"Will you, now?" Facelift reacts, seeming unbothered by the threat. "That would be a detriment to us both, you know. And the entire crew."
The nearest training room could be found in a bay just outside Little Iacon. It was a circular arena that lacked the drones and variable terrain of the more advanced training rooms on Salvation; this arena was simply a place where crew members could spar against each other.
"Never been here before," Red remarks. "Although I can't exactly go anywhere I please."
Redstocker was not in the bar; he'd run into the medics as they'd been running down a corridor leading to Little Iacon.
Salvo returns to work, taking select pieces of the three weapons and using them to construct a new polearm. The tip of the spear adorned the seventeen-foot shaft, with a rectangular emitter from the axe protruding from the shaft's side, just below the spike.
"Ta-da!" Salvo exclaims, gesturing dramatically toward the weapon. "A MacGyver-ed cybertronian halberd, by yours truly."
Salvo presses a button on the shaft, and the emitter hisses as it projects a single, crescent-shaped energy blade jutting outward from the black metal.
"Why settle for just a blade on a stick when you're a hyper-advanced robotic organism, eh?" the gunsmith quips with a friendly smirk.
Thrift sat at the edge of the refueling platform on which he'd set the Gambler down, the rim of the pad adorned with tangled Christmas lights. The junkion watched as the island beneath Salvation grew smaller and smaller as the Fleetcarrier rose into the sky.
Beneath the refueling pad, the wreckage of the two dropships that Gatecrasher had helped steal- and Sprocket and Drag-race had subsequently crashed- could be seen burning away. Several bots with fire engine alt-modes were working to quell the flames around the wrecks, however.
" 'Cause it isn't," the female guard says. "It's... actually, I don't know what it is."