deploys arms and legs. Mr. Grax leaps into the air, folds up into a robot head, and sockets into the shoulders. Behold, Skullcruncher! Zarak simply nods in satisfaction as Skullcruncher is restored to life by Vorath's mad science. "Excellent" he intones towards the gaunt, bearded fellow. "We may begin Vorath. Initiate full-scale conversion." Rather worryingly, he ignores Aimless :(The weasley Blowpipe frowns, and not just because his parents were mean to him and gave him a name like Blowpipe. A name that...seethed. And burned. And got him mocked in school by those mean, normally-named children. 'Blow The Pipe!' they called him! Blowpop! Blower of Pipes! They'd ask him for horrible deeds in the bathrooms...like...like... Like -fetching them rolls-! They saw him as nothing but a BATHROOM ATTENDANT! And then Zarak...and now he would become a super-robot. ...yes...yes.Life was finally working out his way. But...um... "Is it supposed to be saying 'We'?" Vorath shakes his head and confirms, "Aimless, the 'pink' jet is indeed yours. Your mental patterns are a nearly exact match." He watches tensely as Mr. Grax contorts to form the head of the beast. He holds his hand under his chin and then nods sharply, gesturing to the technicians to begin large-scale conversion. "Incredible. The /power/..." Krunk mutters, slack-jawed at the sight. "With such power at our disposal, nothing will stop us of ridding Nebulos of the invaders /forever/ "Must be one hell of a jet if it's on-par with /my/ amazing mental capabilities. Heh." Aimless produces another toothpick and picks at his teeth, "Well, I guess it's just /ironic/ and /hip/ enough to work.." Skullcruncher clenches his fist, looking around. "'Supposed' does not enter into it, Blowpipe. I am something new." He hitches every now and then as if there was another intellect in there trying to exert control, but for all intents and purposes after the first few seconds Grax has control. Zarak gives Vorath a world-wearied glance in a 'Where did we get him' look as Aimless speaks. Perhaps he really was the only person who could be partnered with Misfire. He steps forwards towards the waiting surgeons. "Come" he mutters, looking around at the rest. "Destiny waits" Spasma snoozes on the ground, having a horrible dream about monkeys. It is going to hurt when he finds out that it isn't a dream... Blowpipe, too, steps forward. He was ready! Ready to accept his..."Destiny..." Aimless shrugs and pops his knuckles. "Let's make some music, man." Krunk steps forward, close behind on Zarak's heels should the ailing Nebulan require a sturdy hand to keep him up... Soon, it seems Zarak will no longer need to rely on Krunk as he has done so since his fateful irradiation... but Krunk will do his beat to remain /indisposable/, for as long as Zarak is the most powerful man on Nebulos. Blowpipe holds up his hand again. "...so is it supposed to be saying we?" Zarak flicks a stern glance at Blowpipe. It is the sort of glance that is usually followed by heavies beating down your door and setting fire to your goldfish Vorath is totally the kind of person who would have an unconscious person converted against his will, as far as Spasma goes. Vorath was never very good with medical ethics. He shrugs at Zarak's look. The technicians perform a somewhat different gruesome joint replacement procedure on Blowpipe and fit him with his armour - creating the very first Targetmaster. One by one, the Nebulans are joined to their new partners with varying degrees of happiness and success. Last of all is Vorath himself, who is apparently best suited for the giant bat. Of course, Vorath had to make sure that that the other procedures went... smoothly. He endures the pain of surgery with the grace of one who has already suffered much, and as the armour seals around him, and he transforms, he meets a mind as dark as his own. The giant bat turns into the Decepticon Mindwipe. Who would have thought that a giant robot bat was really a Transformer? Zarak himself grimaces, but he has more to think about than pain - he has his reputation! His need to protect his planet and save his daughter and drive the Autobots from the world and... he emerges from the process, his body propped up by cybernetics both inside and out. He may have saved the life of Scorponok, but Scorponok has saved his. And as he activates the mental command to transform into the head of the legendary commander, there is not the slightest shred of doubt as once more the powerful war machine rumbles to life and standing in the lab is Scorponok. And he glares impassively across at the scene. "I LIVE!" he roars, his voice deeper somehow, but with less of an edge. "I live... AGAIN!" Skullcruncher holds up his gun and examines it as if it was unfamiliar to him, but with quickly dawning recognition. "What shall we do first?" Triggerhappy looks up at Scorponok. "Go Scorponok!" He offers, playing with his new gun. He had no idea where it came from, or what it was, but it was talking to him, and that was fun. But Scorponok! Scorponok was -way- more important than guns, as weird as that sounds. Scorponok...now where was his Other Best Friend Mindwipe? Was Mindwipe okay? Triggerhappy wiped some of the drool off with his gun, to the gun's deep disgust, and bobs his head at Scorponok. "Go Scorponok," he adds helpfuly. Aimless' surgery isn't as, ah, calm, cool, and collected as Vorath's or Grax's. In fact, it was pretty horrible; what with the non-stop, girly screaming, and gutteral groaning. But whatever. What's done is done. Aimless emerges, cooler, awesomer, and just better than before. "WAAAAAHAA! EVERYONE CHECK THIS OUT!" He transforms into a gun and begins to fire randomly. The tall and broad thug-turned-bodyguard Krunk is fitted with his purple and pink armor, and he flexes his arms, which are now lined with huge serrated spikes. Even under the effects of sedation and painkillers, he feels stronger already, even before he bonds with his partner. The filth-encrusted jet becomes the headless but still filthy body of a maurading robot, to which Krunk is affixed, contorting in a most unpleasant manner into a giant head. The massive machine, second in size only to the titanic new body of Zarak, flexes it's powerful arms. "So much POWER! We will CRUSH the invading automobile robots... And all those who would ally themselves with them." Spasma zzzzs. "Oh Llyra..." he murmurs in his sleep. "What happened to your clothes?... zzz... what're you... yeah... just just like that..." Spasma drifts in and out of sleep, snoring softly. Suddenly he opens one eye. "zzzsh-*snort*-wha?" He freezes. Something feels different. He feels... cold. Yet more alive than ever. He reaches up with one hand to instinctively wipe some drool away from his mouth, but instead of his soft fleshy hand, it is hard black metal. "Wh... what?" he stammers. He jolts to a sitting upright position, realizing now that he's on a medical bed. Strange medical machines are pointed at him from all directions. He holds his head in one gauntlet clad hand. His other brushes up against a black and purple helmet with a glowing visor. He hesitates, but then puts it on. Spasma pushes himself off the medical table and onto his own two feet. He barely even feels the impact of his boots hitting the floor. His gaze, now modified by the Headmaster body armour's HUD, is drawn towards a massive, menacing blue, black, and white form. Spasma smiles, feeling electricity running through his veins. He instinctively folds in onto himself, forming a blue and silver robotic head with a faceplate. "Ape... face," he murmurs before instinctively shifting again. This time it is to a round ape head with a crimson visor. "Oh the revenge we're going to have together," Spasma says with a satisfied sigh. Mindwipe holds a hand to the side of his head, as if he has a headache. Inside, two wills war for control of his body, as if he was suffering malignant spiritual invasion. He sputters, "Sc-science? Logic?" The mystic snorts. "You can't expect ex... expect me... to take that seriously? But oooh..." he wobbles dizzily. "Pentagrams? Incense? Why did I ever think that would work?" Misfire, on the other hand, is having absolutely no problem with his new addition. He holds his gun tightly in his hand and hefts it into the air, a stupid grin plastered on his white face. "I feel like I can shoot the stars! Like everything is one giant target for me to fire directly into! Also, I've come to the realization that indie rock is AWESOME! HEH!" Triggerhappy looks up at Misfire and wipes some more drool off with his gun before erupting into maniacal laughter. It echoes through the HIVE with a very metallic echoing...echo...as the mad Triggerhappy rubs his gun again, pointing it at Misfire happily. And then Mindwipe comes on-line. "And then Mindwipe comes online!" His best friend Mindwipe! "My best friend Mindwipe! How are you feeling?" He wonders how his best friend Mindwipe is feeling. He wasn't feeling anything, beyond an annoying little voice in his head telling him to do things in a demanding tone. He didn't really feel like dealing with it, so he spat a bit of oil onto the ground. "Yes... yes..." the voice that filters from the mouth of Scorponok is not Scorponok's, neither is it Zarak. He is something new. "I see now, I know..." And then he turns his head somewhat. "Oh Scorponok you are a /fool/! To have such immense power but such paltry cunning!" His claws flex somewhat as he takes in his surroundings, noticably slower than the others to acclimatise. "Decepticons!" he roars suddenly. "We will find Galen and we will lure him from hiding. We will DRIVE the Autobots from Nebulos and we will hunt DOWN the TRAITOR Astrotrain and rescue MY daughter!" His visor glints malevolently. "Do I make myself /CLEAR/?" "YOUR DAUGHTER IS HOT!" Misfire shouts. He covers his mouth with a hand and scoffs. "I, uh, I mean, YES SIR, LORD SCORPonok...sir..?" Ape , headless, rises and rumbles on all fours towards the ape head on the ground, as if on automatic. He lowers himself, scooping up the head in one of his massive monkey paws. He smashes it onto his shoulders roughly. Link-ups are made, and the crimson visor begins to glow. "F--- yeah!!" he shouts back at Scorponok. Apeface gets up onto his hind legs and beats his chest. Mindwipe doubles over, holding his head, wings quivering. He looks to be in pain. Then, his magenta optics flash, and he murmurs lowly, seemingly to himself, "I am Mindwipe, and you will obey me." He straightens out, quite as if nothing had happened. Bowing with a flourish, he agrees smoothly, easily, "Of course, Lord Scorponok. Triggerhappy, you heard the man. This is not a time to discuss our /feelings/. We must ready for war!" Snapdragon hesitates to answer, although his response is clear in his mind/minds/mind. He shoots a glance at Misfire, advancing a step towards the small Decepticon with the big mouth. "YES, Lord Zarak. The fools will DIE at our hands!" It seems Krunk's loyalty to Zarak is perhaps stronger than Snapdraogn's is for Scorponok. Snapdragon has disconnected. Triggerhappy drools. He liked war. War was fun. He liked to shoot things and kill things and shoot to kill things and so on and so forth. The annoying voice in his head was talking again! He taps the side of his head with his finger, the echo proving that Triggerhappy's missing quite a bit of his brain (or just has a nice hollow skull). The voice didn't seem to mind that, so he strokes his gun and fingers his drooling nonexistant mouth. "Go Scorponok?" He offers. "Heyyyy...Scorponok's daughter?" "She must be pretty!" he adds. "'cause Scorponok's good. I like Scorponok." Misfire grins, "Yeah, man, she's totally hot." He grasps his gun in both hands and shakes it. "Argh! I mean, WHAT. WHAT. Whatever! Let's go shoot stuff." "As crystal," replies Skullcruncher, grinning humorlessly. If Scorponok is disappointed by the apparent submersion of Blowpipe's personality then he does not show it. Instead he simply smiles and turns on his heel. "I shall be preparing to send a /message/ to Cybertron. I will expect results. Do NOT disappoint me." Monzo has arrived. The Turbo-Wolf rears up on it's hind legs, going through a sudden and drastic change. It's limbs shift and reform, head flipping backwards. When all is said and done, Weirdwolf no stands where wolf once was. Weirdwolf reaches down gathering up the bundle that is his head, up into his arms and jamming the connecting nodes into their proper sockets. Suddeny, the yellow, and green warrior goes rigid, lives suddenly passing from on being to another. In the end, Weirdwolf staggers, a hand upon his broad forehead, "Hehe.. hehehehe. Another voice have I in my head." chimes the wolf gleefuly. "Off better I would have been dead..." be moans Monzo, the unsettling serene features contorting into a grimace of revelation. TO BE CONTINUED
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)