Juliana looked up suddenly, surprised. “B-b-b-blight?” She blubbered, then broke down again.
“So, how are we gonna reach him?” Epsilon asked.
Thrift puts a hand on his chin.
“Well, we could fly… I could fly, anyway. But that’d take too long… say, I might have another dimensional decimator in the Gambler; what if I tried MacGyvering a bridge-thingy with it?”
“Hey, hey,” Blight soothed. “What’s wrong?”
She looked up. “W-why am I-i S-so U-useless?” she asked through the tears.
“A ground bridge?” Epsilon asked, his body suddenly jerking to sign he just had an epiphany. “What if there’s one nearby?”
OOC: who is able to track Energon trails? It was used in Cyberverse to track rouge Seekers.
Thrift tilts his head.
“Why would… oh yeaaaaah…” he realizes. “That’d explain how he got where he is… other than innate teleportation abilities, of course.”
Actaeon’s optics quickly scan to see if he recognized anyone, as he continued to lead the way for Corona.
“Deus, does this look right?”
Driftburn runs towards them.
Scrapshot sits down looking at the canister and twiddles his thumbs.
“Motherboard, think you could run a scan for Ground Bridges nearby?” Epsilon asked on the comlink.
“Useless?” Blight scoffed. “What is that supposed to mean? No one here is useless. Except for Pixel.”
His companion slapped the back of the medic’s head before diving to the ground.
“I-i can’t DO anything!” She said. “T-There’s a r-riot going on out there and t-ther’s nothing I-I can do”
Spectrum watches the mechanimals, her eyes tracking their movements.
Actaeon would recognize the Decepticon fireteam Requiem-IX among the crew members escorting the prisoners.
Corona turns her attention to Driftburn.
“Oh, hello again!” she greets him kindly.
“I already have, crewman Epsilon-5,” Motherboard reports. “Approximately half an hour ago, the CFC Salvation’s instruments detected an energy surge similar to the one produced by the ground bridge on exoplanet P3X-595.”
P3X-595 in addition to being a Stargate reference was the designation the crew had assigned to the insecticon-infested world that they and Salvation had visited earlier in her voyage.
“Y’know, that is a more sensible explanation than Facelift having the Space Stone… or a Stand… or the Kanohi Olmak… man, what was I thinking…?”
Deus shrugs; he didn’t know. The place certainly looked pretty, though. The techno-organic lichen on the walls produced faint, varicolored glows from tiny conduits coursing through them. They were the only source of light here, as the fixtures in the ceiling had been broken for millions of years.
The mechanimals looked unlike anything Spectrum would have ever seen on Cybertron or any of the colonies. They looked as though the came from an older time, with great wings coated in plasma membranes, and many extraneous legs, arms, and eyes. Some looked like terrorcons, re-animated by Dark Energon.
OOC: first off, I love the Stargate reference.
IC: “Where did that surge happen?” Epsilon asked.
Spectrum continued watching, absolutely amazed.
Motherboard provides a precise set of coordinates; the surge had been detected on the other side of the island, though the cliffs that the ancient spaceport tunneled into.
On a rocky crag far off the road, on of the shadowy figures takes on a recognizable form: Nemesis Prime, the first Herald of Unicron.
The shade of the false Prime brandishes a replica of the infamous Dark Star Saber, and snarls at the group as wisps of black vapor curl of its armor.
Facelift swerves wildly, swinging the barrel of his cannon around to aim at the shade.
“Slag!” he curses, firing off a shot. A bright light flashes from the cannon as a shell rockets through the shade, causing it to vanish as the projectile blasts apart a rock behind it.
The kidnappers had patiently stopped, as if they were not at all disturbed, or even surprised, by the apparition.
Actaeon watches them for a brief moment before turning his attention on Driftburn.
Driftburn walks up to her,
“Turn… Me… Back…”
“Point if you have any clues.”
“Oh dear…” Corona sighs. "Well, fortunately that can be arranged.
Deus shrugs his shoulders again.
Can’t help you there, his facial expression reads.
Spectrum squeaks in fright and curls up into a ball, trembling in fear.
“Let’s get going, Thrift.” Epsilon said as he began heading for that location, sending the coordinates to the Junkion.