Transformers: Salvation

She nodded, before looking at the roof for something that she could dhoot down on the ebemies.

Alterion approached the nearest and tried to shot it down.

“Rookie Field Medic Blight, Miss!” he introduced, doing a simple salute.

Actaeon continues to fire and goes a bit behind enemy lines yelling at the undead corpses once lands. His best bet was to distract them and lead them backwards so he or one of his new allies could access the control panel, closing the bulkhead. If it was an ally he would need to double time it out of there.

“Get the Heretic!” Epsilon yelled, “Stole map!” The neutral began firing on the Decepticon thief.

Zepar growled. Tired as he was, a fight felt really appealing to him right now.

OOC: not likely gonna be very active today due to 4th of July festivities.

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The pipes, conduits, and other assorted machinery running along the walls and ceiling might make good targets- but then again they were all likely important in keeping Salvation running.


Alterion’s bullets simply ricochet off the cable; the Autobot’s weapons were evidently not powerful enough to cut through it.


The Decepticon nods.

“Yeah, whatever,” she says quickly. “Just tell your little gremlin to hurry up.”


The terrorcons are fooled by the distraction, and turn to swarm Actaeon, clawing at him madly. The heretic squad takes advantage of this and pushes forward.


Blight nods and turns around to do so, finding that Pixel has already vanished. Whether or not he would return with or without the bandolier, no one could give a guess.

“Who said that?” Gronius yelled.

“Do you think you can fix those?” she asked Greasemonkey.

He started survailing the ship for any weak spots.

The Decepticon sighs and leans against the wall.


“Fix what?” asks Greasemonkey, looking over at her.


The launching mechanisms from which the cables had been fired might be good targets, though once again more powerful weapons would be required.

Around Salvation, Decepticon spacefighters manned by Bludgeon’s heretics zip around the Fleetcarrier, targeting the many turrets rising from her fins. The weapons protruding from their sides were more formidable than most your typical Air Trooper carried.

She pointed to the pipes.

Tyrannacus?
Alterion tried to find the bridge of tge ship.

Greasemonkey looks up.

“…Oh…”


The derelict’s bridge could be found built into the cruiser’s bow, behind a metallic dome perforated with large hexagonal holes.

“Onyx helps us!”
She yelled as she shoot the pipes down.

He tried to get in.

With an explosion of steam and a spray of coolant fluid and energon, the pipes burst, and the falling debris smashes the catwalk the invading heretics were on. They are crushed, and die.

“If you hadn’t just saved my life, I’d fine you for that,” Greasemonkey deadpans with a sigh.


Alterion impacts an invisible barrier- what the Knights often used for windows in lieu of glass or other transparent materials- within one of the hexagons. The energy shield briefly flashes orange from the hit.

“You wouldn’t fine me.” she said, putting her hand on his mouthplate, blinking innocently. “Now come. Help me clear the way.”

He growled before looking for another way inside.

“Wasn’t that the purpose of you shooting the coolant pipes?” Greasemonkey asks tiredly, his speech unimpaired by the hand over his mouthplate.


There were plenty of airlocks and hull breaches in the derelict through which to enter.

“Yes, but now we’re stuck inside.”

He used one of them to enter inside the bridge.

Song and Greasemonkey were, in fact, free to leave. The fallen pipes had not blocked that one entrance, and there was more than one way to engineering.


The bodies of the cruiser’s Bridge crew were nowhere to be found- likely, they had been converted into terrorcons like their fellows. The bridge was empty, and its consoles were inactive. The only light came from the blue glow of the nearby star, and multi-colored flashes of laser fire from the battle outside.

“Oh. Scrap that. OK. I’ll go secure the perimeter, you try to fix the damage.”


Alterion tried to turn on tge control pannels.

Greasemonkey rises, still clutching his wounded shoulder. He grunts as a spike of pain briefly shoots up his arm.


Holographic and liquid metal interfaces flicker and froth to life above the pilot and communications stations, all written in cyberglyphics- which Alterion could not read.

Actaeon gets them further back, waiting for the doors. He use his swords to strike at the terrorcons who were after him.

Pixel scrambles through the halls so quickly that his feet each fall off, transform into little Pixels, and follow their father.