| abstract
| - Central Park Encircled by water, the city that never sleeps has been forced to grow up instead of out, and the Canyons of Steel are steeper than ever, their metal spires a striking contrast against the seeming wilderness of the park. To the south sprawls the tangle of downtown Manhattan, the massive United Nations complex now rising high to rival the skyscraping Empire State building. The sloping glass wall of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, repository of many of Earth's greatest art treasures, reflects the sunlit sky on the east side of the Park. Crowds throng the park no matter the weather, walking, hoverboarding, playing or simply relaxing. Wide open spaces combine with stretches of crowded pines and maples. The scene is a grisly one, dark dank tunnels stretch far beyond the eye.. or optic can percieve. Small pools of water collect and flow through the cramped quarters directly underneath the Empire State Building, some Alligatorcon remains lie in a pile directly underneath the manhole cover. Some grease has collected on the sides of the tunnels, a light filmy covering. Random assortments of refuse drift freely: Milk cartons, empty cigarette packs, candy wrappers, and even a small sailboat someone lost down a storm drain. It floats helplessly along, right next to a used syringe. :/ Moonracer comes in search of clues! She reminds herself to take back a bucketful of the contaminated water to present to good ol' Ultra Magnus for assigning her to this duty. Despite the overwhelming urge to complain, she *has* seen worse on Cybertron. Million-year-old sludge doesn't wash clean. Keeping her mouth shut, she moves quietly through the dank tunnels, keeping watch for any live Alligatorcons, and hoping Huffer can manage the same. "And that wasn't even the *worst* thing I've smelled, and it had been dead for 6 days. The worst was probably that muskbeast on Maroon 5 that Brawn had run over...It turned out it had some weird stink virus. Man. Brawn. It's a shame he's dead, you know? Of course, we've lost a lot of Autobots over the years: Brawn, Prowl, Ironhide, Optimus Prime..." Huffer continues to list dead friends as he trails Moonracer, dragging a crate full of scientific testing equipment. Contrail is leading a small team through the sewers of New York, which are inexplicably large enough for robots to wander around inside. She recaps for new readers of the comic, "So we're looking for clues as to where these Alligatorcons came from and why. One thinks the humans would notice a bunch of Alligatorcons being inserted into their sewers, but that lack of competence is, after all, what makes them human." She sneers, and also, Contrail is very glad that each and every one of her modes is watertight and airtight. If only she had been built without a nose, too. That would just be great. Then she turns a corner tunnle, thinks she hears... whining... and... "Autobots. Slaggit!" Her back-mounted guns start to swing down over her shoulders... and pause. "...if we have a firefight in here, we'll blow up all the clues. Double slaggit." "I'm surprised the Terrorcons didn't volunteer for this one, seems right up their auto-alley," Boomslang is saying to Contrail and Fusillade as he trails along behind the point. Almost simultaneously with her cry of alarm Boomslang also raps out "Contact!" Instead of readying weapons, however, he drops into the murk and seems to disappear with less than the usual amount of splash. It's as if he had stepped through a hole. Combat: Boomslang activates his cloaking field and vanishes from sight! "Yuck, we should have brought a tape with us!" Fusillade exclaims, her back hunched as she tries to stand a bit more upright in one of the larger, more cavernous recesses of the sewer system -- before the path opens up to the more accessible tunnels. Dark green and pale baby-poop brown goo dangles from the corners of her armor where she has scraped past the systems' walls, plopping into ankle-deep (for a Transformer) murk and hydrogen sulfide bubbles stirred up by her steps. "Not to mention what'd happen if the methane caught, pshew-ee!" She grunts, "So why is this mystery mech so interesting to DCI, anyway. She raises a wingblade -- not as a weapon, to fan the worst of the STANK away from her face. "Oh, GOOD-ie," she replies to the others' call of alarm at Autobots. "Tunnelrats in their native environment." As the two groups near ever closer to eachother, the mutual light that trickles down from above spotlights the Alligatorcon parts and the lone floating sailboat. The areas all around it however, are shrouded in darkness. Anyone got a match? Moonracer was about to tell Huffer to keep it down, in case he drew any remaining Alligatorcons in the area to swarm them, but there is worse than Alligatorcons down here. "Decepticons!" she hisses to Big Mouth as she pulls her rifle, bracing for an attack. At least with the cramped quarters down here, they can't rush them. The first person she sees is Contrail, who is in the lead. "But think what a big explosion it would be," she points out to the other femme, her rifle pointing straight at her. While speaking, she tries to visually piece the inky darkness enough to see who else is there. She'd heard more voices. "Decepticons?! Where? I can't see a thing down here, Moonracer! It seems like I always get stuck in dark places that are full of Decepticons and robotic alligators. Plus, you're female, and the gator mechs might be sensitive to your cycle!" He lets his box of science drop, completely frustrated. "Well this just takes the energon cake. And if there's shooting, the amount of methane in this place will blow us all to Primus! Of course, that's probably a fitting end, knowing my luck. Death by human fart cloud." Contrail's guns snap into place over her shoulders, and she sizes Moonracer and Huffer up. Between Fusillade, the invisible man, and herself... they could totally murder Moonracer and Huffer, and then they could send the pieces back to Rodimus postage due. For a moment, Contrail imagines Rodimus sitting at his desk, opening a box, and recoiling at the stench - and then gaping at seeing Moonracer and Huffer's lifeless severed heads nestled in the box. She smiles slightly to herself. Then Contrail sighs, "As much as I'd like to murder you and avenge Carjack, I have better things to be doing, Autobot." She tries to shoulder past Moonracer to examine the walls from about waist high, down to the murky, fetid water. Any signs of scraping along the wall? Combat: Contrail compares her Accuracy to 35: Success! "That's the one that took out Carjack?" asks Boomslang's voice from somewhere nearby. "I wouldn't go telling everyone that if I was him." There are a few sharp taps from Fusillade's direction, and then a sharp glare from the cone of directed light that fills the area, along with her sharp laughter at Boomslang's wisecrack. She swings her landing gear lights over toward the Autobots. "And I'm guessing the creator is interesting to DCI because he she it is interesting to the Autobots, gotcha," she exposits. "So... paper, rock, scissors for who gets to find this maker of smelly mechanical alligators?" she chirps out at the Autobots by way of greeting. Contrail's quick scan for scrapings reveals something else entirely, though how hard it'd be to miss is another debacle. The long narrow tunnel they had been traversing isn't an 'I' but rather a 'T'. The ajoining tunnel starts right underneath the manhole, stretching far beyond. One of the most noticeable things however, is it's construction. Dug out to accomodate for Cybertronian sized beings, so they don't have to hunker down like humpbacks while traversing, light is scarce. Watch your step! If she weren't busy with the Decepticons, and if she even knew what he was talking about, Moonracer would have something to say to Huffer about his anthropomorphizing. "Hello to you, too, Decepticon. Try not to get too excited," she chides cheerfully. "The gas down here is explosive, and I'd hate to have my charred, mangled components mix with yours." Her rifle is kept ready, and her optics are kept on the enemy until either their backs are turned or they've moved past, then she takes the opportunity to poke around the flotsam with a no longer white foot. "Huffer, you take a look around, too. See what the instruments say." Combat: Moonracer compares her Intelligence to 65: Failure :(Huffer sighs. "Huffer, see what the instruments say." He repeats after Moonracer. "Never, 'hey Huffer apparently I had an amazing fight and beat up Carjack!.' I'ts not like anything is gonna get a read down here, anyway." He digs a orange PKE meter looking gizmo out of the crate and turns it on. "Oh wait." Combat: Huffer compares his Technical to 45: Success! Light is scarce in the side tunnel. So Contrail transforms to her car mode, gives silent thanks that Carjack saw fit to make her car mode waterproof and airtight, and turns on her headlights to try to shed some light on the situation. She also contemplates putting on her police flasherbar, just to be obnoxious. This puts her vantage point down a lot lower, though... she looks up as she fords through the muck. Anything horrible on the ceiling? Turning into a police car, Contrail fights crime! Wait, that's not right. Contrail causes crime. "Oh, NO, not an explosion! How will I ever survive -THAT-?" Fusillade asks rhetorically, happy to stalk forward and hold position while Contrail and Boomslang seek information in the murk. Boomslang lurks nearby somewhere, presumably keeping an eye on the Autobots to make sure they don't make any moves on Contrail or Fusillade. "Feels strange not just taking them out. Maybe we need spring-loaded guns for this sort of thing." The only things Moonracer can discern from the Alligatorcon corpses are minimal. Slightly rushed construction, simple design, and horrid stench. Huffer's scannings lead to a bit more results, however. The Alligatorcon carcus' automatically set off his scanners. The handheld device also indicates that further down the 'T' shaped rabbit hole, more Cybertronian tech awaits! On the ceilings, impossible to miss if staring directly at them, are more scrapings to indicate this was hand dug to accomodate their larger size. Moonracer finds a bent and battered curtain rod and uses it to sweep through the shallow water for anything else more interesting than waste, both organic and inorganic. She deliberately moves away from the Decepticons, towards that rabbit hole, beckoning Huffer to go ahead of her so she can guard his back. Not for a minute is she tempted to abandon him down there! Not a minute! Huffer just stares bleakly at Moonracer. "There's something possibly big, Cybertronian, and /Bot/Con hungry and I get to go first? This is because I brought up your female cycle, isn't it?" His shoulders sag in general life defeat. "Fiiiiiine." The saddest minibot steps into the hole, and whatever happens when someone gets into this hole happens to him. Lamborghini Gallardo is really thinking this doesn't make sense. Who goes through all the trouble of carving out tunnels just so that shoddy Alligatorcons can attack and... promptly fail? Who goes through all the trouble of sourcing really obscure Terran, Cybertronian, and Junkion parts, cribs ones of Scrapper's designs, and then makes the resulting Alligatorcons all but useless? Someone is screwing with the Empire. Contrail's going to have a head on a pike, just wait and see. She drives on deeper into the tunnel, keeping a slow pace so that the walking Transformers can keep up, her headlights casting strange shadows. Contrail keeps looking, and she listens, too. Any weird noises? Or just more sewer blurbling... Fusillade mouths the words 'female cycle' to herself in some bewilderment, before smirking with satisfaction as Huffer seems to be gone with a splash. "Heh heh, that's more like it." She begins to shuffle more quickly to try to overtake Contrail, keenly peering at any promising gratings, loose or otherwise. "You know, like that other femme, the blue one," Boomslang explains. "Transforms into a female cycle." Huffer's step in the right direction, isn't. "Oh bother." A sudden rush of water from the storm drain meets at the junction, then sends the depressive robot down the hand-carved tunnel. He sails swiftly by Contrail, however, and out of sight. Contrail's perseverance to observe leads to a slight advantage, but not terribly much. Combat: Lamborghini Gallardo compares her Agility to 30: Success! "But the orange robot said YOUR female cycle -TO- Moonracer," Fusillade pointlessly quibbles with Boomslang. "I mean, are the Autobots into slavery or something now?" she asks, as if they aren't there. No matter, though! Her strident alto rings through the sewers as she pointedly asks, "Hey, Moonracer! What's this about YOUR FE-male cycle? You into collecting babes or something?" She snickers as she peers into one particularly promising vent... Combat: Fusillade compares her Agility to 40: Failure :( Fusillade begins shrieking. Combat: Moonracer compares her Agility to 40: Failure :(Combat: Boomslang compares his Agility to 40: Success! Boomslang once served with Starscream and has no problem at all handling gusts of foul hot air. Once again, Moonracer can't make any sense of Huffer's reference, and she shrugs. It's not like she pays a whole lot of attention to what he says. Like most of the Autobots, she's learned to tune him out, especially when he achieves that particularly whiny tone of voice. "I think Huffer is having a bad reaction to the gas," she calls back to Fusillade. She might even be right. Her progress is interrupted, first by Huffer streaming past her, and then by the surge of water that captured him, capturing her as well. Though the rush of water and steam catches Fusillade and Moonracer off balance, some actual chunks of Alligatorcon floating in the rush is what sends Moonracer into the current and carried away down the tunnel. Hopefully Contrail is checking her rear view mirrors!! Tumbling down the tunnel, end over end, Moonracer is finally deposited into a large room. It's dark however, until she can manage to light a lantern or something. Contrail's headlights can probably be dimly seen from up the tunnel. That same gush of water and smelly gator parts deposits Fusillade into the same room! Boomslang is going to have to find where they got washed off to, clearly. He sighs and starts looking around. Lamborghini Gallardo is, well, waterproof. The water is annoying, but it's not going to kill her engine or anything. She wonders if the Constructicons could figure out anything from the way the tunnel was constructed. Contrail looks in her rearview mirrors as Fusillade and Moonracer are whisked away. She decides to put on her flasherbar lights and siren to make it clearer where she is, and she puts it into reverse. Fusillade's panicked yelp quickly transforms into a stream of obscenities to match the putrid spew that has snagged Fusillade off her feet. With graceless yelling, she tries to hook her fingers into anything that might give her purchase. It's only until the corridor opens up into a new room that the flow subsides, leaving her in shallow pool of decidedly -organic- material. "Ewwwww, EWWWWWWW, ewwww!" she begins chanting. With a choice piece of muck smeared across her visor as she blindly feels around for her dislodged weapons. Her hands gingerly close over something loose and bladed. Moonracer has lost Huffer and is apparently alone... until she sees some lights. Her optics dim out, reducing her chance of being spotted in the dark. Next, she cautiously examines her surroundings by what little light there is. She sees what she believes is Contrail up the tunnel - noisy wench - and hears Fusillade - another noisy wench - but there may have been another. Finally, she checks her weapons. She does *not* check herself; she really doesn't want to know. With the room seemingly the central cesspool room, it's a collection of random items and half decomposed waste. A noxious green scum about half a foot thick sits atop the undisturbed waters that both femmes find themselves in. Moonracer rises quietly to her feet and hopes that she doesn't look as bad as Fusillade. "Calm down, lady, it washes off. Try crawling in old lubricant from the Golden Age with powdered rust and petroleum jelly if you want to complain. Oddly enough, she still has her curtain rod and pokes into the water. "I hope there are no Alligatorcons under this scum," she comments, half to unnerve Fusillade, half because it might be true. Lamborghini Gallardo manages to backtrack to the room where Fusillade and Moonracer have been dumped. She shuts off her flasherbar and siren and transforms. Contrail withdraws a small vial and puts some of the odious green scum into it before capping it. More labwork for the lab techs! Contrail asks innocently, "Think that water gust was accidental... or think we have company?" She smirks. In a transformation that is harder than it looks, Contrail rises up into robot mode. Boomslang has often be called scum, so he would know. He's not waterproofed to the kind of depths that Contrail is, but with his intakes and exhausts and various vents sealed, he can take it. He pokes around a bit too, but it's more to avoid being snuck up on by gators than because he's searching for any clues. "Hnph, your kind WOULD think this was a sauna!" Fusillade scowls, a twinge of competitiveness starting to take hold as the Autobot mucks around. Literally. Standing back up, she wipes her visor clean. She half-crouches, opening wingblades to graze over the surface, feeler-like. Her shoulders tense, preparing to fend off any still-operational Alligatorcon units. Contrail's lights bounce off the far wall of the room, revealing a wide boxy shape to the construction. A fine ledge about four Cybertronian paces runs the perimeter of the room, the scum laps up against it's border but it's mainly dry. With water about waist deep for the average sized Transformer inside the 'cesspool' Fusillade and Moonracer have found themselves in, the scum obscures most visibility to the bottom of the murky pool. Boomslang might be close to something! Combat: Boomslang compares his Agility to 50: Success! Boomslang finds himself narrowly close to running into some cyndrical cans that come floating down the tunnel, clacking against the bottom ever so often. Maybe he'll be able to snag one or two? Moonracer slowly eases herself out of the water, in case a Boomshark is lurking there, just waiting for sudden movements. She sits on the ledge first and then pulls her gucky legs out, wincing at the sight. There's no sign of Huffer, and she hopes the little guy made it out. Really she does! "I didn't say I liked it, just that there's worse. I don't know about you, but I don't like not being able to see the bottom of this pool." Fusillade doggedly begins wading to the edge of the room, taking high under-murk steps. She stabs downward into the liquid from time to time, moving at a ninety degree angle away from Moonracer's perch. Once she gets to the ledge, she hauls herself off, slicking off copious amounts of drek from her surfaces -- for a start. "Engines are going to have be washed out. At least there's still anti-gravs," she sulks, while opening a comm link. Upon further inspection of the ledge, some minor recesses can be discovered.. though it looks as though the entire ledge has been torched. A grimy black film covers the surface, smudging any nice new paint applications. Some blocky sheet metal sticks out from the recesses, what may it house?? Contrail takes the David approach to looking for clues and puts one of her hands on the wall, feeling it out. Indeed, yes, she goes over to poke the sheet metal. If she can't get it open, she'll pull out some of her detcord to blow it open. Maybe a demolitionist looking for clues was a bad idea. Boomslang almost bonks into what looks like a few little depth charges. He pauses to gently capture one from the slow current and pull it aside. He's always interested in new munitions. "Maybe I can drop it on Seaspray," he says to himself as he examines the canister. Moonracer is tempted to verbally compare Fusillade to Huffer, but she's alone with a pack of Decepticons, and it's only the methane gas in here that prevents them from opening fire on her. Something pokes her in the back, and she glances behind her to see something very much like what Contrail is poking at. Moving *very* carefully - that nasty black film could be slippery - she studies the metal to see how it fits into the wall. If she can find a way, she'll try to work it loose. The sheet metal gives easily, coming out in one fried chunk of what might have previously been a console. One can't be too entirely sure in this light and locale, however. Look at that, Moonracer and Contrail have a matching set! Upon further inspection, Boomslang discovers a paint can? Yes, half full and rusted. Clanking dangerously close to a hidden door, Fusillade accidentally knocks down the metal sheet covering the back entrance to the room. Apparently the fire set here had loosened or removed what was holding it up. Falling away, it reveals a giant step ladder up to the city's surface. A large trash container rests over top of the manhole, though it's an easy feat for any Cybertronian to toss aside. "Oh boy," Boomslang remarks. "Paint." Oh, there goes Fusillade up some stairs. "I'd better make sure she doesn't get into any trouble," he adds, and follows her up. Fusillade tips over backward as the plate gives way with a metallic screech. However, with a series of clunks, grunts, and oofs, she calls out, "Hey, guys! I think I found something!" Another few moments, and the bin is moved... SUNLIGHT! She glances over one shoulder, and then makes her escape. Contrail pulls out another vial, scrapes up some of the ash, and dumps it in the vial. Boy, this 'gathering evidence' business isn't much fun compared to shooting Autobots in the face. She sighs as Fusillade and Boomslang make their escape. At least they came, she thinks. Moonracer is visibly disgusted. "Is this supposed to be a control room? In a sewer? Says a lot about whoever set this up." She looks behind the fried console for any wiring. It's probably burnt out, too, and it's hard to see, but she gives it a shot. At least until Fusillade finds a way out. "Looks like they came in that way, but how could they avoid being seen by the humans?" She has the disquieting notion that whoever this is may have human helpers. She keeps an optic on Contrail as she pokes the bottom of the pool with her makeshift pole. Just for the sake of thoroughness, not because she believes she'll find anything. There's only one Con left, but she cannot trust her for a minute. Contrail straightens herself out and looks around the room, looking for more things to put in evidence vials. She looks over at Moonracer, and her face twists into a scowl of displeasure. The thought that the humans should have noticed something had dawned on Contrail earlier, but Contrail is willing to accept that humans are just really incompetent. At length, she replies, "Might have been a staging room, not a control area. Just dig this out, dig out the other tunnel, and done. What do you make of all this?" and she gestures vaguely. Does this not add up to Moonracer, too? Moonracer finds a .. BICYCLE! Not an evil bicycle, just an old rusted one. The wiring doesn't reveal much, just melted casings and splayed innards. A bunch of individual wires, though one larger metal housing encased a slew of them. Likely the powersource itself for the contraption. Moonracer arches a brow ridge as Contrail asks for her opinion. "Contradictions," she answers honestly. "The Galvatron clone was powerful enough to do some real damage, and yet we have the Alligatorcons, which were badly made from what little I've seen of them. Can we even be sure that they're connected?" She shrugs as she fishes a bicycle up from the pool, then lets it return to its rest to go back to the leads for the power source. Wisely deciding not to poke her finger in there, she shrugs again. "Maybe two parties are involved." Contrail has to pause and stare at the bicycle that Moonracer has found. Her mouth opens, and she blurts, "What the flying frag? Seriously? A bicycle? Who does that? Is... this enemy insane? Or just screwing with us? Or yes?" She throws her hands in the air in disgust. Contrail does note down that the Autobots aren't sure if there's a connection or not, either. Or are just pretending that. While Moonracer won't poke her finger in there, Contrail does. Contrail is sometimes lacking in sense. OH NOES! Unfortunately for the audience, the power source is not longer generating any current. The soot that's covering just about anything on the ledge would lead one to believe it be fire damage, though with these frequent bursts of water.. one can't be too sure what has caused this. Moonracer shrugs again and darts towards the ladder up, horribly tempted to push Contrail into the murky pool in passing. Maybe she'll *accidentally* knock into her on the way. If she can make it out before Contrail, then the Decepticon femme won't dare fire while she could set off a methane gas explosion that would kill her. Once topside, the chances even out. Combat: Moonracer misses Contrail with her Accidental Bump (Grab) attack! Contrail fails to electrocute herself. Everyone is very disappointed. At any rate, Contrail has a sample of green slime and a sample of black soot in her vials. She has more questions than answers. She has the urge to violently murder Moonracer. None of this is really useful! (Also, she is covered in slime and worse things than slime.) Now Moonracer is running away, and Contrail says aloud, "...like a little rat," stepping away just in time to avoid that 'accidental bump'. She starts after the Autobot, but the Autobot has a lead on her. If Moonracer gets to the street and transforms... she'll be gone before Contrail can catch her. Moonracer isn't so much trying to escape as being able to face Contrail on even terms. If Contrail made it to the top first, all she'd have to do is fire into the hole, and Moonracer would be blown to bits. Moonracer herself wouldn't do the same because of collateral damage. This is a tactical move. So yes, Moonracer is hauling aft to get outside before Contrail. Hours later, Huffer rises from the sludge and scum. Knocking heavily against a discarded bicycle, he groans loudly. "Just my luck, come here to help Moonracer out and I get left behind. Not that much of a surprise, though." he muses, climbing the ladder.
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