| abstract
| - Illinois Illinois, a major center of heavy industry, is a place rich in beauty and history as well. The north consists of prairies, bluffs, and historic river towns. The western part of the state is an abundant rural area rich in historic sites and great architecture. The central region was the home of Lincoln, and his presence is still felt. The south is a land of rolling hills and sparkling lakes. Chicago, blues capital of the world, is home to perhaps one of the most spectacular skylines in the world. Contents: Rock'N Roll Hall of Fame Somewhere in the hills of Illinois, the EDC has set up a small firing range. Franklin Cross is here, along some soldiers, his jump tank, the wreckage of a Seeker's wing that's being propped up, and a large energy projector mounted on a tripod. "Excellent," Franklin Cross says to Apocryphacius, who is also no doubt here. "I took your advice into consideration, Apcryphacius. I upgrade the materials used in our weapon to increase resistance to heat. In fact, the weapon is now filled with a gel that conducts heat but not electricity, thus allowing us to transfer heat away from the weapon more easily. Power consumption is still pretty severe, however. I don't think I can fix that." Apocryphacius is indeed here. Franklin Cross is not hallucinating Quintessons. He demurs, "I am glad I was of some use to you, sir," folding a pair of tentacles 'behind' himself relative to his current active face. "May I examine the gel? It may be possible to modify the gel to also be bulletproof." Bulletproof gels are pretty excellent, he feels. "As far as the power consumption is concerned... hmm, it does sort of explain why the /robots/ are so power-hungry, does it not, sir? They with all sorts of unique weapons and abilities." Franklin Cross nods to Apocryphacius. "Of course. There's a few gallons of it over... there." He points off at a barrel labeled, as one might imagine, "Thermally Conductive Gel." Hm. And we could make it bullet-proof as well? That hadn't even occurred to me. If you could fashion a gel that has the same level of thermal conductivity AND withstand damage, that would be ideal. And yes... all these fancy new energy weapons. Pour enough power into them and you'll vaporize anything, but then there's the trouble of maintaining that power output, or not burning your systems out. I estimate there's roughly a 34 percent chance that this weapon would overload my tank's generator, forcing a shutdown. Risky, but the results are worth it, I'd say." What is that, just over a ridge.. why it's a Seeker, staring through what appears to be a large red View-Master. Pulling the black latch on the right side of the device, it zooms in even closer to the scene at hand. "Aha, there he is!" the one winged Seeker exclaims excitedly, pulling the latch again to zoom in. Operations built him a regular pair of binoculars, but apparently the design needed to be 'simplified' for his use. "This Mister Cross will RUE the day he crossed Backfire by stealing his wing!" Apocryphacius is somewhat surprised by just how much... freedom he is allowed in doing his investigations. It makes him think about what he obliquely discussed with Amber. Minds are changeable things. Maybe Franklin Cross isn't a bad person. Maybe he just needs to meet a lot of /nice/ robots and aliens and get to know them and maybe have his life saved by them a dozen times or so. In any case, he pulls out a vial to analyse the gel and rambles, "Shock-absorbing gels have many useful applications. When exposed to a sudden impact, the molecules snag on each other and lock, forming a hard 'wall'," he makes the air quotes with a spare pair of tentacles, "but when moved slowly, they slip past each other easily like a fluid." His faces shift around, and he looks concerned. "Sir, perhaps install a backup generator? I do worry about your health." Apocryphacius transforms into his Apocryphacius mode. Looking through his large View-Master, Backfire crawls forward on his stomach to get a better look at the weapon they're testing.. and -firing- at his wing! "Well." the Seeker hrmphs, "At least he knows to test this weapon on one of the toughest Decepticon around!" Looking around, he also notes Apocryphacius. "I wonder who the squid dude is though.." his jaw drops. "Mister Cross is really a Quintesson officer!" Franklin Cross shakes his head at Apocryphacius. "Not possible. The generator takes up enough room in my tank as it is, and installing a backup that could provide enough power to operate would require a larger chassis. A larger chassis would mean more weight, necessitate more powerful jump jets, increase power output, require a larger generator, and on and on." He shrugs. "War is about risks. Besides, the Decepticons may not be so eager to go up against me once they learn I have the new weapon installed." He steps behind the prototype mounted on tripods. "Well, enough discussion. Let's see how well this thing does..." He looks about to fire the weapon and disintegrate the wing--oh no! "Oh, that does it!" Backfire barks out, when Cross looks to fire on the wing again. "He'll learn to mess with the EMPIRE!" Jumping into the air, the Seeker transforms to altmode and hits the thrusters. <> The last bit of the announcement is cut short, as the one-winged Seeker.. without another wing, merely flies around in small circles until finally crashing a ways from the both of them.
* SKKKKKKKKKKAAAAABLAM* A small puff cloud can be seen over the ridge. Apocryphacius wrings two of his tentacles together nervously and murmurs, "Then may the odds be ever in your favour, sir, and please remember, ah... how is it said? 'To make the enemy die for /his/ cause', I think it is?" Then, sudden Decepticon! Apocryphacius tries to grab the General to drag him off to cover, because he is concerned that the human has defective survival instincts. Combat: Apocryphacius is size 4, a lot larger than you. Franklin Cross was about to hit the firing switch when Backfire of all people appears! "What the hell!? I hadn't even fired the weapon yet, how did they find us?!" Then he gets a look at the coloration of the Seeker. He looks back at the wing. He looks at Backfire again, who's missing a wing (and crashed because of it). "You have GOT to be kidding me. Testing is over, Apocryphacius! What the--" There's a flash of anger across his face as Apocryphacius's tentacles reach for him. Cross bats them aside. "No, dammit, I'm dealing with this! I'm loading the weapon into the tank. Hurry up and help me before he figures out he can fly in robot mode, too!" A couple soldiers rush over to help Cross hoist the weapon towards the tank, but it's really heavy so they're struggling with it. Apocryphacius does as he is ordered and helps with hoisting the weapon onto the tank, worry wrought large on his current face. There is 34% chance of this thing failing, blowing out the generator, and trapping the General in a little metal death-trap with no power! This is really not a good situation, let alone a /perfect/ one. Another set of tentacles pulls out his toolkit. They'll want to get the weapon on there securely. It falling off would also be potentially catastrophic. Stomping over the ridge, Backfire spits a large chunk of dirt from his mouth to the ground. His frame is covered in scorch marks, his hands wringing and clenching at his side. "Alright, alright.. maybe you won't see devastation this day hyooman!" he points out at Cross, getting even closer. "But you'll give me back my wing or I'll expose to the WORLD how you work for the Quintessons." the Seeker grins. As they scurry to load the weapon on the tank, he dashes forward trying to hug the vehicle in his giant arms. "Or I'll steal this for the EMPIRE.. and turn it on the Autobottoms!" Franklin Cross huffs and grunts as they haul the weapon over, though having a Quintesson helping them makes a big difference. Then Backfire emerges, arms wrapped around the tank. He considers. They COULD make another tank, but... gosh, he went through so much effort just to build this one. Maybe it would be best to hand the Decepticon a meaningless victory. After all, the Decepticon doesn't even seem to be here for the weapon! "You... son of a bitch!" Cross tries to say as convincingly as he can. "You'd undo all of our secret work with the... Quintessons!" He blinks. "Yes. Well, I have no choice! I must hand over the wing... or suffer the consequences! Men... lower your weapons and let the Decepticon have the wing." A bunch of soldiers give the General an odd look before they comply, lowering the missile launchers and rifles they had been getting ready to fire. Apocryphacius tentaclepalms with a face that he's not currently using, because he needs his active set of optics right now. He starts to protest, "You have it -" and he wants to finish it with, 'backwards! I work for /him/,' but the General is... oh! Disinformation! That is very cunning. Apocryphacius just gives Cross a momentary odd look before recovering and shifting his faces around and steepling his tentacles under his new current face. He tries to look ominous. It does not work very well. Apocryphacius transforms into his Apocryphacius mode. Grasping the tank in his hands, Backfire prepares for an epic struggle and firefight. Throwing himself off the vehicle, more for theatrics than anything, the Seeker rolls over once and jumps to his feet. "Fine, then have it your way Mister Cross! You leave me.. wait, what?" Dumbfounded, Backfire scratches his flattopped head for a moment. "You don't want to fight or anything? Just like that, I get my wing?" he questions. Franklin Cross tries to continue pulling the weapon over to the tank. "Y... yes, you have bested me, good sir! I never expected someone to interrupt my... plans for... conquering the galaxy. Damn this thing is heavy... Sophia, open up the secondary weapon port!" A slot opens on the frontal armor of the tank, and some grabby mechanical arms pop out, as well as some wires, which wriggle like reeds in the wind. It's almost like the tank is eager for the upgrade. "Apocryphacius... my hands are full... mind setting up the connections? Ahem, I mean, while the Decepticon bests me?" Apocryphacius has his toolkit out, and so he hastily tries to make the connections to bring the union between the tank and the cannon. He is so rushed that he doesn't even try to make the tank look more like a shark. The Quintesson is a bit unsure about what he should be saying here, and he settles on a monotone, "Oh yes. We must do as the Decepticon says. He is so victorious and nothing at all like a commercial applicance." "Ahaha, obviously you've heard of me then!" Backfire flexes like Cyclonus in FFoD pt 1, "I.. Backfire, glory of the empire. Ruler of rules, warlord of wars, despot of.. despotting!" he polishes his own ego some more, giving them an odd look. "Oh, by Straxus. You hyoomans are so weak." Backfire grates, snapping up the cannon in one hand. "And you wonder why we're the DOMINANT species." the Seeker makes a dumbfounded face at General Cross, holding the cannon in place so the technicians and Apocryphacius can make all the proper connections. Stepping back, "There. Oh, yes. I demand the plans to your weapon, some cannon thing or something.. makes Transformers.. go.." his optics glance about, settling on the cannon he just helped connect. "I just helped you attach the cannon, didn't I?" Franklin Cross gapes at Backfire as he has the perfect opportunity to steal the weapon from them... and inexplicably blows it by holding it for them! Cross recovers quickly, and helps Apocryphacius finish making the connections between tank and cannon. The tank sucks the attached weapon into its chassis rather greedily via its mechanical arms. "Yes, Decepticon, yes you did. Thanks for that!" He bounds on top of his tank, slipping in through the hatch. And immediately the tank comes to life, turning about to point the new weapon at Backfire. "Now I think you'll be taking that wing now before you get a taste of how disintegration feels, yes?" Apocryphacius throws a pair of tentacles in the air, waving them, and insists, "Noooo. No. That was... an ice cream machine. For... delivering ice cream. To the troops. It is part of my... evil plan to... cause obesity." Oh, but General Cross is just going to disintegrate the Decepticon. Well, that works, too. Apocryphacius dives out the way. Sidestepping towards the wing, Backfire kinda shuffles around nervously. "I.. uhh.. aha, so you think!" the Seeker exclaims, snatching up his wing. "I stuffed the barrel with umm.. something, so if you fire it'll -BACKFIRE- on you. Think wisely, Mister Cross." Carefully shuffling back towards them, wing held out in front as a sort of shield, Backfire peeks over the top of it. "Wait, what happened to being afraid of me? Was that an ACT??" "Ice cream? This foul Quintesson plot goes further than even I.. BACKFIRE, had thought!" Franklin Cross actually laughs. "Yes, Decepticon, I don't fear your kind. In fact, that's what the EDC is here for. To make sure no one has to be afraid of a Decepticon EVER AGAIN." He keeps the weapon trained on Backfire. "And please, you didn't have any time at all to sabotage my weapon, it will work according to my specifications. In fact, I changed my mind. I'm going to shoot you anyway." And Cross fires the new disintegrator weapon at Backfire! However, fortunately for the Seeker, it's not as powerful as the one fired at Motormaster. It's damaging and painful but it would take multiple hits to be lethal, if it hits at all. However, soon after firing, Cross's tank powers down, its lights shutting off. "Oh, bloody hell," he grumbles. Fortunately for Cross, though, his troops are here to start shooting at him! It's mostly annoying but might eventually start to hurt. Apocryphacius grabs the barrel of goo and tries to dump it into Backfire's wound where his wing should go, and he booms, "EAT SORBET, CONSUMER PRODUCT!" He is really bad at this. But hopefully his horrible attempt at being a villain will give the technicians time to get Cross's generator restarted so that the General does not die a miserable death trapped in a tiny tank. Cowering behind the wing fragment, Backfire looks up over the object.. when he's still there. "Wait, that was it? I thought you're like.. Ooooooh, my name is Generalz Cross and I'll disintegratez you!" the Seeker flails, the wing fragment crumbling to ashes in his hands. "Oh." Then, he's beset with laserfire.. though not very harmful for the meanwhile, it's starting to grate on his nerves. "I'LL PULVERIZE ALL OF YOUSE!" Then goo is dumped in his open wound, "EGAAAAAAAAAAAAAHDS!" Between that searing pain, the million of ricochets pinging off his head and frame, and the fact General Cross -could- get that weapon powered up again.. even an idiot can do the math. Drawing backwards, hands held up in front of his face in a vain attempt to block the shots. "Be warned, currs. I.. BACKFIRE, shall be back to claim GLORY for the EMPIRE!!" Transforming, the boosters only get him so far.. before he whirls into a circle again, and crashes to the ground.
* SKKKKKKKKKKAAAAABLAM* A small puff cloud can be seen from far over the ridge. It turns out that Backfire was right--eventually the tank roars back to life, emitting apologetic tones to the pilot. Cross just shakes his head inside his tank. "That'll happen sometimes. Now where'd that Decepticon get off to..." He watches him crash over the ridge. Putting a hand to his cheek, he sloooowly runs it down the side of his face, unbelieving. "How the hell have the Autobots been struggling against these guys for so long?" He opens his PA system to address his men. "Good work, everyone, especially you, Apocryphacius! Forget the Decepticon. Let's just get the hell out of here before more of them show up." And everybody gets to work packing their stuff up and preparing to move out. "Thank you, sir," Apocryphacius says, faces spinning around as he hastily grabs his gear. "I would speculate that their average competence levels are evenly matched, thus leading to stalemate." He is already thinking about how to jam a backup generator into the Jump Tank. General Cross is going to be SAFER, whether he likes it or not! Apocryphacius transforms into his Apocryphacius mode. Franklin Cross mutters, "That's what I'm afraid of, Apocryphacius. Well, that stalemate is going to be ending *soon.*" Alas, however, with General Cross being so busy, and what with his desire to keep all instances of the Superweapon carefully secreted away, it may be very difficult for Apocryphacius to do the right thing! Wait, making General Cross safer is the right thing? News to Apocryphacius! He is just annoyed by mechanisms that do not work properly and has a desire to make them /better/ (via Lovecraftian slimes, if at all possible). Apocryphacius adds, as he retreats, "That, or, given that they have very long lifespans, they realise that in killing each other, they are not so much denying each other a few more decades as they are denying each other /eternity/ and thus they subconsciously have difficultly bringing themselves to kill each other. Their theology, generally speaking, does not have much of an exciting afterlife to which they can look forward. Staying alive is thusly more important, with no promise of paradise after life." After a pause, the Quintesson concludes, "It could be that, but I would hedge my bets on general incompetence." Franklin Cross rolls along after the Quintesson, his turret aimed at where Backfire disappeared. "Occam's Razor supposes that the simplest explanation is usually the correct one," he agrees. He's starting to like this Quintesson. It doesn't sound like he cares for the Autobots anymore than he does, and with no connection to the others of his kind, maybe he could see him as a confidant? Scattershot has left. Apocryphacius is not particularly fond of the Autobots in general but is usually politer about it than that. He supposes he would blame his rudeness on rattled nerves from that close call with that Seeker, but no one is accusing him of being out of line right now so he does not need to excuse his actions, which is refreshing, actually! And so he runs away. He needs to check up on those cancer trials with the lab animals, anyway! Maybe the EDC will need uniforms made out of lead.
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