“More or less,” Salvo says, tilting her visored head from side to side.
“Before the war, I worked on Gigantion’s orbital cannons. Y’know, for blasting space junk that got too close for comfort.”
“…Yyyyep,” Broadband replies, shrugging her blocky shoulders. “That’s my job.”
######“Everybody else gets to fight bad guys and save the galaxy; I get to sit in a chair all day and make phone calls…” she sardonically grumbles.
“Neat. Never been on Gigantion tho.”
Song visibly tried to hold her indignation be for taking a longer than normal deep breath.
“Can you do some phone calls for me?” she asked, trying to sound nice.
“It’s a nice place,” Salvo says.
“If you’re a three-hundred foot tall walking skyscraper or a minicon like yours truly.”
Broadband stares back at Wildsong for approximately seven seconds, with the most utter deadpan expression that Song had ever seen on the communications officer’s face.
“My pleasure,” she flatly quips, standing up to transform.
“Neat…”
“So do you want to explore the outherlands?”
“OK, start with Gatecrasher.”
“Sure,” Salvo says.
Numerous antenna and dishes spring up from the roof of Broadband’s vehicle mode. Her equipment was superior to what most aboard Salvation had access to, and so she was able to cut through the interference of cybermatter permeating Planet Omega.
Gatecrasher would be able to hear his comlink crackle with static, as fragments of the voice of Broadband, the communications officer, cut through the harsh buzzing at random intervals.
“…-ello? Hello? An-…-y th-…?”
“Excuse me?” Epsilon asked, now even more confused.
She transformed in ursagryph mode, with Blackbeak in her claws, flying away.
Song was waiting.
Spectrum continued cleaning up after Facelift, using the spare metal to help shape the body as well.
The two spectres don’t react. It was clearly that they were making a failing attempt to pretend they didn’t hear Epsilon. Spectral apparitions couldn’t converse with the living, after all.
The two ghosts look at one another, silently pleading each other to yield some kind of advice or to do something to carry the scene forward.
“Uh…” Bootleg says, “Greatness awaits y’all, an’ somesuch…”
“Y-yes,” Salvage joins in, waving his arms around. “Great things. Great, indefinite, unforseen, and totally unpredictable things.”
From the other side of the chamber, another group of pilgrims enters the room. One was a massive bot with a wide, round body.
Sighing, because she couldn’t fly, Salvo follows along the ground, pushing through the crowded streets- which wasn’t much of an inconvenience to her, thanks to the size of her mech’s robot form.
Spectrum glanced up, then continued with her work.
“So where to first?” she asked, her voice being a little more deeper.
Meanwhile
Redstocker was staying in a temporal cell. For way to much time to seem in-character for him, he was ignoring the other prisoners and the guards, not saying anything, just starring at his legs and at the green Cybertronium shards that forced themselves out of his spine as a result of the repairing system that dissasembled the Salvation acting upon him.
And yet you almost say something one of us may do. the scout thought, Yup, this is either my brain module having a fit or I’m actually seeing visions.
Epsilon decides to try a little something and asks, “Have you ever heard the Tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise?”
His goal is to use an Earth or Terran thing to try and trip up the specters and get them to drop the act.
Zepar looks at Scrapshot/Driftburn, waiting for his answer. When none came, he took a deep breath and calmly asked the Cybertronian to watch over the Key and make sure nobody removes it from the room seeing as how the fate of their entire world was at stake.
With that said, he begins to leave and head for the nearest ground bridge, sendinding Thrift the money that he owed for using the damaged Dimensional Decimator earlier.
Wildsong could probably see him as he flew through the air.
“Do you have it?” a pilgrim asks the rotund neutral, who replies with only a nod.
“Excellent,” the one from before says. “We brought the hecation. He and his assistant are putting the final pieces in place.”
“I can’t believe it,” another pilgrim muses. “After seven millennia, it’s finally happening!”
“It’s not a story the Jedi would tell you,” both junkion specters immediately respond, solely on instinct.
“Frak!” Salvage immediately reacts, doing a doube-take.
“The fascists are gonna rule the human race!” Bootleg laments.
“Oh, we have frakked up!” Salvage wails, bringing his hands up to his face.
“Hey!” Bootleg tries to console his friend. “Maybe we can fix this! ‘Sides, what’s Primus gonna do, smite us? Ain’t he dyin’ right now or somethin’?”
A rumbling sound, like the roll of distant thunder, echoes around the scene. Bootleg and Salvage quiet as they take on worried glances.
“Heheh…” Bootleg laughs nervously.
“D*mmit Bootleg!” Salvage whines, “when will you learn that taunting the almighty never works in your favor!”
The two specters begin to fade away as Bootleg utters his retort.
“I’m a rebel, buddy! I dedicate my life to stickin’ it to the man!”
“Crewman Zepar sighted,” Motherboard promptly alerts Wildsong.
Salvo shrugs.
“Saw some ruins when we were flying over here yesterday,” she notes.
Redstocker, with the rest of Salvation’s population of prisoners, had been moved onto a series of platforms outside of the Fleetcarrier, as she was no longer fit to house them all in her current, dismantled state.
“Hey, if anyone’s getting smited by Primus, it’ll be me; I messed it up.” Epsilon said, “Good luck in whatever you’re doing.” He told them as they faded.
“Oh, this is such BS!” Salvage growls as he and Bootleg fade away completely.
Corona and Sidewinder stand next to Epsilon, stupefied.
“That… was a most… unique encounter,” the prophet comments after a pause. “I’ve never known any of the phantoms on this continent to be so… lively.”
“Where?!”
“Okie! Let’s go there then!”
“I have legs…” he started muttering again and again, to the possible annoyance of the other prisoners.
“Junkions are full of surprises and always welcome at parties.” Epsilon chuckled, remembering some of those times back home.
Motherboard points a long, sharp claw at the figure of Zepar flying in the air, silhouetted against the evening sun.
Salvo offers no protests.
This did get on a Heavy Trooper’s nerves.
“Yeah? So what?” he snaps. “E’rybody’s got legs.”
“…Indeed,” Sidewinder says.
“Let us not waste time,” Corona decides, regaining her composure as she enters the facility.
Epsilon follows Corona and Sidewinder into the facility.
“Shoot! You keep calling Gatecrasher. I’ll be right back.”
@BlackBeltGamer98
Delta flies faster, unaware of Salvo’s speeds.
“I have legs…”