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| - Counterpunch puts down his datapad and activates a holo of . . . something. Adjusting the controls the image flips this way and that but the look of perplexment on Counterpunch's face reamains constant. "If you can make any more sense of these underground formations Kickback . . . please . . . enlighten me." Kickback takes the datapad and has a look at it (OOC: you can describe some of what's in the pictures to help forward the RP if you want), going over the details. While he's no analyst, he figures things out with remarkable speed. "What is it that is troubling you most about these images?" "That you are looking at them." Onslaught has arrived with all the tremendous flair and ability to just throw himself into a room and conversation. He stands tall and proud, uncaring about what other Decepticons are inside as he strides in like he owns the place. His optics are ready to roll the moment he notices the FOOLS that are also in here. He has a half-mind to turn around and walk back out! Counterpunch says, "Well, As you can already see it's a geoscan going down a few clicks somewhere on Cybertron. There's supposed to be a way down from the surface but it doesn't correlate with any surface landmarks. So something, somewhere, leads underground towards . . . a lead I'm working on but I don't know where this is supposed to be." Kickback hands the datapad back to Counterpunch. "If this is your assignment, you would be wise to consult with someone who has expertise in geology or spelunking. I'm certain that if you hire the right ally, you will find whatever it is you are looking for. As Onslaught arrives, Kickback, surprisingly enough, genuflects before the much larger Decepticon. "Commander," he greets pleasantly. "To what do we owe the privilege of your presence?" "Underground mysteries?" The Nebulan known as Singe struts into the room, having forgone his Targetmaster component armor for a rather foppish and fabulous red, white, and silver suit. "Delightful. They always work out so well for us." The armored Hairsplitter, tailing behind him, simply nods, staring out into nothing. "...sarcasm." Hairsplitter suggests. Singe smiles at his brain trapped counterpart. "Indeed it was, Hairsplitter. Thank you." Singe gives a dramatic hairtoss and checks his nails. "Counterpunch, perhaps share you findings with Hun-Grrr? The Terrorcon makes the underground his business, perhaps he could shed some light on the subject." "Do not attempt to understand my methods, Kickback. My mind is far too superior for such." Onslaught makes his presence and his intentions known by simply talking trash in a superior manner. He doesn't feel the need to explain why he's here. It has nothing to do with possible reports of possible past catching up to him possibly. Nope. He is simply here to observe. His hands go behind his back and he simply lets his optics scan the room, without even giving the rest of these Cons any sort of indication or greeting. Why would he? THEY ARE NOT ONSLAUGHT. Counterpunch takes back the offered pad and, firstly, offers a formal nod to the combaticon commander "Sir." He then addresses the reccomendation from his blind side by swiveling on the spot and saying "Sage advice indeed. I certainly would accept any and all help, especially on a high priority case, however I find it hard to extract information from those who are unreachable. Time is a factor and results are expected of me." "I'm afraid I'd be poor company. After all, the Commander is right? I'm just an insect. You know what they say about those who have 'grasshopper minds'." He laughs softly. "In my case it's quite literal." He bows respectfully to Spinister - even to the Nebulans. "Greeings to you all." Singe flits into the air and turns a cartwheel. "Poor company, Kickback? You? Never." He turns another half rotation, hovering upsidedown absentmindedly. Just general oddness? Or making sure everyone knows he has his boots and gauntlets engaged under the ruffles and flair? "You know, they had the most wonderful collection of Nebulon insects in Lyra's home...Zarak was a collector at the time. He appreciated their...WEll, he appreciated something, I suppose. It was the room I burned the last time Llyra called the authorities to remove me from her home." He sighs as if he were recalling a memorable prom moment. Hairsplitter, meanwhile, is staring at CP's datapad. "...caves." Spinister hangs back, wallflowering. Surprise. There is but another roll of the optics that accompanies the greatness of Onslaught's presence as he looks around the room. "Fools." He keeps saying that but whatever. He's likely in a bitter mood considering what may or may not be going down if his intelligence is correct. Onslaught has informants, you see. And these informants have been afraid to tell him much of anything. And so he's having to plan against nothing. Which is somewhat annoying. Except. Hm. "Caves? Where?" Uh oh. It would seem as though Onslaught is already starting to formulate another plan. His huge hand goes out to receive the datapad. Counterpunch's brow furrows momentarily then his face glows with the light of inspiration, sparked by the interest. "Yes. Caves. Now obviously I'm restricted in what I can say is within those caves as one curse I carry is that of bureaucracy but . . . to change the subject entirely . . . Onslaught, it would be fair to say that your expertise in all weaponry, current or historical, is surpassed by none. Is that right? So even if there were say, something ancient yet incredibly deadly, even by today's standards, You'd have an idea of how it may operate, what storage conditions it may require?" He offers the pad, survey and all, to the grasping hand. Hairsplitter looks rather let down. "...Clearance." Singe flits up to optic level with the large Onslaught. "I can already see your gears turning, Commander. Such a chess player. It's impressive, really, to see the whole board as clearly as you do. Given our role in the Empire, we tend to only see who we're to stab in the back next." Onslaught wastes no time in checking out the datapad and recording its display through his own optics. Yeah, he's got some back up recording devices hidden behind his optics. He keeps his attention focused on it as he's spoken to. "My knowledge is vast in a variety of areas. However, you are correct in stating that my knowledge surpasses yours in weaponry and the storage of such things." The datapad's information is finalized in Onslaught's own memory banks and already his systems are cross-referencing and such, even as he hands it back. "Get it for me and I will see if it is worth my time." Onslaught simply nods in the direction of Singe. "You are a worthy weapon. Backstabbing can be a useful tool for the Decepticause. IF one knows how to do it. Of course, there are very few that know how to do it like I can." Counterpunch looks calmly and cooly over at Hairsplitter and says, "I wouldn't say that's an issue. In fact I haven't said anything at all. If I were to speak of the declassified details of these orders it is that I have to gain access to these formations from the surface, proceed further according to a prescribed rout with the delights of disabling the destructive devices that are along the way to ensure safe passage for those who wish to investigate further. Turning to Onslaught he says, "I see your sense of humour is amongst your many skills commander. I was curious as to your comprehensive knowledge of the instruments of death as you may be able to hear some of the notes I miss. You could point out to a humble servant such as I what I should be listening for above ground to attend the concert below." Onslaught merely raises an optic ridge at the fact of what is being said to him by Counterpunch. His mind processes it and he decides to not gut the FOOL for what may or may not have been an implication or insult. Instead, he merely nods. "You'll understand if I find myself less than ready to assist you with your own problems. I have quite a few obstacles of my own to be dealing with. Therefore, your petty need and use for my expertise is noted but severely lacking in the priority department." Onslaught actually sounds almost proud of that fact. "As I'm sure you're well aware, already." Counterpunch says, "Of course sir . . . however . . . no. It's ridiculous. I doubt anyone could possibly concieve events in such a manner . . . Never mind. I'm sure it's impossible." A mind like Onslaught's is a terrible thing to waste. Which is why he's in the middle of attempting to not pay attention to Counterpunch's words but still manages to find himself lost in the middle of doing such things. "However?" This is the reason that Onslaught is always working on multiple plans at a time. "Speak, Counterpunch. What else do you know?" It would seem that Onslaught's forgotten about his previous problems at the moment. Counterpunch says, "Well . . . the instructions I recieved were a little . . . contradictory. I am to utilise every resource, contact and possibility available to me to complete this labour however, and of course this is in the strictest confidence, and certainly not from my vocaliser, and certainly I can see no reason as to why such a restriction would facilitate a successful operation . . . but I was to avoid directly utilsing the expertise of any of the Combaticons in fufilling this role. I stress 'directly'. As I've stated nothing explicitly I can't say I've breached operational parameters. I would wonder as to exactly why or what would require your forces being excluded in such a manner. I could speculate but . . . it would be just that. Speculation." "Interesting." Onslaught allows the words to pass through his processors at a rate of speed that would likely anger him. As if he weren't angered enough at the moment. He is. That much is both clear and obvious in the way he seems to just continue to stand there and listen to the words coming forth from the Counterpunch. "I believe I know what such orders are about. A situation that I am already in the process of handling." Onslaught does not appear to be -too- phased by this speculative information. "You continue on with your assignment. I will handle the Combaticon situation and then I will look into the purpose behind these caves." Counterpunch says, "Understood. However I would recommend caution. I've seen the gray papers, the hypothetical scenarios, concerning the outcome should you and your unit decide, or be forced, to take command. It's not pretty. For anyone who's not in your unit in any case. If, purely for the sake of an example, an insurance policy against fiction becoming fact was being saught it may be somehow calibrated against you strengths. So . . . be flexible. Finally I'd remind you that I just take orders from my betters." he nods his head towards Onslaught "Any of my betters who demands it." He waves a had dismissively "but, of course, you already know that sir. I shouldn't tak up any more of your valuable time."" Onslaught takes this new information and files it away with the information that he already knows. He's clearly going to have some time to take care whatever this is that Counterpunch is referring to. That is, after all, why Onslaught has already turned his back to the Counterpunch and started making his way back towards the entrance. "No need to worry yourself about what the Combaticons or their fate. It will be just as it always is and forever will be." Onslaught's dramatic pause is for just effectiveness in speech. "Victory." Onslaught has not exactly said anything but the way he walks out of the room, with purpose, should indicate something. Counterpunch fishes an enercig out of a compartment somwhere and lights up. Waiting until the footfalls have long since fell silent Counterpunch deeply draws in and puffs out smoke. Then, to noone and nothing he says, "I have missed this."
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