“I uh… Borrowed this… And apparently borrowing arms is bad… So I wanted to give it back…”
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Greasemonkey nods. “Yes, well, borrowing a limb without the rightful owner’s express permission is certainly frowned upon,” he deadpans, his inability to display much emotion on his face only adding to the performance. “Though it is good that you’ve decided to make amends. We had a fellow lose an arm recently, as it just so happens; he’s likely under Forcep’s care, right now.”
Vigor and Fuse began looking for a suitable entrance.
Lightshift and Riot landed beside Thrust.
There were plenty of jagged holes punched into the hull of the ancient ship through which one could gain entry.
“Great. And where would that be?”
Vigor slipped into one of the holes, Fuse behind him.
Greasemonkey gives Broadwing directions to Forcep’s medical bay.
“You might want to find something to put the arm in, before you leave, however,” he advises. “I imagine the sight of a bot wandering the halls with a disembodied limb would garner some unwanted stares, at least.”
Matchstick follows. The interior of the ship was faring little better than the exterior- it too was in disrepair simply from eons of neglect, and the intricately-designed corridors were only barely lit by what few flickering light fixtures remained online.
Thrust follows, with the other two not far behind.
Fuse lookes around.
“…creepy.” he says.
Vigor and Riot examine the corridors, while Thrust searches for any online interfaces.
Lightshift stands by Matchstick.
“Right, right. Do you have something I could use?”
Flareshot says nothing. He only continues looking over the messages from the 3 current suspects.
The corridors bore ridiculously-complex architecture, as seemed to be the case with virtually every other known spacecraft and building related to the Knights of Cybertron. Silver and varying shades of grey served as the predominant color choices for the ship, though hints of gold and bronze could be found in the finer details of the extravagant designs, and what few lights and holographic terminals remained online shone with blue, green, and orange glows.
A nearby interface sputters, displaying flickering holographic strings of cyberlgyphics as flecks of liquid metal occasionally fly from the frothing controls.
Greasemonkey nods.
“There’s a storage facility that way,” he says, pointing. “You’ll find a box in there.”
Thrust approached the interface.
“I may be able to reroute power to this interface… Fuse?”
Fuse walked up to him, and the two began working silently.
Golden Age cybertronian technology was known for its baffling complexity and, especially with the Knights of Cybertron, occasional tendency to stray into the mystical. Without the proper equipment and know-how, the Splitter brothers would unfortunately be unable to enact sufficient repairs to the terminal.
Fuse groaned in frustration.
“It’s too old to fix.” Thrust sighed.
Aw, that’s a shame," Matchstick says. “But maybe there’s something else still worth salvaging…” he muses.
Thrust nods.
“Perhaps the bridge has something of use.” He says
Matchstick nods.
“Worth a look,” he says.
The five robots begin walking towards the bridge.
Song was waiting for a response from Topside, while listening to Greasemonkey’s and Broadwing’s conversation.
“We’re going to need forensic analysts if we want to get any new info out of these transmissions.” Zepar said.