| abstract
| - Industrial Park These crystal-studded indigo steel/titanium buildings rise a mere four or five stories from the ground and are widely spaced in this variation from the usual city architecture. There are no true roadways, just plenty of open space between the buildings. As with the Emporium, the buildings are also rather nondescript with the additional feature of being relatively the same size as well, waiting for the personal touch that would come with their owners. One building is designed as a foundry, equipped with shiny new smelters and molds for refining and processing construction materials. Another is a drone manufacturing plant, with automated machinery that can produce generic automatons much like the ones that operate it. Others produce circuitry, communications equipment, repair parts, armour, etc.. One other thing they all have in common is the fact that they are highly automated. There are few Cybertronian workers to be found here, at least for now. Approaching on foot, Fusillade weaves her way through the broad plazas dividing the relatively squat warehouses. Approximately three breems beforehand, a commando group consisting of more subtle Decepticons than she had surrounded one of the drone factories. Sticking to local frequencies, she speaks into a wrist comm. "Hold that perimeter, I'm on my way. How many did you say there were? Surprised I'm not hearing more weaponsfire..." She nods to the reply she receives, and continues her way toward the corrugated indigo walls. F-35B Lightning II is up in the air, loitering and monitoring the situation passively. Certainly, she is not sneaky enough to be a part of the raid breaking in there, but she can supervise from The Mile High Club, and if anyone runs... She hopes they run. Cyclonus flips forward ninety degrees, limbs folding up and a nosecone snaps down across his head. Wings emerge from his sides and Cyclonus is now in his powerful space fighter mode! Starfighter also happens to be up in the air right now. He's content to let Fusillade handle the situation--besides, there's always time for him to make an entrance later. "High time these fools learned that there are less merciful Decepticons than even Shockwave." Speaking into his radio, he asks, <> Not exactly someone kept in the loop on matters of martial import, Octane is still happy to oblige when it comes to matter of pushing poor slags around and just generally making an aft of himself. Having been plodding along at Fusillade's six, Octane choses this moment to lengthen his stride, "Let me get the door for you, Ma'am!" he offers as he passes her by, careful not to bean her in the back of the head with his stupidly wide wingspan. Form someplace or nowhere, he produces a carbine and prandishes it towards the wall, seemingly intent on threatening the inanimate structure! The reason becomes more clear when he pulls the trigger, a stream of caustic fluids leaping from the barrel of his weapon. The wall boils and sags where the fluid touches it, metal dripping to the street, leaving a nice sized hole in the side of the building. Triggerhappy probably shouldn't be here. He should probably in a repair bay somewhere. But, when he'd heard about the opportunity to go terrorize some Crystal City resistance cells, well, he couldn't just pass up an opportunity like that! He looks alright on the outside, but the acid in that giant snake-thing's stomach he'd gotten swallowed by earlier had wreaked havoc on his internal systems. Getting partially digested is never fun. But he's here anyway, also in the air along with Contrail and Cyclonus, watching Fusillade and her party below. Well, as much as he can...his field of vision keeps flickering, and sometimes all he can see are dark grey silhouettes. Fusillade tilts her head at the sound of engines in the air. "Ah, company," she murmurs, before laughing viciously at Octane's display. She shouts into the acrid haziness."Ya little turborats have skulked around long enough! I'm already mad that you're mixed in with enough VALUABLE stuff in there that I don't -get- to blow up any buildings, so make this easier on yourselves and come on out already!" She radios up to Cyclonus, "They're not interested in giving up easily. Guessing that they are hiding among the machinery on the manufacturing floor." She scowls at the tremendous number of orange, steel, and pale blue bays, and myriads of servos, motors, and molded forms in varying stages of completeness. "Requesting some more Decepticons on the ground to sweep the area." A flicker of a dove grey silhouette darts padt Octane's left rear as a slim engineering themed mech tries to flee out onto the street. "They're closing in, Gizmo!" an orange and white porterbot shouts as he grabs a rack of injection-molded quarter panels into the walkway between himself and the Decepticons, falling back deeper into the factory. Caustic fumes waft from the carbine's barrel, allowing Octane to pretend he's impressive when he lifts the hollow up to his lips and blows across the opening, creating a dull whistle and snuffing away the steam. His peacocking is cut short when something darts by, the fueler cringing away in a sudden, full-body recoil! When he is not plugged with a armor-piercing, delayed explosion dart and instantly killed, Octane tries to recover some of his dignity. "Uh, er, RUNNER!" he barks, a finger thrust after the escapee, trying to divert any attention away. "I've gott'em!" Octane launches into pursuit, boots thudding along before he lifts off, arms thrust forward as his feet leave the ground! Stealing a trick from Blitzwing's book, Octane transforms the moment he manages to eclipse the runner, several tons of tanker truck suddenly crashing down on the engineer! Listen closely and you may even bhear Octane's cry of pain when he realizes that he just wasn't built for this kind of thing! Fusillade grunts, and begins to sprint after the burlt-armed porterbot. She clears the obstacle, inspiring a panicked sidelong glance from the factory worker. She reaches out to snag him by the shoulder, reaching out to cuff him across the face. He struggles, one broad fist recessing to reveal a hydraulic piston. Fusillade gets thrown off of him with a loud 'gah!' as he punches her, and scrambles back to his original route. F-35B Lightning II descends out the sky to land in the path of the porterbot that Fusillade is chasing. One cannon swings over a shoulder, primed and ready. Contrail does not go for her whip, because she lent that to Buzzkill. She does, however, try to deck him. In a transformation that is harder than it looks, Contrail rises up into robot mode. <> Cyclonus transmits. He circles back around to put Triggerhappy in his field of vision. He read the Targetmaster's medical report--he should still be down there. For a moment he mulls over whether or not he should keep him in reserve so that he doesn't slag himself up even more. He decides not to--even if the Targetmaster rips something loose inside himself, it would serve as a good lesson for the over-eager Decepticon. The grey engineer yelps out, "Dingbat! They've got me!" from under the bulk of the tanker. He wrenches free with a cry, tearing his elbow joint in the process. With a twist, he jabs a previously concealed, definitely electrified, blade upward into the Triplechanger's chassis! A spiky knuckle sandwich greets Dingbat, who staggers, scrambling while half hunched over as he tries to maintain his escape(?) momentum. From a darkened archway in the direction that Dingbat was headed, a faint clack-clankt can be heard. It repeats itself. And again, closer to Contrail and Fusillade this time. "Augh, augh, Primus my shocks! How does he even... Clanking hell that hurt. Never again, never ag-ARGHBLGARHBNGH!?" whines Octane, his complaints suddenly made less intelluigable by the fact that some doofus jast stabbed him with a shock-shank. The blade punches into the truck's hull, metal 'SCRNCH!'ing through metal in that horrible, ear-piercing way that it does! "Of all the bolt stripping-!?" exclaims the truck as a quartette of hoses emerge from behind the cap, their black, ribbed lengths coiling back in the air around the truck like so many vipers, each tipped with a needling syphon. "C'mere!" barks the horrid, eighteen-wheeled quadropus as it lurches forward, syphons stabbing away at the engineer or trying to catch it by it's remaining limbs. His anger aroused, he's intent on sucking the poor robot dry, like a juice box! Yes, Triggerhappy's medical report is quite terrible. The Targetmaster's sensor arrays are messed up pretty badly. Along with a number of other things. Thus, Blowpipe had refused to accompany him today. If his binary bond partner wanted to go get himself slagged again, the Nebulan didn't want to get screwed over along with him. That was probably a wise thing to do. At any rate, Fusillade has ordered he and Octane to get down into the factory with her. <> His vocal synthesizer is corroded as well, so his voice is laced with static but he quickly obeys, descending through a sky window and touching down next to a silhouette that must be Fusillade....right? At least, he thinks so? A Deception bike trooper yelps as h is bowled over by Octane's angry prehensile hose. All worthwhile, though, as Octane is rewarded with a resistance operative in his clutches. He iz already beating his fists against the restraint, shouting "You are a blight on our city! Our way of life, subverted and perverted for your gain!" The figure that Triggerhappy lands next to is dakr blue and white, not dark grey and white. So close, yet so far! "D-d-d-Decepticon!" the lanky machinist yelps, before raising the mig welders for hands up at Triggerhappy's already battered face. Plowshares to swords... Octane's hoses weren't built to take a beating. /NOTHING/ on Octane was built to take a beating. The flexible, exterior casings of the hose are battered and beaten, caving inwards like a rubbermaid trash can that just went a few rounds in a boxing ring. "Ow, ow, ow, ow!" yelps Octane with each blow to his sensative equipment. "Slaggit, stop fighting back while I'm trying to oppress you!" bellows the truck before with a whip of his tentacles, Octane sends the one-armed engineer sailing towards a wall before retracting his hoses and promptly transforming! Starfighter decides to descend a bit lower. He's fairly certain that the other Decepticons will miss at least one resistance member. Or maybe he's hoping for it. Either way, he circles about directly above the factory, like a vast predatory.... spaceship. The dove grey engineer finally slumps limply against the wall that Octane flung him against. "Not... going to stop... with just ussssss," he gasps out defiantly to the fueler. "F-fusi--" Ouch, sword to face. Triggerhappy is stunned and confused by this, completely vulnerable to additional blows and taken off guard. This was not going so well for him, no... Contrail does not hear the ominous noise that is surely creeping up on her and Fusillade. Ahe just does not pay that much attention to these things. There is a reason she's been stuck reading reports and pushing data, and it is that she does not make a great field agent. She tries to jump-tackle Dingbat, because what Contrail does possess is enthusiasm. "Oh, I don't doubt it!" announces Octane as he lumbers over to the downed Mech. "See, I've been around, I know how this goes. You guys are all very brave and valient but you're not really built for a fight, right? Maybe you have one or two that are, you know, a few ringers in the bunch. See, what happens though is that we're going to find those ringer and run them through a wringer..." he pauses, the mech fixing him with a confused look, "Wringer... Wringer! You know, a old terran device. Two rolling pins attached to a crank, they used to run clothes through them and it would squ- You know what? Forget about it." he cuts himself short before he drops down beside the mech, even going so far as to loop a arm around the other 'former's shoulders. "Point is, it's bad! Now, you can help avoid all that nastyness because your buddies in there?" he continues, pointing towards the sound of fighting. "They're going to die. The others arn't as nice as I am, regular Sensative, New Age Decepticon right here, I tell you." he prattles, jabbing a thumb into his chest. "See, yeah, the empire is a bit heavy handed but it's better than the alternative, right? I mean, all you guys have to do is toe a line. Beyopnd that? we don't really care what you do!" the fueler prattles on and on, schmoozing and jabbering without seeming end. Fusillade rubs her jaw, and gives a sharp nod of appreciation to Contrail as she takes him down like a sack of potatoes. "Not sure how much /this/ pile of scrap knows, but I bet you could find out real fast. Now, let's see about that noise...." She advances, her sidearm in hand, ready to fire... And approximately ten minutes later, Cyclonus's patience is rewarded. A freakish mishmash of drone parts bursts from the wall opposite the door that Octane melted! At least a dozen of Shockwave's favorite type of bubble drones have bern snaked together in a drunken congo line. Yoked around its glittering optic pod cluster is yoke of arcing cyan energy, and astride it is a tiny brown and kelly green panelled mech. "Gizmo, tally-ho!" The drone centipede cants its tail, the superheated magnesium shaft plunging down to the street to pierce open the street and presumably open up an escape route for its master. Starfighter observes the bizarre creature blasting open an escape route, and mentally judges the timing of when to prevent the escape attempt. After loitering in the air for barely a second more, Cyclonus streaks down, his atomic-powered engines pushing him faster than virtually any other spacecraft on either side can manage, and lobs incendiary bombs right into the opening Gizmo made, hoping to fill it full of flames just as the drone creature sticks itself partway in. "There is no escape, wretches!" Cyclonus booms, loud enough to be heard across the block. "The judgment of GALVATRON awaits all of you!" The grey engineer fixes Octane with a steely glare, which is soon replaced with confusion at Octane's ringer-wringer tangent. "And what line is that?" he bires the words out. "Line?" echoes Octane, optics flickering, brows lofting. He feels as if he were interrupted and has lost his train of thought. "The line, the 'do as we say and you and all that you hold dear will remain intact and fully functional' line!" he explains, laying it out in plain speak. "I mean, how long do you think this will last? Think we'll just go away if you guys make enough trouble? Loopk at Earth, pal! We've been trying to crack that nut for lifetimes and it's still just not cracking! We'll keep at it though! Just Like Here." he jabbers, a finger pointing towards the ground, bobbing with each, final word. "It's really not all that bad. Contrail's likely to be your Governess, pretty reasonable femme, likely won't even demand a yearly sacrifice in her honor or gladiatorial games! We Decepticons /love/ gladiatorial games." Contrail tries to slam Dingbat's head into the ground a few times, for good measure. However, Fusillade is advancing on the mysterious noise, so Contrail tries to haul Dingbat up and drag him along after her. Good thing her cannons are hands-free. Where the nameless grey mech excels in stoicism, Dingbat does not. He blubbers and begins confessing everything he knows - which isn't much. About how a friendly match of darts snowballed into an adventure of diverting materials from the factory production line into underground cels and he never saw where it went but there was a subway like aliteral underground and that he didn't want to die and it's all the others' faults! Contrail shortly reaches Fusillade, who is missing a lower leg that seems to have been bitten ofg. She is currently swearing and trying vainly to cut her shoulder free of a wall, the two fused together at the edges of a neat cored out punch mark with molten edges -- from the fleeing droneapede... ... which buckles upon itself from the backblast from Cyclonus's expertly placed missiles. Its jaws of life snap spasmodically through the torso of an unfortunate Seeker, thrashing and falling apart with a gurgling '...story gets better everytime I hearrrrritttt...'. Gizmo is thrown, his feet kicking futilely in the air as several other Decepticon troopers pounce on him to secure him for the ranking Decepticons present. The grey engineer gets his second wind, resisting anew. "It already isn't normal! Not nice!" He lunges to free himself one more time. Starfighter , having dropped bombs on the Drone's escape route, drops himself on the drone, or at least one of its components, and quickly whips out his sword to put it out of its misery--component by component if necessary. He glances down after his handiwork is done, seeing the whimpering Seeker holding his smouldering guts on the ground, and promptly lops off his head, putting him out of his misery too. He may hand the lasercore over to Soundwave--perhaps he can make something more useful out of him. "That one," Cyclonus says, pointing at Gizmo. "Bring him here." The Decepticon troopers drag Gizmo over, and force him to his knees. Cyclonus holds Gizmo's chin for a moment "Your pitiful defiance is at an end. Instead of a rallying cry to freedom, you shall serve as an object lesson of what happens to those who defy Galvatron." And then he backhands the worker, and then motions dismissively for the troopers to take him away. The space fighter's nosecone snaps back as its body flips upright. Arms and legs unfold from the wings and fuselage respectively, and a dour face emerges from the body, forming the robot mode of Cyclonus! Triggerhappy is stumbling about, getting the slag beaten out of him by that mech that looked like Fusillade. By now he's figured out it wasn't her, but it's hard to fight when you can barely see. But then Fusillade is saying something involving the word 'shoot' on the comm, so he does just that, letting loose with his photon pulse weapons in every direction. Hopefully some of them hit the wall Fusillade is stuck to. Fusillade squawks as Triggerhappy's shots hit the wall, her, and yes, even the welding robot. Her heels bang against the wall, and with a 'crack', her melted shoulder detaches itself from the ruined wall. Contrail drags Dingbat along, filing away his mention of a subway. Ugh, underground. Do they have any drilltanks they can get on that? She looks at Fusillade and the fleeing donreapede. Hmm. Should she helps her fellow Decepticon or chase the droneapede? Tough call! Contrail sighs and decides to try to help extricate Fusillade. Dingbat has her hands kind of full, anyway. She throws him down, stands on him, and tries to help Fusillade unstuck from the wall. "So uh. I won't talk about this if you don't." Triggerhappy would still be shooting everything, but he's taken a serious beating and is exhausted. Thus, he is lying face down in the middle of the floor. ================================= Decepticon ================================= Message: 2/121 Posted Author CC Industrial Sector Resistance Ce Sat Feb 09 Fusillade ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ *Fusillade appears, a silver and seafoam medic threading hydraulic and electrical line through a fist-sized hole through her left clavicle area* "Okay, Tweak, I'm starting. Take a break, your hands are shaking. Earlier this cycle, I joined a wing of Aerospace units that were investigating leads pointing to a resistance celll that was using materials from one of Shockwave's drones to fuel their efforts. Officers Octane and Triggerhappy joined me, as well as Director Contrail and Lord Cyclonus. We met a surprising degree of openness and... competence in this group, which used tools like welding, hydraulics, and electrified blades to fend us off. Exceptionally, they subverted the drone assembly machinery to make vehicle sized weapons. The ringleader, named Gizmo, had cobbled together a conveyance out of about.... 12 of those bubble drones, with a stinger of superheated magnesium. It disabled me with this ~lovely~ window, and almost punched its way into the underground before Cyclonus neutralized him. Currently, at least four individuals, Gizmo included, are in custody. They are getting better organized, so we need to get more aggressive. Fusillade, out! *end* ==============================================================================
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)