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| - Synopsis: Kup tries to establish relations with Torqulon, but something derails the whole process! Converted from an unused medical observation room, the lounge still offers a view of the Repair Bay through a one-way plexisteel mirror that encompasses almost half of the east wall. Sound, too, is transmitted from the Repair Bay, allowing the friends of the injured to see and hear what's going on without distracting the medics from their delicate work. More than that, it's also a place to rest and relax, furnished with comfortable chairs, various video feeds of both Terran and Cybertronian style entertainment, and an automated bar dispensing energon for those who want to relax with some refreshments. Foxfire arives from the Main Lobby - First Floor to the northeast. Foxfire has arrived. Grimlock has arrived. Gears has arrived. The lounge has been redecorate recently to accomodate alien guests--the Torqulons! Kup is here, pacing around nervously as he checks out the various adornments, makes sure the drinks and snacks are laid out nicely, trying to make everything is ready to go. The poor old mech seems much more anxious than usual, as though he has taken a blow to his self-confidence lately. "Everyone, uh, check to make sure we're ready to go. I might've missed something, and I want this meeting with the Torqulons to go well, ok?" Grimlock is a dinosaur. Wearing a bow tie. This is a SPECIAL OCCASION, after all. The dinocommander stomps in, and glances around for a few moments, scratching at his helm. "...Uh. What am a Torqulon?" Foxfire has been sitting on his haunches in a corner this whole time, simply watching the proceedings. He's well aware that Kup is anxious, and the small fox, out of respect for the old mech, wants to do all he can to help. Also, someone seems to have tied a blue ribbon in a bow around his neck. (Grimlock might have had something to do with that. Darn bowtie-wearing dinosaurs.) Gears is there too, wondering what could possibly go wrong. And everybody around him can hear it. "Oh great, how do we know this isn't an excuse to lobotomize the entire Autobot forces?" he moans, "Although in some cases, we probably won't know the difference. Why can't they go lobotomize the Decepticons? Or is that why we're having them over?" Foxfire snorts quietly. "Honestly, Gears, you're almost as paranoid as Red Alert. Settle down." "Me Grimlock lobotomize septi-cons! Lobotomize them in the FACE!" Kup explains, "No, it's not like that, Gears. We're just trying to improve understanding between our species, and maybe avoid crap like that stunt some of them pulled during one of the Olympics. As for how they look, well, they look a little like--" but then the doors open and a bunch of aliens, roughly as tall as minibots and with vaguely simian features begins to march in. "Ah, frag," Kup mutters under his breath. Louder, he says, "Eh, greetings! My name's Kup, Autobot Security Advisor. Glad to meet you." The Torqulons halt in the middle of the room, appraising the other Autobots. "Hi monkey faces!" Grimlock says, stomping up next to Kup. "Me Grimlock! Me Autobot Military Commander! Me 'portant!" he nods at this, grinning with those razor-sharp dinosaur teeth. "Who you guys?" Foxfire just stays in his corner, facepawing at Grimlock. Gears sighs. "Am I now?" he asks Foxfire. After all, nobody's in Red Alert's league of paranoia. Nobody. Not even Gears. He sees the Torqulons enter and then thinks to himself .oO(Oh great, welcome to the Planet of the Apes)). The three Torqulons don't respond at first. Instead, they appear to confer with each other. One, dressed in largely red garments, says, "Interesting. The Security Advisor seems insecure. Perhaps he is a paranoid." Another, in yellow garments, suggests, "And they made that unintelligent brute a commander? Surely he is delusional. Perhaps the result of a concussion." Lastly, the final Torqulon, dressed in some sort of blue outfit, concurs. "Quite. As for the others, they likely have some sort of antisocial disorder..." This blue one thinks for a moment. "Oh, pardon us, I'm Drell, Professor of Subliminal Psychotherapy on Torqulon. And these are my colleagues, Doctor Graum and Professor Nab." Kup suppresses a frown. "Eh, wow, eh, yeah, like I was saying, glad to meet you." Grimlock lets out a low growl- and then ducks his head down, those big jaws of his filling the Torqulons' field of view. "Hn." he grunts, and sniffs carefully. "And why they send YOU?" he asks, and even reaches down with a dino-arm to poke at one of the ape-things. "Everybody 'portant off doing other stuff? Haw haw haw!" Foxfire just keeps sitting there... Tailgate comes sprinting into the lounge as if something giant and on fire is chasing him. Foxfire abruptly perks his ears. "Tailgate? What's with YOU?" The yellow one, Nab, gasps as he is poked and stumbles backwards. "Oh, my! That thing is tame, isn't it? Well, at least that one can *talk.* Sort of." The red one, Graum, grumbles, "I was under the impression this meeting WAS important! We are three of the greatest minds on our world!" Kup coughs. "Ahem, ehh, yeah, now that we all know each other, let's get down to business, all right? We were hoping to improve relations with your people and help avoid future incidents between--" His attention is diverted as Tailgate barges in like a maniac. "*Oh Primus.*" The three Torqulons watch the minibot with great interest. Gears sighs. "Oh great, they're analyzing us already," he grumbles. Tailgate skids to a halt. "Ack!" "Hn? You sure?" Grimlock says, standing back up. "You minds no LOOK so great." he nods, and then ponderously swings his head over to peer at Tailgate. "No pay 'tention to him." he notes. "Him white car guy brain no work right." Foxfire makes a sound like he's clearing his throat, gets up, and approaches the Torqulons. "I'm Foxfire, a sergeant in the Intelligence division. Please don't mind Tailgate. I don't think he's all there." He turns to the Minibot in question. "Why are you acting like you're being chased by monsters?" The three Torqulon visitors listen to Grimlock and Foxfire's explanation, and they all stare at Tailgate intently. "Hmmm, yes," the blue one one, Drell, says. "Not all there, indeed. Tell me...Tailgate, is it? How do you feel about your mother?" Kup grumbles to Gears, "Yeah, and they forgot all about why we invited them here!" "Nothing!" exclaims Tailgate, way too quickly to be true. "Nothing at all! Carry on!" Tailgate's optics blink on and off. "Wait, what?" The minibot leans forward to peer at the Torqulon. Foxfire gives Drell an odd look. "We're robots. We don't have mothers." Grimlock hnfs, and crosses his tiny arms across his chest before he tromptromptromps over to Kup. "Him tailgate am good distraction! Me Grimlock should've thought of it!" Tailgate folds his blocky arms across his blocky chest. "/Your/ mother. Harrumph." The Torqulons--Torqulonese?--stare at Tailgate for a bit. "Well, I didn't expect him to say that," Drell mutters. "If only we had the opportunity to study him in detail." Kup nudges Grimlock with his elbow. "Heh, distraction? Sure. But as much as I'd like to get out of this, we need to build up our relations with other aliens races if we're ever gonna unite the galaxy against the Decepticons. Hopefully, if we can get these guys of all people on our side, we'll be taking a big step in that direction." Foxfire waves a paw. "No, no studying. We have our own medics to do that." Tailgate turns to whine at Kup. "Kup, the weird alien's looking at me!" Foxfire facepaws. "Tailgate, be quiet." Grimlock hmmms, and scratches at his nose a little bit. "Hnnn. Me Grimlock think septi-cons am gooder at uniting stuff than these guys. 'cuz them septi-cons go 'splode stuff, and then nobody likes thems!" Gears shakes his head in dismay. "You analyze /everybody/, don't you?" he says. Gears is actually a bit curious how the Torqulons would analyze some of the Decepticons. Well there's got to be something wrong with them. Why else would they want to conquer the Universe. But it didn't take a Torqulon Psychiatrist to be able to tell that Galvatron was energonfruit mudflaps crazy. Kup sighs. "Yeah, you'd think that's how it works, but most species think they won't be the ones who get paid a visit by the 'cons. Or that maybe if they just ride out whatever atrocity is being committed on them they'll at least get to survive. The galaxy sucks sometimes, Grimlock." He stares down at Tailgate and shrugs. "What? What do you want me to do about it? Just entertain them or something." "Why, yes," Graum replies to Gears. He's the red one. "We do analyze everyone. Constantly. At all times. It is simply what we do, and what we are famous for. Some of you were indeed our patients, in fact. Although, since then, we have fallen under a new administration. No longer do we conduct kidnappings for the purposes of psychological study." He seems almost disappointed at that, though. Tailgate stares at Kup for a few seconds. "Okay, if you insist." The minibot plucks three datacubes from off a nearby table and starts to juggle them. "Oooh, it's amazing!" "That dumb. Galaxy be dumb." Grimlock says. "They need be smart! Smart like me Grimlock!" he nods sagely, and then adjusts his bow-tie for the formal occasion. He stares at Tailgate for a few moments, and hmms. "Me no know he can do that." Foxfire stares at Tailgate, silently wishing that he could do that. Curse his lack of hands. He looks back to the Torqulons as an idea comes to mind. "Hey, um...have you, by chance...ever analyzed a Sweep? Just out of curiosity." Nab says, "Oh, my, now he's juggling some sort of electronic devices during a diplomatic conference, which would be quite embarassing to most species. This one is quite mad. Quite mad indeed." Graum replies to Foxfire, "Oh, indeed, we have. We believe there is an odd tendency towards animal-like behavior amongst the Sweeps, and believe it to either be the result of a concussion, or a deformity in their mechanical brains. It is quite strange, yet tragic." Kup gestures towards one of the tables, upon which refreshments and snacks have been stacked. "Ehm, perhaps you gentlemen would like some... something to drink or eat?" The Torqulonianese (?) nod, muttering aggreeably as they snatch some beverages. Foxfire flicks his ears. "I see...well, that explains why they've tried to eat me before." "Yeah, that mean they crazy!" Grimlock says, peering down (and down, and down) at Foxfire. "Me Grimlock bet you Foxfire taste terrible!" Foxfire sticks his metallic tongue out at Grimlock. "You don't say," Gears comments to Foxfire. Tailgate stops juggling when the cubes fly off in separate directions due to his lack of ability to control them. "Oh.. uh.. heh. Kup said to entertain you, so I thought maybe you'd like a juggling show. Do they have juggling on your planet, weird aliens?" "They're cannibals, now?!" Graum says, alarmed. "Amazing, their insanity must have worsened since the last time we've monitored them." He brings a glass up to his lips, sips on it, then spits it out. "Pthtoo! My word, what is this? It tastes... salty." All of the glasses on the table, and the glass Graum is holding, are all filled with crimson fluid. Drell nods at Tailgate. "As a matter of fact, we do. Some our inmates are accomplished jugglers. In fact, the best ones can communicate only by juggling. Sometimes we bring them out of their cells and let them juggle for a while, it's quite entertaining." Grimlock uuuuhs, and scratches at his head again, looking to Kup. "What you Kup give them for drinking?" Gears strokes his chin. "Does it really count as cannibalism if it's Decepticons trying to eat Autobots?" He doesn't even seem to count their foes in the same "species" as himself. Kup holds up a glass, peering at it. "Ehmm, it's supposed to be a Torqulonian brandy, but... it's supposed to be *clear.*" The old bot looks very worried at this development. Foxfire just looks around at everyone. Grimlock trundles over towards the brandy and hmms- he picks up the punchbowl as a smaller robot would pick up a martini glass, and then ducks the end of his muzzle into it, taking a long *SCHLRUP!* "Taste like BLOOD!" Grimlock says! This done, he shoots a wary look at the Torqulanians. "Am you Monkey VAMPIRES?" Tailgate points at a glass. "Ewww! Fleshbag juice!" Graum nods confidently towards Gears. "Many in the galaxy believe that cannibalism applies more to a creature from one sapient species consuming a victim from another sapient species, so yes, the term still applies. It takes a different sort to knowingly eat an intelligent, after all." He then looks at Grimlock doubtfully, before trying to sip his drink again. "Hm, definitely not alchoholic..." "Blood!?" Nab says. "These drinks are full of... blood?" He drops his own glass, letting it crash to the floor. "I must wonder, who, then, is studying who?" Kup just holds his head between his hands. "Oh, Primus, not again!" Foxfire just stares. Tailgate looks horrified. Well he would if he had a real face. Mostly he just flails his arms around. "Augh! Space vampires! Stay away from my washer fluid you jerks!" Grimlock hmmms, and puts the punchbowl down, and shakes a little red liquid from his pointy teeth. "Hnf. This party WORST PARTY EV- wait, no. There that time Sludge throw surprise party for Slag. THAT worst party ever. Hnn. Me Grimlock guess this second worst." Gears hasn't had a drink. He didn't think they were very appetizing. So then he finds out the reason why. And he's...not surprised. Quietly he wonders whether the Torqulons are at least as crazy as those they analyze. Foxfire looks up at Grimlock. "Sludge threw a party for Slag? How's *that* work out?" Tailgate's nice white paint job gets sprayed with blood when Grimlock shakes it off his face. "Augh! Get it off!" he screeches. Grimlock just shakes his head sadly at Foxfire. "Disneyland no let Dinobots in anymore. Me think they get mad when him Mickey catch on fire." Foxfire lowers his ears. "...Oh. Sorry." "We're not space vampires," Drell states calmly. He points to his colleagues as Tailgate gets splattered with blood. "See? How he reacts to it? He must be a biophobe." The other two nod sagely. "I'm real sorry about this," Kup says to the alien visitors. "I... someone's been playing pranks on us, and, uh, we've been trying to track 'em down. I don't know where they keep getting all this blood, though..." He says that more to himself than anyone. Foxfire tries to distract the Torqulons from the incident. "Uh, hey! Another question, if you don't mind. Since the Sweeps see the Autobots as prey...particularly defenseless little tapebots like me...how crazy would you say they are?" Quickswitch has arrived. Tailgate flails his way over to find a bar napkin, then flails the napkin at the blood on his armor. The napkin gets flailed into the garbage disposal. By the time he flails his way back to the aliens he seems perfectly calm again. "Oh, hi again, weird aliens!" Drell smiles at Tailgate, looking entirely too pleased. "Yes. Hello. Again. Have you ever considered visiting our world? We have... candy, there." Graum rubs his chin before he answers Foxfire's question. "Hm, on our official Insane-o-meter, we rate them a 10, which is the highest possible level of insanity. Honestly I don't know how the Decepticons tolerate them." "Hey guys, what's happening--Woah!" From drill tank to Assault Beast to robot, Quickswitch appears in the door, rushes to the center of the room, rumbling, and transforms into a gigantic robot, in that order. He stares, quietly stunned, "What's going on here?" Quickswitch transforms into a large drill tank. Quickswitch swiftly transforms into a fierce Assault Beast. Quickswitch springs up into his massive robot mode. "Second worst party ever." Grimlock answers Quickswitch, giving a tired sigh. He hmms, and then finally yanks off his bow-tie, turning to leave. "Me Grimlock bored! You have fun doing stupid party stuff!" he says- and off he goes! Foxfire looks like he's trying not to laugh. "That explains a *whole* lot..." His ears twitch. "Oh, Quickswitch! Uh...diplomatic meeting..." He makes that throat-clearing noise again. Nab, a Torqulon in yellow garments, looks Quickswitch up and down as he rapidly transforms from one mode to the other. "Hm. So many modes. Tell me. Do you feel... insecure, being in any particular mode for too long?" Tailgate blinkblinkblinks his optics at Drell. "Candy, huh? You drive a hard bargain. But what the slag would I do with candy?" Drell insists, "It's candy for... robots. Yeessss." Gears mutters something about taking candy from strangers. "Well at least they're not driving a van." Tailgate brings his hand up to 'scratch' his 'chin.' "Oooookay. I trust you completely, strange alien I've never seen nor heard of before now! Now where's this magic supply of robot candy of which you speak?" "A 'party?'" The Sixchanger muses quietly. He taps his chin with a digit, pondering the display and the blood all over, "...There is a mess here," the assault unit observes, looking toward the senior officer, Kup, at once, "A diplomatic meeting?" his brow arches skeptically. He, then responds to the Torqulon, "My name is Quickswitch. I'm true to my name," and he transforms again, this time into a hovercraft, then back again into a robot, "Insecure..?" Quickswitch considers the question within himself, silently, moving from one mode to another, rippling over his pale face, "I'm certainly not insecure staying in one mode for too long. I just transform," Quickswitch shrugs, "I like to change." Drell looks around shiftily. "Ahem, it is... on our world. You would have to go there." Kup sighs. The whole meeting has been utterly derailed, and even the refreshments can't save the day now. The old mech quietly resolves to find out who's been putting blood everywhere he goes. Then, of course, the overhead sprinkler switches on, despite the lack of fire or smoke, and begins to spray blood on everyone. Kup stares up at it in horror, and his arms begin to twitch. "I... Uh... nnn..." Tailgate looks up.. sort of, his neck doesn't work that way, since he doesn't have a neck. "Hey, what's that, is there a OH PRIMUS NO! AUUUGH!" The little minibot immediately starts running in circles, flailing around and getting covered in blood. Nab listens to Quickswitch, nodding. "You just transform. Hm. Are you... addicted to transforming? Can you stop yourself from transforming, or do you have to do it every few minutes or so?" Then, of course, he is drenched in blood, but rather than show shock and horror, he merely looks about dispassionately. "Interesting. And this is not your doing?" The big Sixchanger groans as great red rivulets run down his armor and spray him red. He bites down on sudden fury, "Maybe you should take it, y'know, somewhere ELSE?!" Quickswitch bellows toward Kup through the dismal catastrophy. He stares at Nab, "What's it to ya?" "Of course this isn't mine, or anyone's doing here," The Sixchanger looks down at Foxfire, accusation and disgust in his voice. Kup would respond, but he doesn't seem to be all there right now. He staggers, open-mouthed, towards a chair, reaching towards it. However, he doesn't quite make it. He falls over, knocking over the chair and hitting the ground with a loud slam. Foxfire is hunched down, ears pinned back, looking like a frightened animal. He glances sharply to Quickswitch. "Are you implying that *I* had something to do with this? I'd *never* sink this low for a prank!" "About your question.. I transform, all the time, at random. It happens on its own a lot of the ti--Kup!" Quickswitch transforms and, doing the thing for which he was programmed to do, he transforms into pistol form, and then, the assault unit, blood dripping down its chamber and muzzle, fires toward the cieling at the extinquishers spouting blood. Quickswitch rapidly transforms into a less than sleek laser pistol. Jet-Propelled Laser Pistol PEW!! Kup lies on the ground, twitching a bit. "I... I can't go through this again. I can't go through this again!" he mumbles incoherently as blood rains down on him. "Just professional curiosity," Nab says. "Hm, quite the violent one, aren't you?" The other Torqulonese watch the ongoing events with a total lack of surprise, as if this is another of their sessions with a patient. Tailgate slips in a puddle and falls flat on his back. "ACK!" Foxfire scurries over to the way and digs his claws into it to climb up. He makes it to the ceiling and tries to turn off the sprinklers with his claws and fangs. This, oddly enough, involves clinging to the ceiling. "I am an assault unit," it provides, impassively, continuing to aim at the fire extinguishers, to stop them, at least in this room. The laser blasts don't exactly stop the flow of blood, but at the very least, Quickswitch has taken out the sprinklers. This causes a straight stream of blood to drain out instead of a spray, thus preventing everyone from getting rained on. Meanwhile, Foxfire's solution is a bit more permanent, but it's slower, so it'll take some time to get them all turned off. Bitbucket arrives from the Autobot City - Repair Bay to the east. Bitbucket has arrived. Tailgate is on the floor, directly under a spray of blood coming from the fire suppression system directly above him. He's either trying to get up and failing, or trying to make a blood angel on the floor. Like a snow angel, but ickier. His cries are plaintive, "Why won't it stoooop?!" The situation: The entire room is soaked in blood. Some of it is still draining from the ceiling, but at least it's not spraying all over everyone, like it was a few moments ago. There's also a few Torqulonese here, and they seem surprisingly calm at these developments. Kup is lying on the floor, twitching a bit. He didn't take this as well as the Torqulonians did. Bitbucket comes hurrying into the room from the repair bay, having heard the ruckus over the radio, and the call that there's something wrong with Kup. What he wasn't expecting, though, was all of the RED everywhere. He hesitates and skids a bit on the viscous fluid, then moves MUCH more cautiously the rest of the way to wherever Kup is. "Sir?" It's hanging there on the end of that 'sir', the unvoiced question: What in the name of Primus is going on? Kup points weakly up at the ceiling. "Help... help Quickswitch and Foxfire turn off those sprinklers," he orders Bitbucket. Foxfire continues clinging to the ceiling. He bites another sprinkler, practically ripping it right off the surface. "Ugh...the taste of blood is *awful*..." The laser pistol, floating in place, turns, surveying the room through sites and targetting systems. Dissatisfied, Quickswitch transforms, "This will have to do," he notes dryly, "Until Foxfire can turn off the systems proper. That is what you're attempting?" Quickswitch springs up into his massive robot mode. "Oh ewwww," Gears groans as the bloody shower pours down upon him. "That's going to get into my joints and stink for weeks. First Aid is going to have fun getting that out of all my nooks and crannies." He willingly goes to help turn the sprinklers off, since he's not having any fun being sprayed by it. "Did someone raid the local blood bank?" Tailgate flips forward onto his face and pulls in his arms, changing into a classic Pontiac Firebird! 1986 Pontiac Trans-Am makes it onto his face, then transforms and tries to drive out of here. Terrible idea. Terrible, awful, /gruesome/ idea, since all he does is spin his tires in the blood, sending it spraying all over the room, this time from the angle of the floor. Kup twitches as Tailgates gets the stuff on him all over again. "Ghhhhkkkk!!!" "What is all this..?" Quickswitch asks, aloud. Another spray of blood, from Tailgate, sprays his legs and lower torso. He sighs, "Tailgate--Stop!" Drell, one of the Torqulonians, says, "Very interesting. I hypothesize that the blood spray was deliberate. Consider. Who could infiltrate the Autobots and place hundreds of gallons of blood in their sprinkler system? Or in those drinks? It would be an incredible task, even for the Decepticons. Therefore, we must assume the Autobots are responsible. But what are they trying to do, exactly? That is the true mystery, here." Foxfire takes out another sprinkler. There should be only a few left. "It's not a matter of who can infiltrate," he informs Drell. "I'm sure this is just some sick practical joke." 1986 Pontiac Trans-Am keeps spinning around and around and around and around the floor, doing doughnuts in the blood. "I can't stop! My brakes aren't working!" Bitbucket startles, but manages to stay still as Tailgate's attempt to run away (yes, RUN AWAY) sprays everyone all over again. He seems less affected by the blood, probably because he's used to dealing with the Cybertronian version all the time. He steps the rest of the way over to Kup, scanning the red fluid as he goes to ascertain if it really is blood, or just a synthesized imitation. "Kup, sir? Are you all right?" Yes, it's the real deal. Kup holds up a hand to stop more of the stuff from getting on him thanks to Tailgate. "No... No, I am not ok. I... this brought up some bad memories. There's some stories I got that I don't like telling anyone." Having calmed himself somewhat, Kup stands up, shaking some of the blood off of his body. "Well. Time to send our visitors home I--" He stops mid-sentence as he looks at the wall. Why? Because smeared upon it, as if by hand, are the words: I KNOW WHO YOU KILLED, KUP "That's impossible!" Kup gasps out. The Pontiac Firebird isn't a mindless machine after all! It jumps up off the ground and transforms into Tailgate! Quickswitch's mouth twitches into an angry line. His fist comes down, hard, on the blood sprayed bar, "We AIN'T responsible for this!" The Sixchanger yells, anger and frustration prevelent in his voice. He brings his hand up to his face, pressing his fingers into the metal and covering his face with blood, without realizing it, "An' if one of us /is/," Quickswitch snarls, limbs twitching in a frenzy as he transforms into beast mode, "I'll gut the fragger inside out with my own teeth!" No sooner does Quickswitch speak, he looks to where Kup is staring, then, back at Kup. His head worries, disbelieving, "No.." the Sixchanger transforms again. "That sounds like something a Junkion would smear on the wall. They're the ones that watch those movies," Gears murmurs. Tailgate eventually skids into a wall, which apparently resets his brain. Because when he gets up, he rubs at his head. "Oogh, what was that? Where's all this goo coming from? Oh slag, Kup killed someone?" Foxfire takes out one last sprinkler before releasing his hold on the ceiling. He activates his anti-gravs to slow his descent, in the process flipping his body so that he lands on his paws. He shakes blood off himself, then stares at the writing on the wall. After a moment, he looks to Kup questioningly. "Kup...?" Tailgate scratches his head, still drenched in the red stuff. "Huh, I think I saw this in a movie once. All work and no play make Kup a dull boy!" Kup slowly stalks out of the room at this point. "I... I need to go for a drive. Someone take care of the guests." He looks quite haunted. Quite haunted, indeed. At least the flow from the sprinklers has stopped. The Torqulonians, drenched but apparently unconcerned, look about at everyone. "Fascinating. Very fascinating. I believe we can come to a conclusion in regards to our psychological evaluation of the Autobots," Drell announces. "Thank you for inviting us here." Nab smiles at Quickswitch. "Yes, I'm sure you will." Gears groans more. "It's going to be catastrophic," he grumbles, "Just you wait. They're going to prescribe cybermeds for all. Or something. Hmmm." Bitbucket just watches Kup leave, as there's nothing really he can do anyway, but then he turns to look at the visitors. "I'm sorry, sir, WHAT did you just say?" "Kup, wait!" Foxfire darts ahead of Kup and positions himself right in the old mech's path. "What is WRONG with you? You're acting strange!" Drell smiles blandly at Bitbucket. "Oh, we never intended to form any sort of agreement or alliance with you Autobots. That would likely provoke another attack from Galvatron. However, we did find this meeting most helpful in evaluating you and your kin. At last we have determined that the Autobot faction is, without exception for any of its members, *insane.*" Kup steps up and over the little fox. "Get outta my way!" he growls. "I just need to be alone for a while!" Quickswitch looks at Kup, concern and worry and confusion rippling across his face, and then at Nab, disturbed and disconcerted by that smile, so much so that the mercurial, volatile Sixchanger is at a complete loss for words. His translucent frontal panelling flickers like random mad, indicating a lot of internal processing activity, his thoughts, probably. Somebody needs to go after Kup.. Frag this, we need to find out who did this an take em out! What's all the trouble? Man, I don't trust these visitors. And I, certainly, don't agree with their opinion of us, "That isn't like you, Kup.." Quickswitch murmurs after the old Bot, "He is an older model," Quickswitch muses again. Foxfire is stepped over. Curse his small size. He lowers his ears and turns to watch Kup. "We can help..." Quickswitch struggles to keep back the sudden rage and disgust, "You leave him be," Quickswitch cautions the little tape, dangerously, "He needs to be alone, so let him be alone. I endured this, plenty," Quickswitch adds in a quieter voice, "Just let him be." Kup shakes his head as he wanders out of the door. "No, lad, no you can't." It quietly shuts behind him. Bitbucket looks at Drell perhaps equally blandly. "So I also seem insane to you, sir? This is admittedly an abnormal situation, not exactly ideal for evaluating the mental stability of an entire faction of individuals. Perhaps, sir, judgement should be reserved for a more...germaine occasion?" Tailgate calls after Kup, "Hey, Kup, on your way out send in the maintenance crew with some mops. Lots and lots of mops!" "Yeah, the little guy has a good, solid point," Quickswitch backs up the little drone. He lifts up a foot, watching blood pour off it. Disgusting. Foxfire looks almost heartbroken. "But Kup...!" He sighs quietly, heeding Quickswitch's words. "All right." "He'll come to us when he's ready.." the Sixchanger almost whispers. "I hope," Quicky adds. Drell merely smiles at Bitbucket. "We've already established that it would all but impossible for anyone but the Autobots to arrange this "prank," haven't we? Ergo, you are responsible, and, ergo, you are all insane. My logic is infallible. Come, gentlemen, we should announce our findings. The galaxy will likely be very interested." Looking way too pleased for three beings drenched in blood, the Torqulonians begin to leave the room as well. Bitbucket straightens up in surprise at Drell's words. "Sirs, I have to disagree, as...well, you all seem just far too glad to see what happened here. Maybe you're the ones that had something to do with this?" Foxfire perks his ears. "Hey, Bitbucket's right! You *do* seem happy to deem someone insane..." He eyes the Torqulons suspiciously. "For Primus' sake," Quickswitch gripes, "Someone stop them before we have another televised debate on our hands!" Tailgate jogs up toward Drell. "Hey, you don't get to call my buds insane! That's my job! Uh.. actually that's nothing like my job, but you get the point! Now take it back!" "Intergalactic!" Quickswitch mutters, horrified. "Er, who were those guys?" Quickswitch, instead of going after them, peers down at Foxfire, "They were asking us a whole lot of questions." Drell smiles at his cohorts, then says, his tone amused, "You're accusing us of compromising YOUR security? Are you serious? We are psychologists, not... ninjos, or whatever you call them on this world. You are the only suspects. The only ones! And.." He glances at Tailgate. "As a matter of fact, I DO get to call your friends insane. I am a professor. What are YOU?" Tailgate hrmphs. "More like jerk-os! I am a famous inventor of awesome science stuff," he rants, "And I demand to see your credentials!" All three Torqulonians reach for their wallets simultaneously, open them, and then show their diplomas to Tailgate at the same time. Yes, they have miniature versions of their diplomas, so that they can show them off to anyone who wants to see them. Much like cops, but perhaps even worse. "I don't have to tell you I don't like the look of this. I suggest they be detained until we have more answers," Quickswitch mutters at them, "'Psychologists.' Pathetic." Tailgate leans to look veeeery closely at one. "Hey, these look fake!" Foxfire glares at the aliens. "We are very sane, thank you very much. And you're not going anywhere until you admit that." Gears looks around and facepalms. "I'm going to get some recharge. Wake me up and please tell me this was all a very bad dream." Nab quirks a brow at Quickswitch and Foxfire. "You invite us here under the pretense of establishing relations, then threaten to imprison us? I think not, friend. Unless you wish to earn the scorn of the entire galaxy." Graum stares at his wallet, then scowls at Tailgate. "Nonsense! It's real! It's not as if you're not the first patient I've had who has accused me of not being a real Doctor, anyway." Rodimus Prime has arrived. Foxfire snorts. "Who said anything about imprisonment? And besides, you *are* acting suspicious. How do we know you weren't responsible for all this?" He glares at Quickswitch. "And you be quiet." Tailgate points accusingly. "I want to speak with your supervisor, then!" "...Consider yourself fortunate the suggestion was to detain you," as much as I dislike it, "And not to terminate," the assault unit mutters. The blood-drenched doors slide open belaboredly, revealing the scowling form of the flame-decaled Autobot leader, Rodimus Prime. "Someone please tell me what's going on here," he says with an exasperated tone. "The blood, first -- then the threatened aliens." He folds his arms, looking around the room, making eye contact with each Autobot, probing them for signs of shame or culpability. Graum hands Tailgate a little slip with a number on it. "Contact that subcom frequency. It will take you to Director Varz. He will verify my credentials." "Ah, Rodimus Prime," says Drell, a Torqulonian dressed in blue garments--well, they *were* blue. "You should know that we've determined your entire faction to be clinically insane, for a variety of... reasons." He gestures around grandly. And yes, the words, I KNOW WHO YOU KILLED, KUP are still on the wall. Kup himself seems to have taken off, though. Hmmm. "Prime!" the assault unit turns, "I arrived. There were these Autobots present, and the ancient model. Also, these alien organics. There was organic liquid which poured from the extinquishers above. The cassette and I ceased the extinquishers as per the ancient model's order. Words formed in this organic liquid on the wall," Quickswitch points, "He departed. That is all," he shrugs. Bitbucket is the least blood-soaked of the bunch, probably because he got here near the end of the 'party'. He straightens up immediately as Rodimus Prime arrives. "Sir, I..." he stops himself as Quickswitch reports the events more quickly. He shouldn't speak up anyway, he's just a medtech after all, doesn't even have a lasercore with a spark. "Chief!" Foxfire darts over to Rodimus upon his arrival, and promptly starts rearing up on his hind legs excitedly. It's not a good kind of excitement. "We think the Torqulons are responsible for all this! They looked *happy* to deem us insane!" "These alien life forms claim to be 'psychologists' and have assessed the Autobot functionality as 'insane.'" the assault unit responds, something even harder creeping into his voice, "Torqulons are their designation," the assault unit was disinterested in it, "These aliens are going to return and publish their findings!" "Maybe they are, Torqulon," Rodimus Prime replies with a sardonic tone. "But this isn't your planet. We don't throw everyone in a prison cell for acting a little differently and condemn them with pseudoscientific babble. No offense--" He holds up a hand. "But this blood on the wall is probably a Decepticon trick, if anything. We're at war. Weird things happen. You can't blame the Autobots automatically." He glances at Quickswitch, nodding. "Thanks Quickswitch. Good work." The Autobot leader then looks down to regard Foxfire, giving the small Autobot his consideratoin. "The Torqulons may be quick to judge, but I don't know if we can go around pointing our fingers -- or paws -- at them without more evidence." Drell looks doubtful. "Perhaps I am unaware of the Decepticons' full capabilities, but how they could smuggle so much blood into your own water supply, with you completely oblivious to the infiltration? And furthermore, if they could compromise your security that badly, why didn't they simply place bombs throughout the city and destroy you? Don't you see? We know you did this on purpose. But we do wonder why. Is it guilt over having unintentionally brought such a devastating war to so many unsuspecting species?" Nab adds, "We won't imprison. Indeed, we couldn't imprison all of you even if we wanted to. But perhaps it would be safer for the galaxy if you were." Tailgate folds his arms across his chest, giving the aliens an indignant glare. Foxfire points his paw at Drell. "Because mechs like *me* could find those bombs and dispose of them. That kind of tactic is useless." "Sir," Quickswitch aknowledges. Did Rodimus Prime just call us /insane/? "I've said all along the Autobots shouldn't involve other species in our civil war. We have enough to concern ourselves with besides the welfare of defending other species." "And Foxfire's right," adds the Sixchanger, too. "Yeah, you want to see some real headcases?" Rodimus folds a hand on his hip, looking completely incredulous. "Try taking a holiday on Charr. The Decepticons would /love/ to meet you and talk about their feelings all day long. I can guarantee. I'm sure you remember what a great patient Galvatron was, right?" Rodimus seems a little put off by the aliens, despite being a generally diplomatic person. "If we really wanted to prank you Torqulons, trust me, it'd be way funnier than some dumb horrorshow gag." Graum scratches his head, looking at Foxfire. "You'd disarm the bombs? Can you really do that? I... don't have any experience with such things..." Drell takes a step back from Rodimus. "Eh, yes, we remember Galvatron. And the others. You're... You're not threatening to deliver us to them, are you? We came here under your invitation, after all." A smirk crosses Foxfire's muzzle. "Of course I can. I'm an expert in demolitions. I know I don't look like it..." He pauses. "No...Rodimus would never send someone to the Decepticons." As annoying as they are, he adds silently. "You tell them, Foxfire, man," Quickswitch grins. Tailgate looks at the red on his armor. "Ugh. I need a bath. I got a buddy who works at a car wash, I'm out!" He transforms and rolls out! Tailgate flips forward onto his face and pulls in his arms, changing into a classic Pontiac Firebird! 1986 Pontiac Trans-Am starts driving out of the base, swerving around the aliens "It's.. I'm.. I have things to do.." and just like that, the moody Sixchanger transforms and heads for the door. Quickswitch has left. "Uh, later Tailgate. Quickwitch." Rodimus offers the two Autobots a wave, looking back to the pair of alien visitors. "No, I'm just saying -- We could be a lot worse. You should be glad we're 'eccentric' and not 'psychotic'. I'm honestly sorry about the blood. I'll get Wheelie and Pipes in here with some sawdust and clean this up as soon as possible." Foxfire gives Rodimus an odd look. "Why them? Don't we have a cleaning crew?" Quickswitch has arrived. Rodimus Prime folds his arms. "They /are/ the cleaning crew, Foxfire." Quickswitch moves northeast to the Main Lobby - First Floor. Quickswitch has left. Foxfire blinks. "Oh." Drell looks thoughtful. "Well. You haven't murdered us, yet. That was what I was expecting you to do to us, next. So maybe you're right. Maybe you're not quite as bad as the situation here suggests. I shall... delay submitting my report until I have had a better chance to evaluate the Autobots. Well. We must be going." As he walks off, he looks back at Rodimus and says, "Oh, and Kup appears to be suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The spray of blood triggered it. Might want to look into that." Bitbucket looks visibly relieved that the aliens seem to relent, and he speaks up again as he steps delicately toward the medbay doors. "I'll...go try to find Kup, sir." Rodimus Prime scowls. "Kup is always suffering from post traumatic tress disorder." He watches the Torqulon walking off. He waits until they're out of earshot to ask: "Who invited them to Metroplex, anyway?" Foxfire points out, "I think that was Kup." This room is dominated by the west wall which consists of a multitude of security monitors, viewing each and every room within Autobot City. A desk in the middle of the room is bare, except for the terminal standard for every office here. A forcefield to the east makes sure that those in the Brig stay there. A window on the northern wall gives a good view of the forest beyond. Red Alert enters from the Main Lobby - Second Floor to the south. Red Alert has arrived. Kup is at his desk, typing away at his computer, squinting at the screen. Red Alert steps in, sniffing automatically at the air as he does. He walks right past the desk while heading for the cells, stating, "I'll never understand why you won't just get your optics properly calibrated, Kup. I mean, certainly, that /does/ require putting your vision in the hands of-" he cuts himself off, pauses, and rubs his chin. "Ah, actually, that's a good point. Never mind." Then he peeks into the cells. Kup looks up. "Huh? What? Bah. Ain't nuthin' wrong with my optics." He turns off his monitor, leans back in his chair, and appraises Red Alert thoughtfully. "Whatcha need, lad? Got a report, for me?" Nobody's in the cells, except for Drinkor, who, after a DUI incident, was placed in there until he sobers up. Red Alert frowns at Drinkor, studying the form until he's certain that he's asleep, then turns back towards Kup and shakes his head. "I would have /thought/ my little replacement would have brought you all that I had to pass on, if you're asking about Nightbeat." He sighs. "I swear, it's like we need a second detective just to keep track of our detective." Then he waves that off. "But anyway, no. I was just wondering if continuing to cancel diplomatic functions and hoping it goes away was going to be your solution to the business." Red Alert sighs as he listens to the radio frequencies. Kup frowns, glowering off at nothing. He doesn't say anything for a while. Then, finally, he growls, "Until I have some kind of fragging idea of why these..." He hesitates. "...INCIDENTS keep occurring, I don't think it would be a good idea to have anymore of these chats. Have you looked into this thing?" "Of /course/ I've looked into the thing," Red Alert responds, frustrated. "And as near as I can tell, what's happening is... /impossible/. It's not just the matter of sneaking gallons and gallons of Nebulon blood into processing stations or /inside Metroplex/ without getting noticed. It's /somehow/ cleaning it up without leaving the scent of clenser or blood in the rooms that /should/ be the source. It's the fact that the blood is all /from the same Nebulan./ And it's the fact that, Kup..." here he points at the elder, "you /know/ more than you're telling. You might not be behind it, but you know /something/ you're not saying. You're the common link. The note was addressed to you. You were the one muttering, 'not again.' Just how far do you expect my investigation to go if you won't tell me what you know?" Kup looks up from his desk, looking uncharacteristically apprehensive. "Look, dammit, I don't know why this is happening! Maybe it's related to me, but..." He turns away from Red Alert. "But it doesn't make any damn sense. You said it yourself, it's impossible! I mean, what, you think I got magic powers now? Gimme a fraggin' break." "No, Kup, I don't think you've got magic powers." Although Red Alert did, briefly, entertain that possibility. "You're obviously the target here. The victim. And apparently you'd rather stay that way than tell what you know." Red Alert puts a datacrystal on Kup's desk. "This is all I've got. Not much more than I've told. No suspects, no leads-" he breaks off, glances towards the door, then continues as whoever had been walking by continues to do so, "no leads beyond the planet the blood comes from, and... whatever you won't say. I'll continue doing what I can, but given our relationship with Nebulos that... won't be much." Kup sighs. "So what, you want to go to Nebulos? What the frag for? This..." He frowns, tapping his desk. "...this thing that's bothering me, it didn't even happen there." Noticeably, however, he doesn't continue. Red Alert shrugs. "Access their database. See if they have a DNA match for the blood." He crosses his arms and taps his left upper arm with the index finger of his right. "It's the only lead I have besides the one that's not talking." Kup waves a hand dismissively. "What, ya think they got a big ol' DNA database? Come on. The humans don't, at least, not for every man, woman, and child. Nah. They only got that for their criminals." He sighs. "But... well, if it's all you got. I dunno." "That's all I have on this subject," Red Alert shrugs. He starts to turn away, then turns back and frowns. "Kup, I... strongly suspect that sooner or later, you're going to have to face up to whatever it is you're hiding from. Maybe you feel you need to do it alone, but... isn't that part of what being an Autobot is about? None of us should ever /have/ to face things alone." Then he coughs. "Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a Girl Scout/Keebler Elf connection that requires my investigation." With that, he starts to head out. Kup stares at Red Alert. Is he serious? What? "Ehm, right, lemme know what you find, Red. And... look. Whatever this is, I can handle it. Nobody needs to get involved..." He watches Red walk out. "Nobody else should." The old mech reaches under his desk for a bottle of ener-liquor, and unscrews the lid. "Need to relax..." he mutters, pouring the contents out into a glass. However, he stares in horror at the red liquid which has filled. "Oh, Primus."
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