Shockwave nods.
“Affirmative,” he says.
“How big are we talking?” Facelift asks her.
“Hopefully,” Halfrunner chuckles.
“uhhhhh…” Spectrum rubbed her chin.
“Brieg hand?” She tried. [quote=“Chromeharpoon, post:8243, topic:49995”]
Shockwave nods.
“Affirmative,” he says.
[/quote]
SideStep nods as well.
“Brigand?” Facelift says, misunderstanding her. “Yeah, I took a couple hands from some spawns of glitches who tried to hold me up a while back. Was about the only thing left of 'em worth salvaging by the time Drone was done with them.”
Facelift leads Spectrum into his workshop, walking over to a trio of tanks each containing a mixture of torn armor, wheels, engine parts, and circuit boards suspended in green fluid. One tank had a single optic floating within, while the other held the shattered remains of a sparkchamber.
“Aaaand this is them,” the mad doctor says, gesturing to the tanks.
Spectrum searched for a hand that would fit Brieg, as well as parts to repair or replace his turrets.
“Very well. At least we aren’t completely hopeless.”
Brieg said begrudgingly.
“Now. About those clones.”
“Fantastic.”
Starchaser said.
“The gatling lasers should be a direct upgrade from my machine guns, and I still get to keep the speed. The helicopter will probably make a nice replacement for my current chopper mode too. Now I only have one thing left. Something dense and heavy. Foregoing any speed and maneuverability for maximum damage output.”
Physically he was fine. Or at the very least as fine as someone like him could be. His mental state however was noticeably diminished. Again, likely due to the prolonged isolation.
Spectrum wouldn’t find a hand large enough to replace Fortress’s missing extremity among these remains, nor would she find any suitable replacements for his turrets.
Shockwave closes Abominus’s file, before opening the dossiers on the remaining nine Predacon clones.
Specimen 01: Hun-Gurr
Specimen 02: Twinstrike
Specimen 03: Windrazor
Specimen 04: Rippersnapper
Specimen 05: Blot
Specimen 06: Lazerback
Specimen 08: Ripclaw
Specimen 11: Darksteel
Specimen 12: Bombshock
“If you are still referring to the predacons, I have detailed files on them all,” Shockwave says. He had yet to notice that Epsilon-5 had entered the lab.
“…So like a gunship or something?” Thrift asks for clarification.
The diagnostic drones have trouble gauging just what was wrong with Broadwing, and they back away from the Decepticon. Greasemonkey lets out an irritated growl.
“I guess drones can’t do everything quite yet,” he says. “Come on, I’ll take you to Forcep.”
SideStep listened carefully.
Spectrum sighed.
“T-thank you an-nways.” She said sullenly to Facelift, turning to leave.
Blight struggled against the surprisingly fierce pull of the Minicon, being dragged straight out of the quarters halls and traversing the Salvation with inexplicable speed. Pixel just laughed distortedly.
“Ugh… sorry for worrying you with my problems.” He said, “Another round?” He asked.
“I was referring to my clones. The reason I came to you in the first place.”
“Yeah that sounds about right.”
Starchaser said.
Broadwing got up and followed contently. Still saying nothing.
“In that case…”
Shockwave closes the predacon library, opening another dedicated to his research on cloning projects in general.
“Nova Prime’s advisor, Jhiaxus, was the first to seriously research cloning cybertronian organisms,” he says. “With Nova’s betrayal and subsequent execution, however, the subject was largely abandoned for nearly a million years.”
“Hmm…” Thrift hums, furrowing his brow. He flips through the other datacards, thumbing through projections of jets, helicopters, birds, dragons, and even the Wright Flyer, among alt-mode designs.
“…Looks like I don’t have anything quite like that,” he says apologetically.
Halfrunner shrugs.
“Sure,” he says, serving Darkside another shot of the sparking green engex.
“Where have you been, Broadwing?” Greasemonkey asks the Decepticon.
Blight and Pixel would happen to near Greasemonkey and Blight as they traveled.
“That not quite what you’re looking for?” Facelift asks her.
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“And of course our pal Bludgeon had to pick it back up?”
Spectrum shook her head.
“N-nope.”
“It was Megatron who originally charged me with the creation of a clone army,” Shockwave clarifies. “Naturally, I used Jhiaxus’s research as a foundation for my own work.”
“Well hold on,” Facelift says. “I have plenty more hands in here.”
The cyclops walks over to a corner and drags out a much larger, three-fingered hand, almost half his own size. It was dark purple in color, and had a few spots of rust here and there.
“Got this off of Constructicon Maximus after he was killed on Junkion,” Facelift explains. “Figured it’d be a nice wall decoration, but if you need it for something…”
Epsilon keeps quiet, not wanting to interrupt Shockwave as he seemed busy, and waited for a moment where Shockwave wasn’t so busy.
“Oh, old Megs, huh? Wow.” SideStep rubbed his chin.
“This is deep.”[quote=“Chromeharpoon, post:8255, topic:49995”]
“Well hold on,” Facelift says. “I have plenty more hands in here.”
The cyclops walks over to a corner and drags out a much larger, three-fingered hand, almost half his own size. It was dark purple in color, and had a few spots of rust here and there.
“Got this off of Constructicon Maximus after he was killed on Junkion,” Facelift explains. “Figured it’d be a nice wall decoration, but if you need it for something…”
[/quote]
Spectrum carefully inspects the hand to see if it’d be fit for Brieg.
“So what then? I don’t see how another half finished attempt is supposed to help us.”
“Then why would you-”
Starchader said, sounding rather annoyed.
“Alright. Never mind. What about a bomber? I know some old human made designs that were brimming tip to tail with gun turrets. Anything like that?”
“Tunnels… After big fight… Lost, control… Was, afraid… Afraid I might… Hurt, someone… Run away… Alone… Can’t hurt… Anyone.”
He slowly replied.
“This is all we have,” Shockwave says to Breig. “The contents in these files, both Jhiaxus’s work and my own, may very well comprise the entirety of our race’s knowledge on cloning, bar whatever technology may have been lost in the end of the Golden Age.”
Thrift shakes his head.
“Nothing like that,” he says.
The hand was a bit on the small side, but it would do- at least until a proper replacement for Fortress’s original hand could be constructed.
“Hm,” Greasemonkey reacts. “That would explain it, yes.”
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“I see. Well with a mind like mine working with your own, I’m sure we can perfect the process to my specific desires. Albeit not without much trial and error.”
Starchaser paused.
“Well, do you have any human made models? Call me crazy, but I’m honestly a big fan of their aircraft design.”
She asked.
“But… After, much time… Decided to… Come back… Felt, lonely… Remembered… Friends… So came back… To home…”
Broadwing said. It wouldn’t be hard to guess that by “home” he meant the engine chamber.
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Epsilon walks up to Shockwave carefully, “Am I interrupting?” He asked.
Shockwave sharply turns his head to look at Epsilon.
“Yes,” he says to the scout, “though if you require something of me, I will endeavour to render assistance.”
“Well, slag, half my stuff is terran!” Thrift exclaims. “Those guys leave the best stuff just lying around the galaxy, you know. It’s great.”
Greasemonkey nods his head.
“Well, it’s good you did,” he says. “It sure is a day for good news.”
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