Salvation: Part II

“I guess I’ll go for a more… mundane weapon.” Laslow says, changing the subject

“Why would someone mess with the pod…?” SideStep mused.
“Can you run a diagnostic on her and see if anything isn’t as it should be?”

Song turned to the newcomer.

“Well…on what I got from the database, the Titan Squadron was a dramatic bunch,” King-Quan said. “Decepticon Commandos, each picked by Lord Megatron himself. Each one of them has a complicated past and history than the other.” He mentioned.

Scorchlock glanced at Redstocker for a moment, his optics slightly blinked. “Well sure…” He shrugged. “If Delta is up for it.” He smirked.

Redstocker sighed, as he pointed to Delta who, in the meantime, started fighting Blight.
“Now we wouldn’t want to interrupt them right when they warmed up, wouldn’t we?”

“Yeah…” Scorchlock muttered.

“Weird sense of honor, that is,” the pilgrim comments.

Salvo shrugs.

“I’ve got a light rifle that might suit you,” she says.

Grommet deploys a scanner from his forearm; a blanket of green light washes over the feline, who stands before the stasis pod, shifting her gaze from SideStep to the two scientists.

“She’s fine,” Grommet reports. “nothing out of the ordinary with her.”

Topside nods.

“True enough,” he says. “I got to know a couple of 'em.”

Walking toward Wildsong and Delta was a Decepticon with sleek, black and pink armor. His round face was featureless save for a black disk resting in a socket, in which three yellow optics stared out at the newcomers.

“So you’re the help Thunderblast sent us, are you?” he asks, bringing his right forearm up to his midsectio and resting his left elbow atop it, letting his three-fingered hand dangle by his chin.

“I’m Downburst,” the bot introduces himself.

“Indeed.” Zepar said with a nod.

“Wildsong, and she is my assistant Brainpan.”

The pilgrim nods in agreement, then looks around the bay that she and Zepar had found themselves in.

“Quite the ship you’ve got,” she comments.

“I know who she is,” Downburst says, flicking his eyes toward Brainpan briefly, who waves to him.

“Now, do you two need any assistance in getting situated? How soon can you start working?”

“As soon as I get my materials.”

“We have everything you’ll need,” Downburst says. He then looks at Brainpan and her equipment.

“I’ll have sanitation come by and get that taken care of,” he says, flicking a finger in the direction of the leaking tank.

“I’ve got it,” Brainpan replies. "It’s best you don’t let anyone else get too close to this one.

“He doesn’t like strangers,” she whispers, putting a hand beside her mouth.

Downburst nods his head, humoring Brainpan.

“I’m sure,” he says. “Now, if you two will follow me, I’ll fill you in as to the exact nature of your being here…”

Downburst turn as walks deeper into the lab- it was a vast, round chamber with three levels, each crowded with messy workstations and bustling with New Decepticon scientists handling samples of energon, cybermatter, and ancient relics. Large, curving windows allow the occupants to observe as the New Decepticon Fleet leaves the atmosphere of Planet Omega; one-by-one, a haze surrounds the angular warships as space seems to twist around them, and they disappear, activating there quantum warp drives to chase after Salvation.

Song followed him.

SideStep stands up and stares at Grommet, his eyes cold and suspicious.
“Someone tampered with the pod, scientist.” he growls.
“If you had something to do with it, tell me now. Someone is relaying information to Bludgeon and I need to find out who.”

Downburst leads Wildsong down a flight of stares to the first level of the lab, in which surgeon and diagnostic drones were clustered around five operating tables, muttering to each other as they cut into the bodies of five comatose beasts- predacons, to be precise:

“As I’m sure you’re aware, we’ve been experimenting with predacon clone since we captured Shockwave,” Downburst narrates. Brainpan stares wide-eyed at the predacons on the tables, fascinated by the creatures.

“We bred fourteen specimens in total before our enemies took him two weeks ago, killing one of the clones in the process.”

He waves a hand to the five predacons being operated on.

“Of the remaining thirteen, these five have shown the most promise of serving our cause as war beasts.”

“Well it wasn’t me,” Grommet snorts, “nor Switchblade here.”

He gestures to the feline.

“I dunno,” Sprocket says, shrugging his shoulders, “you’re always working on all those mechanimals over here; I imagine it’d be pretty easy to put bugs in 'em and let 'em loose in Little Iacon, wouldn’t it?”

“I-!” Grommet sputters. “Of all your insufferable jabs at my profession, sir, this is by far the most egregious! I won’t have a second-rate buffoon who spends his days playing with broken toys question my loyalties!”

SideStep squinted at Sprocket.
“Don’t assume I’m done with you, either. You have as much access to the lab as he does.” He jabs a thumb at Grommet.
“For all I know, you tampered with it!”
He comms ■■■■■■■■■■■■. “Has Motherboard repaired the footage yet?”

OOC: is it me, or these three tf rps all have similar character sets

“They look terrific!” Wildsong nerded out as she approached them.

Sprocket raises his hands to his shoulders.

“Hey!” he protests.

“No,” ■■■■■■■■■■■■ replies. “She hasn’t been able to find it anywhere; this spy is rather adept at covering his tracks, I’m afraid.”

Downburst nods.

The Predacons were all in stasis, and partially dismantled from the surgeons’ constant work on them. Wildsong would notice that they were all secured to their tables by heavy restraints, and that the floor and support columns around the room were dented and warped.

“Ah, the wonders of modern science, eh?” Downburst quips.

“Can’t wait till I’ll make mine.”

“I’m afraid you won’t,” Downburst shoots her down.

“When those loathsome traitors snatched Shockwave they destroyed his lab, along with much of what we’d need to breed more clones. The thirteen we have are all we’ll get, and most of them are fated for the scrap heap, anyhow.”

“Oooo, can I have one?” Brainpan asks him. “Live, dead, half-eaten- doesn’t matter, really; I just want one.”

Downburst’s eyes click as they focus on Brainpan; the doctor eyes her warily.

“I may not have Shockwave’s power of deduction,” he says, “but a hatchling could tell that would be a bad idea.”

“Hatchlings are stupid,” Brainpan reacts defensively. “They don’t know anything!”

“My exact point, miss Brainpan,” Downburst says.