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| - Also, TP: A Whole New Universe, Mad Salvage White cement tile floors complete with floor drains mark this room as a maintenance space even before you see all the machine tools. Toolchests and workbenches are mounted on the walls, with the center of the room left open for access to the lifts and hoists. Air hoses for pneumatic tools hang in reels from the ceiling, easily accessable from any part of the room, and at several points along the rear wall there are connections for fuel, coolant and welding gas hoses. Carjack isn't hard to find these days... Okay, he's never really hard to find considering his line of expertise. But he's been holed away in Darkmount's labs ever since getting back on his feet, so it was even less of a search than usual before one found him hunched over a workstation. The antimatter extractor -- what was left of it -- sat next to the station. Some banging around during Carjack's retreating wipeout had busted off the actual extractors, but the containment tank was still sealed and stabled until the Decepticons decided on what dastardly deed they were going to doom someone with it. Lamborghini Gallardo still needs the results on that armour analysis! So she had to hunt Carjack down in Darkmount. There's still a gaping hole through her middle where the Galvatron Fleet shot her. She wheezes a bit as she greets, "Carjack. You look... busy. Slaggit." In a transformation that is harder than it looks, Contrail rises up into robot mode. It's not the statement initially but the wheezing that gets Carjack to look up from the station, and a mere glance over the femme enough to tell she's not there to just chat. "I'm a medic, I'm -always- busy," he retorts with his usual snarkism, but it's even as he's getting up from the console seat. "But I'm flattered you would come all the way back to Cybertron just to let me poke at your systems more." Actually he's pretty sure she came to ask about things other than repairs, but business before pleasure. Contrail snorts and correctly flatly, "Yeah, no. I need to know if you have results on the armour analysis yet, and I wanted to ask a... favour." She shifts uncomfortably. Contrail really does not want to give Carjack any more leverage over her, but... she needs something done. Though by the time she's replied Carjack already has a sealent sprayer out and gives the gap in her chestplate enough quick spritzes to cover it all the same. "No reason to walk around with a hole to let your internals get contaminated." Then tosses the emptied can over his shoulder and trots back towards the station he was working at. "Actually, that's precisely what I was going over." He smirks a little to himself at her unease, but doesn't bring it up at the moment. Combat: Carjack expertly repairs Contrail's injuries. Combat: Carjack is able to repair some of Contrail's internal systems damage. Oh, goodie, Carjack wants to take his time and make her uneasy. Contrail does not bring up the favour again. Instead, she just looks over at the station he was working on. His repair work is excellent, after usual. Stiffly, she comments, "I am glad to see you up and moving again." "I'm sure you are, toots." But there's science to do so she's spared greater animosity for the sake of the matter as Carjack hops back into his seat and brings up the data he was going over on the screen. "I think you'll find what I found out particularly interesting. Well, besides what we already knew, about the armor being formed by extreme compression of several laters of material." Contrail says darkly, "I had better find it interesting. I've waited long enough." Carjack gives her sour remark a dismissive wave over a shoulder, he's use to such thing from patients and teammates alike. Then taps a few controls on the console, splitting apart the display of the armor chunk and zooming down to a molecular level. "It took a while to split it up into component materials due to them being pressure woven together, but the length of time yeilded a rather interesting result." He touchs the screen to point at one specific listing, which displays the highest precentage next to it and the diagram of the armor's molecular structure rotates to highlight several of the particles in the structure. "The highest rated content of this composition is found in large enough amounts to be used to armor an entire minature replica on one place in the local galaxy." Pause for dramatic effect, then drop the bombshell. "Junkion." Pause again. ".. Or is it called just Junk, since -ion implies being from a place named Junk? I'm never sure." Contrail actually does not look hugely surprised. "...yeah? The Alligatorcons had parts from Junk, Cybertron, and Earth. I guess this is evidence that the Galvatron Jr builder might have made the Alligatorcons, too. I guess I could send a team to Junk? Contagion recovered some stuff from Quantum Labs, too, but... let's talk about the antimatter first." "Maybe some Junkion has a sick sense of humor and is trying to get revenge for the attack on their aid fleet by making Lord Galvatron look unstable," Carjack stops himself before he can finish that sentence with the 'moreso than usual' that would likely get him cannoned later. Thankfully Contrail provides a distract of her own. "Ah yes, the antimatter." He pushes a foot against the console to turn his chair towards the container. Grins just enough to show some of his needle-like teeth. "Does that have to pertain to your 'favor'?" Shame on you if you thought he was going to just let that go. Contrail shakes her head and says lowly, "No. I just need someone to go through the databanks of the recovered ships of the Galvatron Fleet, as soon as possible, without making a digital trail or any official record of it. I think there may be some... evidence left in the databanks. I'd like to take a look at it before the repair crews wipe it out." Well that's just as interesting. Carjack taps his finger tips together a few times. "Well, I may be able to pull a few strings to... keep certain things quiet. Division rank does hav it's priveliges after all." Shifts to flash the femme that full spike-toothed smirk. "But they don't come cheap, either." Scrapper has arrived. Contrail looks guarded and wary, but she asks, "What's your price?" Hopefully no one will walk in on their collusion... Fortunately for Contrail, Carjack isn't the sort to try and horde large amounts of blackmail material... that, and he's got enough to hold over her head just for, you know, saving her from the scrapheap of hasbeen soldiers at least twice. "Well, we've got a big heap of antimatter here, and while I may be an engineer and mechanic, alas, my knowledge of explosives is comparatively limited." Soft stepping lightly echoes down the hallway leading into the Workshop. The footfalls behind those however, are anything but light. Peeking his small block-head in first, Scrapper gently pads his way on the white cement to an empty workbench. The mech behind him, with gargantuan arms, is carrying a box of parts.. setting it down with a "Hfff." "That will be all Jigsaw, thank you." the Constructicon denotes, quickly getting to work by seperating the parts. The gumbie strong-mech grunts again, then exits the room. "Burning the candle on both ends, Carjack?" he offers over his shoulder. Contrail looks startled as Carjack actually asks /her/ for technical advice. This must be opposite day! "...to be honest, I would help you make bombs for free, but sure. It's a deal." She offers Carjack her hand - just as Scrapper appears! Ohnoes! Carjack keeps the handshake brief as he hears someone walking in. But chills when he sees it's Scrapper. "Always. Logistics has hand plenty of work to go around lately. I mean, how often do you get to play with weapons grade antimatter that was found by Autobots with the intention to blow up said Autobots? Amongst other things." Though the other things he's not commenting on for the moment. Not that he wouldn't trust Scrapper, it's the -rest- of his team that has big mouths. Despite having none at all. And then Hook would try to show them all up. "Very true, though now that you've recovered.. I'm sure you'll do a fine job lining them up in a nice, neat little row." Scrapper comes off somewhat pleasant. "Rest assured, the salvage that -was- the giant Galvatron head has been properly disposed of." he lies. Three cycles ago, what little they could recover was shipped to Pequod. His team members don't even know about it, especially Hook. No one likes that guy. "Do you require assistance with the antimatter?" he asks, putting down his work to approach the two of them. "Contrail." he nods to the triplechanger. And the best part of this job? Delegating!.. Though Carjack knows not to try and pass too much off on someone as smart as Scrapper who'd probably catch on. "Depending on what Contrail comes up with, it may be needed. She's the demo expert, not I. Good to hear that head scrap's been taken care of, though." He doesn't know where it all went, or really care. It's gone from where it's suppose to be gone from. Contagion has arrived. Contrail narrows her optics when Scrapper says the salvage has been disposed of and resolves to get some agents to check it out. Maybe something hasn't been smelted yet... The whole affair was just fishy, she will get to the bottom of it! She admits, "I've never worked with antimatter before. I'll need to rely on you guys to design the containment system to go in the warhead, but I can work on the detonation systems. How big an explosion do we want out of these things? How many kiloton? Megaton?" Carjack aaaaahs. "But that's the easy part." Carjack leans over to pat the side of the antimatter extractor device, though really it's just a glorified containment unit now since the tapping devices got busted off while retreating. "We can just minaturize the magnetic holding field this baby uses. Connect it to the detonator to deactivate as part of the explosion.. or even reverse polarity to help fling it out. If that's possible. I dunno, do we want one big bomb or a bunch of smaller ones?" "Both." This is the sound of Contagion's raspy voice as he enters; a few flecks of rust dribbling off of various locations as he does. "We are Decepticons. More explosions, the better. An excess of destruction! Why use one, when we can use fifty?" It's incredibly difficult to tell if he is being sarcastic or not. "From a tactical perspective, many smaller bombs are probably more useful," Contrail muses. She pulls out her datapad to cycle through the different detonator designs. "I know Fusillade wants to drop some of these, so we should make sure they'll fit in her racks... probably proximity detonation? Or do we want some two-stage penetrators?" "Why settle for a one-time detonation?" Scrapper muses, hunching down to peer at the Antimatter containment unit. He'd point out the need for a new extractor, but he's not that nitpicky. At least not verbally, only mentally. "Why not take a portion of this substance to create fisible projectiles?" he offers, stepping back at Contagion's entrance and suggestion. "Of course, the power wouldn't rival Lord Galvatron's fusion cannon, by any means. And the weapons themselves, unless manufactured with the utmost care and with premium materials." ", would burn themselves out in short order." Carjack leans back on his chair. "As much as I would love to literally nuke some Autobots, we probably don't have time to devise entirely new cannon systems. Maybe after we use the bombs to blow up the Autobots and claim the dimensional breech for ourselves, we can experiment at our leisure." Nods a little at Contrail and pulls out his own minicomputer. "I've got Fusillade's rack size on file, just lemme bring up the medical data." Shrugging, Scrapper meanders back to his box of parts and grabs a few pieces. "I shall bow to your wisdome, Carjack. And ultimately, it matters little." he returns to the think tank group hefting some choice selections. "As long as they further the intellectual prowess of the Decepticon engineering corps." Scrapper assembles the mish mash into a new extractor for the Antimatter. "Of course, eviscerating the Autobots as well." Scrapper adds. Contrail is in the very strange position of being able to offer advice to Carjack and Scrapper. However, she's just parroting what Bonecrusher taught her, so this may seem oddly familiar to Scrapper! She keeps plodding on the fuses on her datapad and admits, "I'm not all that hot on guidance systems. Can you help with this staging design thing?" She holds up the datapad. "I'm used to just blowing up buildings with charges and a remote." Carjack gives Scrapper an odd look for a moment. After all this time he's still not sure how to tell when he's being sincerely modest and being a subtle snarker some times. But it's unimportant, because he's right. "But of course! The bombs are just a start." Shifting back to his own console he files away the armor analysis for now and brings up the schematics for the extractor's containment unit so it can be re-engineerred to bomb size. "Rudimentary demolitions prep.. who taught you, Bonecrusher?" Scrapper says in a joking tone, though the work does resemble his teammates. But then again, so do punch scoring found in most Autobot chassis. Though it's illogical to assume Bonecrusher's been teaching everyone how to go beserk. OR HAS HE?? "That was a joke." Scrapper admits, making some changes to her datapad.. while it's still in her hand. Contrail rubs her chin and asks, "Do we have any way to make antimatter napalm?" She accepts Scrapper's changes gratefully and tries to pull up the napalm warhead designs she has on file. Cribbing designs is the easiest way for Contrail to make bombs that actually work; she isn't really good enough to innovate. Then she makes a face and stares at Scrapper, admitting, "...well, Bonecrusher did. He made me colour with crayons while I was learning." This is completely true. "Well, that's because.." Scrapper attempts to explain the choice of crayons. It's not a very wise choice, and he can't really think of an intelligent way to cover up Bonecrusher's lack of smarts. "Well, he has a rather unique affinity for crayons." "Antimatter napalm?" the Constructicon leader muses, his optics brightening ever so discreetly. Contrail's suggestion just made the nerd section of his processor tingle. It's kinda like spider senses, only more geeky. "That is certainly an application we could administer!" he replies, delighted. Carjack slams a fist on the countertop suddenly. "THAT'S BRILLIANT!" Turns back to the others. "Combine the destructive potential of antimatter with naplam's cohesive burning. Even if they luckily survive the blast the clinging anti-particle material would still rapidly deteriate their infrastructure!" Contrail is well pleased by how excited Fusillade's idea of antimatter napalm makes everyone. She grins widely and says, "Fusillade will be glad to hear that, I'm sure." Contrail settles on a potential bomb styling to house said antimatter napalm and holds it up for review. "Capital." Scrapper approves of the suggestion, even though he eyes about thirteen modifications he'd personally apply. But to each their own, plus.. he's been trying to work on his 'bedside manner'. Apparently pointing out the flaws of others isn't a desired trait. Who would've guessed?? "When is this mission to take place?" Carjack has disconnected. Contrail would actually listen to Scrapper pointing out the flaws in her stuff, because she respects Scrapper's work, even if she thinks he may be behind as a HORRID COVERUP. She also asks, "Hey, can you check out the junk Contagion recovered from Quantum Labs?" "Certainly, this was another excursion concerning Galvatron's diminuative copy.. yes?" Scrapper nods along, happy to be back to some service. Though Pequod did give him the privacy required for his and Shockwave's rather, revolting developments. Contrail agrees, "As I wrote in my report. I think Contagion recovered an insect-like device and some of the RAM from the computer Galvatron Jr suborned?" "Insect-like?" Scrapper repeats, with a quizical hint to it. "Do you have the articles on your person or in storage?" he asks, certainly intrigued to get a look at the tech. Why, is anyone's guess though. Last time it was a horrible copy of one of his designs. And it smelt like a Blot/Snapdragon combination. If such a thing were possible. Contagion is very busy at a chemical research station because his animator is dealing with real life this episode, but he does toss a sack at Contrail's head before going back to work. Contrail gets a sack thrown at her pointed head. Ow. She catches it after it bounces off her head and hands it to Scrapper... though she watches him closely. Accepting the 'gift', Scrapper gently lays the sack down on the workbench and pulls out the items. Contrail's extra attention draws his notice, however. She's either really into this investigation, or him. Either doesn't phase him. I mean, it's is Scrapper afterall. He can't blame her. "Odd, this.. design looks familiar." he notes to the bug shaped device, plugging the datadrive of RAM into his datapad. It is totally that Contrail goes for short, green, and nerdy. No, actually, she's just really concerned that there is malarkey afoot. The Galvatron Fleet said some... disturbing things, and Scrapper says he disposed of it all. Contrail points out the obvious, "It looks like an Insecticon." "Well yes." Scrapper replies in short, taking the insect device and easily snaping the casing off. Laying the top casing to the side, the Constructicon peers down low and audibly "Hrm"s. His other hand reaches towards the datapad, minimizing the RAM access and dials up a couple of commands. "More than you know." he reports, sliding the datapad towards Contrail. Brought onscreen are brief schematics of one of Bombshell's cerebro shells. Contrail cannot really make much sense of the schematics. The sum of her technical knowledge is devoted towards making things explode. But she can read the annotations, and... "...Bombshell's cerebro shells? But didn't Bombshell get turned into Cyclonus or, well, /someone/? Is it actually genuine?" "In form, yes." Scrapper casually states, turning the simple device over in his hands.. removing the bottom casing. What's left is a tiny USB thumb drive, because well.. you know. Those things will never go out of style in the future. "In function, hardly. Looks like a genuine copy of a Decepticon hacking system with some modifications.." he plugs it into his datapad. Contrail says up front, "If that breaks your datapad..." ...okay, she has no way to finish that threat. "...oh slag, what if your datapad comes down with a case of Galvatron?" She peers at the datapad worriedly. "Don't worry, I assure you our protection is much more insulated than that of the germs." Scrapper reassures Contrail, reassuring himself a bit as well. Fighting off a Galvatron Tablet wasn't what he had on the agenda tonight. "The RAM looks more or less what they were developing there, this TORQ project." Taking the slightest step back from the tablet, Scrapper faces Contrail to elaborate. "The string adjustment was rather rudimentary, to be frank. Included were two stipulations. One, follow only Galvatron Jr's commands. Two, eliminate all threats to Galvatron Jr." "Beyond that, the programming is TORQ's." he affirms, leaning over to spy the RAM report. Deep down, Contrail wanted to see Scrapper fight a Galvatron tablet. She sighs in disappointment, "Okay, standard Decepticon hacking stick, jammed into a fake cerebro shell. Any idea who could made it? Or where?" Assured the potential for hostile tablet takeover has passed, Scrapper eases a bit and returns to his original position in front of the datapad. "Anyone with access to dated technology, Decepticon basic files, and.." he pauses, carefully inspecting the casing's edge. "Super glue." From behind Scrapper, the tablet begins to wobble.. slightly. Contagion finally finishes what he was doing. His hands are covered with virulent, glowing blue goo and appear to be smouldering slightly. But his posture indicates that he is in a good mood. "My apologies, comrades. There was a particular reaction that was time based that I had to oversee, and I could not join in your conversation until it was finished. What are we discussing?" Contrail looks at the goo on Contagion's hands and then checks her cone where Contagion's thrown sack hit it, warily. "So, the armour sample for Galvatron Jr came from Junk, and the weirdo insect thing is a fake cerebro shell with a dated hacking stick and some superglue." "Correction, the sheet metal itself has similar rust properties to the planet of Junk. When cross referenced, it's an exact match. However, it was likely constructed elsewhere. Judging by the low sophistication employed here, Junkions can be ruled out." Scrapper corrects her, thinking for a moment. "Well, perhaps not." "Greetings Contagion, was your project successful?" the Constructicon asks. "Contrail's investigation into Galvatron Jr." The wobbling grows just a tad bit more intense. Contagion smiles at Contrail beneath his gas mask. "Excellent job our last encounter." He says to her and holds out his right hand to shake in congradulations. Never mind that it is still smouldering. He uses his other hand to reach up and take off his gas mask in a shower of rust. He's smiling, showing Contrail his actual face. He must be sincere, right? He doesn't notice the tablet. "I am not sure as to the success." He says this to Scrapper, cryptically. "But I anticipate that results will be forthcoming soon." Contrail opines, "I think the culprit is either insane, drunk, or attempting psychological warfare upon us. Or all three." She decides to play Decepticon chicken with Contagion and tries to shake his hand, since he offered it. Oh well, if worst comes to worst, she can bleed on him. Nodding to Contagion, Scrapper moves across the room to his box of wonders set here earlier by Jigsaw.. the robotic mish-mash Frankenstein Decepticon. Grabbing an arm full of parts, the Constructicon about faces and is on his way back.. right when Contagion unmasks. His optics grow wide, one cocking to the brow on the right side.. his head turns just a tad. A single servo wrench falls from his grasp, clinking and clanking against the white concrete. Behind the handshaking Decepticons, the tablet has managed to transform part of it's bulk into tiny legs and has stood. The viewscreen has turned purple, with a tiny scrunchy face.. yellow eyes wildly searching the room. Contagion has an incredibly virulent, but short acting acid all over his hands. He is somewhat immune to his own creations though, so is just a little bit extra rusty. Either way, he shakes Contrail's hand contentedly and then puts the mask back on his face to avoid any noxious fumes from reaching his optics. Then he blinks at Scrapper; frowning as he looks at him. Beneath the gas mask of course. "What?" He wants to know. "Are you surprised I have an actual face? If I had a credit for how many times I get that . . . . " He looks back to Contrail, beaming at her. "So, where were we?" Contrail loses her hand to fast-acting acid. It is tragic. She attempts to bleed on Contagion in passive-aggressive fashion. Calmly, Contrail reminds, "Trying to figure out who built Galvatron Jr and why, so we can find them and smite them." "No, that." Scrapper drops all the parts now, pointing at the tablet behind them both. Well, it's not exactly a datapad anymore.. more like a very tiny version of MODOK, but with a TORQ face. <> the horrible little monster yells, but for his size and speaker capacity.. turns out to be a small nasaly whine, kinda like a squeek toy. Stomping, or best it can do with such limited mass, the facsimilie walks towards some of the spare parts left there already.. quickly snatching them and afixing them via some creepy tentacles/vines to his forearms. <> Contagion smiles at Contrail happily behind his mask. "I'm glad the test was successful. You'll have to pardon me for the loss of your hand, but you can have a free repair voucher in the name of science. And I'll squirt that on some Autobots for you." He's oblivious to the droplets of her virulent acid blood that are now hissing into his forearm, but he'll probably have to deal with that later. Then, Contagion turns. And stares. Very calmly, he reaches into subspace and pulls out what appears to be a bar at first. Then with a clinking and clattering it is revealed to be a length of heavy chain. All rusty and shedding granules of oxidized metal. Attached to that is a sphere a good six feet wide that is festooned with long spikes, bearing all sorts of filth and corrosion as though it had been left in salt water for a time. Lightly, he taps one of the spikes with his finger to make sure it is still sharp. "The problem, so far as I can tell, is twofold. One, this seems to have something to do with an idiot savant. Who else would use super glue in construction? This makes them incredibly dangerous because they are unlikely to conform to the bounds of reason. The other problem . . " He begins to walk towards the table in question; breaking into a run. " . . is that what we have here has a noted virulence, and must be treated like any other disease. Anything that has come into contact with it . . " The run carries him there as he releases the ball, spinning the grip of the ball and chain above his head to send the huge flail whirling through the air. At the apex of the swing he takes the grip with both hands, attempting to bring the ball down on tablet, table and probably the ground below with driving force. " . . . must be smashed quickly." Contrail shrugs over her missing hand. Contagion is a pretty competent Decepticon; she can handle him having some eccentricities. She turns to look at what he's looking at and ... also stares. Contrail blurts, "What in the fresh pit?" It is unclear if she is more confused by the Galvatron tablet or Contagion's epic whupping of it. <> the very small raging tyrant decrees, before being temporarily merged with the chain, table, and floor as he's smashed underneath the heavy force of spikey ball'd goodness. The busted up datapad-former lies in a broken heap, resting in the crater in the Workshop's floor. Scrapper picks up his dropped parts, casually tossing them on the other end of the table. Approaching Contagion, "What a remarkable weapon. Such a basic, yet elegant design. Do you mind?" he asks, intending to inspect the old rusty ball and chain. He makes a mental note to avoid putting strange drives into ports, again. Contagion yanks on the flail's grip. A loud clinking follows as the chain stretches to taut tension . . . and the ball does not move. The spikes are quite embedded in the floor. It takes a two handed yank before he hands it off to Scrapper without a word, and then calmly grinds his heel down in the remains of the tablet and grinds some more. "Do you still require an explanation?" He wonders to Contrail. Then he bends, and pokes at the tablet. Then presses his heel into it some more for good measure. A step or two back, and he lowers his right arm and dribbles a few litres of virulent green goo on it to melt the remains. "You know, and I know, that were there something remaining of it, some idiot would plug it into something. This is a concern, because anything potentially contaminated by this could result in something like that." He points at the melted yuck. He holds his hand out for the flail. "Simple weapons like that please me. That is not going to transform into an ineffectual and far too loud nuisance. There is a certain element of style to it also. Brutality personafied." "Indeed." Scrapper agrees, admiring the weapon. Handing it back to Contagion, he inspects the remains of the datapad for only a passing moment.. then it's back to work. "If we utilize some of the lower caste engineering division for the rudimentary elements, leaving the finalization of said Antimatter Napalm for myself or Carjack.." he muses, crunching the numbers in his head. "Four cycles, five most." he finally answers their earlier query. "Give or take." "No, I understand what just happened. I just... wish I didn't," Contrail replies, shaking her head. "I debate sending a recon mission to Junk... though possibly the simplest solution would simply be to tag Galvatron Jr with a tracer." She rubs her chin, thinking, and she looks at the fake cerebro shell. Contagion thinks for a minute. "Well." He says. "Galvatron Junior seems pretty resistant to that sort of thing. But I wonder if we couldn't bait him in, using some supplies to make his things." He taps his chin. "I also bet he's a little too clever for a mechanical tracer. What about using a unique chemical signature?" Contagion adds.. "On the supplies?" "That would certainly avoid his suspicion, at least. How acute are your accuators to catching the trail?" Scrapper adds to the chemical signature theory. He mulls over the Junkion expedition idea for a moment, shuddering at the thought of visiting the rolling spitball. Contrail points out, "/Maybe/ we could just get a Sweep on the trail... ha, right. Anyway, I need to check and make sure Discotheque hasn't filled the Intel Office with spotlights again. Thank you, gentlemen, for your help. I will be collecting that hand raincheque later." She moves to depart. Contagion waves to Contrail. "Thanks for giving me a hand with that test." He then glances at Scrapper. "I would recommend a sweep or someone with proper sensors, I am not equipped to do it, but it should not be hard in theory. Anyway, I have to go polish a burr from my actuator." And with that, he leaves after Contrail. Backbone says, "Say, are you related to Misfire?" Combat: Backbone resupplies Contagion with ammunition for his weapons. Scrapper sweeps the broken datapad into a dustpan, making a mental note to make a general PSA announcement later. ================================= Decepticon ================================= Message: 2/77 Posted Author Drives, Ports, & You. Fri Jul 20 Scrapper ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Scrapper appears, yay, with what looks like the busted remains of a datapad. "Please be advised, do not insert any strange drives into ports unless you are well aware of their originating source and/or someone can vouch for the safeness of said drive being inserted into your port." he says with all seriousness. "Oh yes, I need a new datapad as well." ============================================================================== ================================= Decepticon ================================= Message: 2/77 Posted Author Update: Antimatter & Galvatron Jr Sat Jul 21 Contrail ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ *G2 Hypercube Spinny* Contrail appears, missing one hand for some reason. Thanks, Contagion. "The armour sample from the Galvatron Jr entity comes from Junk. Intel, get out there to Junk and report your findings." "The insect-shaped device recovered from Quantum labs were merely a dated Decepticon hacking stick done up to look like one of the late Bombshell's cerebro shells. Galvatron Jr's modifications to TORQ were... amateurish, at best." "Courtesy of Logistics, the antimatter bombs are going into production, an assortment of large, small, two stage bunker penetrators, and a napalm option." She smiles. Everyone loves antimatter napalm. *G2 Hypercube Spinny* ==============================================================================
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