| abstract
| - Great Arena Despite its grand name, the Great Arena has seen better days. Most of the decrepit walls that once encircled the arena were replaced a few decades ago; the new walls are green and straight, forming a rough rhombus around the Arena in contrast to the rubble of the original walls, which formed a huge oval. There are no provisions for spectators any more, just piles of ancient debris where rows of benches used to be. At the southern apex of the oval, the slightly better-preserved remnants of an elite seating box coincidentally form a rough circle of trilithon-like ruins, strangely reminiscent of Earth's Stonehenge. The Great Arena, where names were made or forgotten in days gone past. Unfortunately, the area has seen better days since those glorious times that now lay forgotten to all but the most ancient of Cybertronians. Walls lay fallen in at points, rubble strewn out haphazardly, decrepit upkeep to the foundation, erosion in other parts. In fact, the only new addition to the arena are three headless bodies hanging from separate posts. Specifically, those of a Crystal City resistance group labeled 'The Crystal Sentinels'. As ironic as life is sometimes, they now stand guard to warn others of their perilous lifestyle; a Sentinel both in life -and- death. A horde of Insecticons land a couple of kilometers from the arena's outer wall, one burly member of their group stepping off a mount and surveying the area. "Juggernaut to Scorn, I've arrived." the gargantuan mech grates into his communicator, sneering at the stench of the bodies. While he appreciates a good show as anyone else, Spinister could have at least had the decency to clean up after himself. The fissure caused by Rumble sends a brief waft of acrid smoke up into the area, dancing on the breeze ever so faintly before being swept away. The shrill call of the Insecticons also rings throughout the area, "Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahaaaaaaaaaaaaa~~" That acidic smell is probably why Weirdwolf isn't in wolf mode at the moment. Despite being a canine he's not interested in smelling foul smells that might make it harder for him to smell more important smells. That or he's just bored. Why is he even here in the first place? Aged and forgotten foundation buckles inward as he punches it, revealing a small enclove behind it. A few old, worn and rusting Ancient Cybertronian weapons lie inside of the opening. "Bingo!" Monzo yips excitedly from within the Headmaster's noggin as Weirdwolf pulls out an old pitted blade and holds it behind his hands. "That's gonna look bitchin' on the wall, a true collectors piece. Maybe with a little cleanin' up." "Nah," Weirdwolf replies with a sinister chuckle. "Would not to remove the stories of battles long fought it from." They don't seem to even notice the arrival of the insectiswarm yet. Perhaps whispered through frequencies at a plausible and minimal rate, there was a murmur of 'pick up' happening at 'The Great Arena' for something or other. It's a low end message that not most would pay attention. Slag Work. Nobody wants to deal with Slag Work. It's been pinging around all day... At any rate, a set of Cons has arrived in all of their horrible unglory. They look as though they should be the bottom of the barrel when it comes to Decepticons, as they look dirty, dingy and all banged up something awful. The Decepticon Insignia is proudly displayed, somewhere, on each of them. There is one that seems to be leading this foray into the Arena at this time, as he's wrapped in dark purples and greens, a 'hardhat' shaped head and purple optics. He has to be some sort of transformed Skid-Steer Loader with the way he looks. Either way, there's this annoying popping sound that comes from his vocals (almost as if he's chewing gum) as he leads the approach with all the drive and focus of a mech that's got nothing better to do today. "Dis sucks. I mean, really, deese guys always makin' a mess. And den whut happens, hah? Dey send us guys in ta' clean it all up! I swear, dis da' las' time." That asinine and twisted into broken Brooklyn accent can only belong to none other than the Every Now and Again Decepticon: Counterfeit. He's even got a clipboard in his hands and everything. Here's to hoping his comrades are good with their 'roles' in this. Just act like a Decepticon, guys, and this should be smooth sailing. "Why're you talking like a..." Swerve starts to ask, before he remembers that they're supposed to be in character as the Decepticons Mirage has disguised them as using his illusion powers. Swerve, for example, appears to be a really short version of Runamuck. Or Runabout, he can't remember. They both have the same shape head thing. "Oh, yeah! Yeah, never doing this again. That's for sure. Unless they make us, I guess. Hail Cyclonus!" Broadside knows enough to follow the Leader! He appears as some kind of blue and gray dump truck. A very large dump truck, with the same hardhat motif that his apparent boss wears. It doesn't take much skewing of his own accent to play the role. "It stinks," he comments, hoping their little rebel won't get /too/ offended. "But whaddaya' expect. Let's hop to it then..." "I am like, TOTALLY too good for this, and some junk," complains a femme behind Counterfeit. She must have been from a later generation, because her paintjob is about as gaudy as it comes: bright, optic-blowing fuscia-purple mixed with neon chartreuse. She has a set of cables and tow-ropes over one shoulder; she's some kind of wheeled towing vehicle. Her ruby optics trace over to the bodies and her lip curls in disgust. "Like, ohmigort, that is SO totally nasty. Gag me with forklift, I am like, SOOO gonna need the washracks after this. I mean, it's gonna get on my finish and eeeeveryyythiiiiing~!" she whines. "Insections, fan out!" Juggernaut barks at the underlings, himself stomping over towards Weirdwolf with an amused look playing across his face. True enough, the Insectiswarm mill out about the area with only passing interest in the 'Decepticon workers' who'd just arrived. One or two of them make a sniff towards them, a curious step, then right back to searching for Backfire's scent once Juggernaut's glare falls upon them. "Weirdwolf, what are you ever doing digging in these ruins?" the giant Insecticon bodyguard bellows, propping a foot on some torn up wall.. all Captain Morgan style. "If you needed weaponry, I'm sure Swindle could hook ya up." Weirdwolf emits a growling chuckle as he lifts one hand from the blade to waggle a finger at the approaching insecticon. "Oh, but to use is this for? No." With the other he twirls the combat blade twice and then thrusts it up over his head. "This be in rememberance of all the battles epic once upon these grounds fought, by the glorious warrior ancestors of the empire mighty we now in serve!" "I finally convinced him to decorate his den with more than severed body parts," Monzo remarks from within. Oh look, more workers. Monzo jerks Weirdwolf out of his melodrama to turn and point in their direction. "Then well, just stand there do not. Be getting to work before them you join!" Counterfeit waves a dirt-caked hand at Weirdwolf, "In a sec, aight? I's got bodies t' move over heah! Come on! Cut me some slack, ay?!" Without wasting too much more time, he's heading in the direction that should give his accomplice a chance to spot what they came for. Granted, Counterfeit is headed in the general direction of Juggernaut, just to be on the safe side. "Ay! Ay! One of youse is gonna' have ta' sign for dis! I ain't gettin' stomped inta' tinfoil because I'm missin' a signature!" This is what happens when a stealth bot tries to be the distraction so the distraction and the others can 'capture the flag'. Swerve says, "Or Needlenose's signature! That guy's great!" Broadside cringes at the valley girl-styled femme. Guhhh, thank Primus there's no such bots in the ranks. He squints at Weirdwolf, then casts a wary glance over the swarm of Insecticons before moving towards the mess. Turns out Mirage is a damn good master of disguise! Following some unseen guidance, he reaches to tear two mechs from the posts. Prooobably with a /bit/ more care than the usual maintenance mech. Downed rebels slung over one shoulder, he heads for the remaining pair. "Like, this is nasty," the femme sighs, going over to the posts from which three headless bodies are strung up, just about drained of energon. The ground is slick with curdling magenta fluid. She gives the Insecticons a nasty look. "Ohhh don't you even, like, THINK of coming over here, because, like, this is OUR job and we are like totally UNIONIZED. Don't you even make us call the Constructicon Union. I have like, PAID MY DUES, k?" Shrugging his shoulders, Juggernaut looks between the workers and the corpses still hung about. "Signature, eh? You look familiar. You work on Arca-9 before the recomission of 2031?" the Insecticon asks, stomping over towards one of the freedom fighters still left hanging. Stepping around Broadside, giving him a careful glance all the while, Juggernaut tears the arm off at the elbow of Jem, or what's left of her actually. Returning, the Insecticon leader gives a nice stenchy energon signature on Counterfeit's form, complete with curly 't' at the end of his name. "There, that should do it. And if your superiors complain about the stench.. tell 'em you shoulda been here -cycles- ago." he huffs out, casually tossing the limb to the ground. The Insecticons continue to fan out, faces pratically planted to Cybertron's crust as they attempt to singulate the Seeker's scent from the acrid smoke, stench of corpses, and any other smell that might waft through the area. Autobot, perhaps? "You want to join them on that post?" Juggernaut asides to Valley-Girl worker 'Con AKA Shiftlock, "Then I'd suggest you do your job and shut your maw, or it'll be shut -for- ya." One of the wayward Insecticons, known as Munch among the ranks, is off to the side gnawing on Rocklord's head and batting it around playfully. A problem for hopeful infiltrators arrives overhead: It's Contrail's right hand, agent of the DJD, assassin and (mysterious) intelligence officer... Spinister! The helicopter desends, Nebulons Singe and Hairsplitter standing on the landing skids, and then moving clear as the helicopter transformers into robot mode. Spinister gives Juggernaut a nod, while Singe offers an absurd bow, and announces: "We've been ordered to run a random rubsign checkpoint for all personel in the arena! Please line up your Insecticons and any other workers!" Weirdwolf cants his head to the side. "Constructicons a union have?" "Oh of course they do," Monzo replies. "Why ya think they're all color coded and Scrapper takes the credit for everything?" "Good point have you." Weirdwolf shrugs, and goes back to prying discarded ancient weapons from his uncovered hole in the wall. Though not without snickering a bit at Juggernaut ripping an arm off to write a signature with. "Ooooh, polearm." He holds up a long metal stick with a rusted blade that still looks wicked despite its wear and tear on the end. "Maybe into a lamp have this converted." "The hell you need a lamp for? You can see in the dark." "Because," Weirdwolf replies as he sticks it over his back with the other blade, "Make people ask it would." "Yeah, that sounds like yer typical logic. Or lack of there for." Monzo grunts. The giant dump truck mech is just about to kick Munch aside when Spinister and his partners arrive. "Wha'... Random? Look buddy, we got work ta' do! What, ya' afraid these mooks are gonna' come back ta' life?" Poor Rocklord gets to be the mocking example here - Broadside grabs his dangling body and makes the mech wiggle about, "Ooh I'm alive! Tch!" "Youse got it." Signature gotten, perhaps for more sinister purposes, Counterfeit turns and throws the clipboard underneath his arm and starts making his way over to the others. He only takes a moment to scoop up the arm used for such signaturing. "Alright, youse guys! Let's go! Move it! Get these bodies outta' here! They gots better t'ings ta be doin' and we gots six other stops ta' make!" Which is basically code for: HURRY THE HULL UP. THIS IS NOT A DRILL! "Right, let's get this show on the road, carryin' bodies, that's our thing, Decepticon-style. Like y'do," agrees Swerve, transforming into... Runabout with a truck bed? And backing up towards Counterfeit. Swerve transforms. Truck Quest! Winch, Super Elite G2 knockoff Mexican Constructicon femme, just snorts and turns up her nasal ridge at Juggernaut and mutters something under her breath -- and then they're asked to line up for an inspection. "Ugh. LIke, this is totally harshing my day," she says, as she goes over to the crater where Bravestar's remains are, ignoring Singe for the time being. Truck says, "Load 'em up. I can take two if you stack 'em right. And some parts. Actually, could you look in my bed for a tarp? There should be a tarp rolled up back there. If you could lay that down first that'd be great." As Decepticons start lining up, Hairsplitter plants beside Spinister and activates a virtual checkpoint station. He gestures for the first Insecticon. "Yeeeeah, so....into the scanners, please." Singe, antigravs activated, floats above the crowd, eyeing the group that is still very much playing with body parts and very much not getting in line. He flits over and lands beside Winch. "I didn't know they designed a Constructicon built for heartbreak, my beautiful dear." He smiles up at her. "I'm just now realizing that my time on Cybertron has been wasted, having not yet encountered you, miss...?" Giving his Insecticon underlings the nod, they all immediately rush back to place and line up in a nice file.. even and straight. Except for Munch, he playfully batted the disembodied head to the line and stands up as tall as he can, with half of Rocklord's optic bobbing out of his jaw-line. He's a tad bit smaller than the other Insecticons as well. Juggernaut folds his arms and approaches Spinister's position, casually glancing over the readouts as each Insecticon steps through the checkpoint. "Orders, eh?" he elbows the Targetmaster, giving a slight chuckle. Primus knows he doesn't want to be out here than any other mech, but at least he's not on corpse cleanup duty!! When Munch files through, the alarm sounds off with a blare. <> Shaking his head, Juggernaut pries the head from the little Insection's mouth and tosses it at Singe. "I think that belongs to your girlfriend." he smiles, then shoves Munch back through the scanner and follows closely behind. "Okay, think that's enough for now." Weirdwolf drops down onto all fours as Monzo seperates and transforms, grabs the old gear they picked up, and stuffs them into Weirdwolf's back compartment. Then stomps it down with his foot a few times. Followed by a facepalm at Singe being, well, himself. "Never understand why Zarak let that jobber in the organization..." Both of them snap up at the alarm going off, the motion of Weirdwolf's head nearly knocking Monzo off his shoulders.... but it proves to be a false alarm thanks to Munch's, well, you can't really call drones stupid because they don't have a lot of individual processing power. Weirdwolf's audial nodes do slouch back a bit in obvious disappointment. "Bah, and here thought I that things interesting would get finally." Weirdwolf drops to the ground, landing on all fours as a robotic beast. Broadside pulls Rocklord's body away from the cable. Counterfeit's barking hurries him along towards Swerve, where he decidedly refrains from rolling out a tarp before dumping the bodies into the truck bed. "A'ight, let's scoot." The sudden blaring warning urges him all the more, and he gives Swerve's back end a punt. "Scoot!" Two-Tone Scion Pickup revs his engine nervously at the scanner alarm. "Ha ha, yeah, those Insecticon clone... drone things, am I right? Yeah. We sure have some laughs about them and their... eating stuff and... swarming. Back in, uh. Trypticon. Where we all live. Together." He trails off uneasily, then adds, sounding proud of himself for thinking of it, "Hail Scorponok!" "Ay! Ay! Stop flirtin' an' get those bodies loaded up! We gotta' scan over here!" Counterfeit is keeping himself between the Scanning Station and his workers, just to make sure everything goes smoothly... also perhaps to put himself in the line of any possible danger that might be around. "We comin', we comin'! Jus' pump ya' brakes, will youse?! We gotta' get this slag loaded up mano y pronto, you know what I'm sayin'?!" If this femme doesn't get to the truck and the truck doesn't roll out ASAP... Winch giggles bubbleheadedly at Singe and looks aside shyly as she's reaching down into the trench, pulling up a charred body, or most of it. "You totally say that to all the femmes, I bet. Totally bitchen bod, even for someone your size, hee hee--" Counterfeit hollers at her and she sighs heavily. "Primus take a frozen energon shot," she grumbles, standing up, and moving quickly with the remains in her hands, stopping to look over her shoulder at Singe and flash a single optic like a wink. Two-Tone Scion Pickup honks his horn enthusiastically at Broadside's booting (it took him a minute to realize it was intentional; he crashes into stuff a lot) and takes off as fast as he can. "All right! Back to Trypticon! In the usual fashion!" Combat: Two-Tone Scion Pickup begins retreating, leaving himself vulnerable to parting shots from Mecha Wolf , Spinister, and Cybertronian Speeder Singe follows after Winch, picking up the decapitated chewed on head which Weirdwolf tossed over. "Until we meet again, dear. And I'm sure we will." He wings the head at her, maybe hitting her, maybe not. "Since this pile of bodies is just going to keep getting bigger." Spinister is wrapping up rubsign scans on the Insecticons, and gestures to the group of disguised Autobots. The Insecticons start getting pretty curious, too. A small dragonfly in line, however, seems to like them. "You know, Scorponok IS pretty cool." Standing on Weirdwolf's shoulders, Monzo puts his hands up to either side of his mouth as he shouts, "Hey Singe, how about ya quit tryin' to mack on that candy ass and do yer actual job helping Hairsplitter get his shit done for a change!" Weirdwolf just watchs the truck start to pull away. Tilts his head up and sniffs a bit at the air... but that stench rolling out of the scorched trench is making it hard for him to pick up anything. "Bleh. Almost worse than time stuck in Apeface and Snapdragon's quarters smell does this," the wolf growls, wrinkling his metallic lips in a way that makes his big sharp fangs show. "Y'know, sometimes I'm glad this suit ain't got an olfactory sensor," Monzo comments. Once they are waved through, Juggernaut gives Spinister another nod of his head. "Singe is right on that account, this is the start of many renegades being dismembered.. gotta teach those turbo revvin' young punks a lesson somehow." Suddenly, Munch gets a scent! "The Seeker lies this way!" he peeps out, playfully jogging along on all fours away from the arena. The rest of the Insecticons take to the air, transforming into their larger Rhinoceros-Beetle modes.. accompanied by the high pitched wail. "Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalaaaaaaaaaaaaaahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa~~" Juggernaut transforms as well and rolls after the group. "The hunt beckons!" Shifting, contorting, and expanding; parts allign into Juggernaut's.. Gigantic Robotic Pillbug mode!! Combat: Gargantuan Robotic Pillbug begins retreating, leaving himself vulnerable to parting shots from Mirage, Broadside, Blast Off, Mecha Wolf , Spinister, Two-Tone Scion Pickup , and Cybertronian Speeder Suddenly, Bludgeon! He appears from behind the security checkpoint, looking as he normally does. Scowl. Check. Crossed arms. Check. Arrogant anime posture. Doublecheck. He approaches the line of Decepticons doing the security, observing. "Rubscans. Nonsense, the whole lot of it." Easy talk from a con wearing a skeletal samurai costume that doesn't even have a Decepticon insignia on it! Blast Off stands near a pile of bodies but makes little effort to help. I mean, really? They expect him to dirty his hands like this? I don't even..... Blast Off finds a spot off on the horizon and suddenly finds it far more interesting than having to actually help. He'll keep an eye out for Autobot scum, yes, that's it. THAT is helping! Broadside tromps towards the arena exit, as casually as he can manage, regardless of Spinister's gesturing. "Er, I gotta' go make sure nothin' falls off!" He ain't lining up for anything! Unless, of course, someone blocks his path. And he'd like to see them try. 'Winch' snags the head out of midair, carrying an armload of corpse, headed to the exit on foot, following Broadside's disguised form. "Candy-aft? Hmmf! I am like, totally hot, and you KNOW it." "Get those things outta' here! Then get back here and get in line!" Counterfeit waves a hand over his shoulder at the rest of his crew, now that they are finally making with the exiting. He moves off to head over to his spot in line, since this is probably the only way they'll get out of here. "I swear to Primus, if I gotta' work wit' this group o' idiots one more time..." This is tossed to whatever Cons are also in line, all the while he awaits his turn. He does keep a firm grip on his Official Clipboard. "Hurry up! Dese guys ain't got all day!" See? Their boss is trying to hurry them up. Y'know. Back to the line. Not... out of the arena. Nope. Not that at all. Singe scowls as the 'Constructicon' walks away with her 'Decepticon' friends. He lifts into the air again. "Ah! Bludgeon! Welcome, sir. We're wrapping up here." He gestures to the Autobots. "This crew is removing the bodies. There will be more where that came from, of course." He POINTS at Mirage. "Keep your salvage team ready! Our sources tell us that the Autobots are pulling all support from these so called Crystal Sentinels in light of the reformatting crisis! The remaining rebels will be dead within the week. Burned alive by *me* like the one that Construction is carrying." He cackles. He is amazing. Skull-Faced Samurai Warrior regards Singe quietly, then nods. "As long as things are in order here, then I shall..." He pauses, his gaze turns to Broadside's ponderous exit, then looks to Spinister. He pauses for a half-breath before raising his arm. The tank cannon on his shoulder glows, and then...electric fire explodes from the barrel hitting somewhere before Broadside. The ground crackles and sizzles as he steps forward. The Pretender's moves are disciplined but with haste. Ultra Magnus might approve of his efficiency. As the ground sparks one last time, Bludgeon announces towards Broadside's back. "The security checkpoint is the other direction. You will turn around. Now. Then you will be the first in line." He snorts, as his fingers roll against his deadly blade's hilt. "The discipline of these workers is...insufficient." He practically hisses the word, as his eyes flare up. He does indeed move to block Broadside's path. Being a hunter as well Weirdwolf's attention is briefly turned to the departing Insecticons. He considers a moment, then ehs, snorting in disinterest. Some punk Seeker like Backfire was below expending his effort on. Unless ordered to. That and that weird energon shit Backfire has in him registers something nausiating on his scanners. Ick. Monzo is sort of watching the departing crew, but mostly because despite his scowling he's getting amusement at Singe's expense. "Eh, this is turning into a big waste of time. Someone's gotta clean up the mess the real fighters make. Com'n, Weirdo, maybe we should go see if the bugs really did pick up something." Weirdwolf gives a growl of disinterest. "Yeah, I know, waste of time, but it is what command wants--" Pauses as Bludgeon gets in the way of the departing crew. "Oh now it might be gettin' interestin'. Boneface sounds cheez whizzed." Blast Off is still standing there. He turns to watch Bludgeon walk up to the oblivious-appearing crew. Perhaps this interaction will be more interesting than a bunch of dead bodies. The crackling blast to the ground before the behemoth gives him a start. Broadside stiffens, then slowly turns his head to peer over his shoulder at Bludgeon before the skeletal samurai steps in front of him. He leers down through his holographically blue-tinted visor, fingers flexing as he rolls his massive shoulders. "You wanna' get /wrecked/, punk?" he asks in a low voice, obviously embittered for the on-goings here. "I ain't got time for this." Time to make a break for it. The big mech trudges forward and makes to ram anything in his way. If he misses, he'll continue to run. Hopefully candy-aft can fend for herself. Combat: Broadside sets his defense level to Fearless. Combat: Broadside strikes Skull-Faced Samurai Warrior with his Ram attack! "Nope, sorry, I like, totally paid my union dues, so, like, get fragged!" 'Winch' announces. She tosses the body and head into the air, and leaping up after it, transforms around the wrecked components, enclosing them within her interior. The tow-truck looks a lot more like a cybertronian speeder. One that's got a bounty on her head. Her tyres scream and kick up dirt as she plows towards the entrance, sliding around Broadside and Bludgeon until she's reversed directions; she slows down for only half a second before throwing it into reverse and driving *backwards* out of the arena entranceway. Combat: Cybertronian Speeder begins retreating, outrunning all pursuit. Official Clipboard falls to the ground right there in line. A clipboard that was just in the hands of Counterfeit... who is no longer there. Which is strange because he was literally just standing there in line and now he is not. Which probably means that the somewhere in the midst of getting that signature and the collection of bodies... that he became a hologram or something. But there's nobody around at this moment that can actually do anything like that right? "Pitiful. And here I thought we might actually be able to solve this without making you look like fools." That would be the voice of the Mirage. He is, for all intents and purposes, on the outside of the exit, with his rifle aimed inside and looking ever ready to take shots at Decepticons that may be trying to give chase. But he's not firing, just aiming. And it's just until the others are out. By the way, when Mirage shows up, the holograms around all the others are gone. Autobots, yeah. "Until next time." is said, before Mirage drops down into vehicular awesomeness, spins his tires and hightails it after the others. Through a series of complicated twisting and spinning, the spy bot drops down into his F1 Racer form! Combat: F1 Racer begins retreating, outrunning all pursuit. Singe flits over to Spinister, the two Nebulons flanking him. He watches Bludgeon open fire on the Wrecker, but doesn't make any attempt to engage. And then the Autobots run off with the dead and decapitated bodies. "What a waste that was." Monzo just shrugs his shoulders. "Hey if they want to blow their energon savin' a bunch of corpses, that's their waste." "Agreed, yes." Weirdwolf bobs his head to nod. "Already dead, who cares? The hunt and killing much interesting more than that." The blade is drawn. Electricity crackles again as the air itself is split. Challenge and anticipation loom as the camera shifts behind Bludgeon, showing the looming Broadside before him. "I prefer mayhem over wrecking..." The blade flickers, turning the edge to face Broadside. "Only a fool dares challenge BLUDGEON to martial combat!" He pauses, his weapon out, ready to strike. Then a speeder bypasses him, faster than he can react. The dust settles for a moment. Then Mirage roars past. Dust is stirred again. With a growl, Bludgeon narrows his eyes "Autobots." The audible click that follows is the only hint of the strike."
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