Zepar reels back from the blow and looks royally ticked at 11.
“So, we can take anything we feel is useful?” Epsilon asked, “Don’t you need a home or a ship to travel across the stars in?”
Garand chuckles, “Perhaps. Maybe we should send some historians and scholars to Earth to learn more about their philosophies and history.”
Sentinel #11 was still fighting Zepar.
11 lunges at Zepar, slashing diagonally down at the angelicon’s shoulder.
The shield generator is torn from 8’s arm, and the drone starts to crawl away from Split.
“I said ‘take what you need’, not ‘rob me blind’,” the figure quips.
“Maybe,” Halfrunner agrees.
The hologram charges at 11, trying to shove it away from Zepar. [quote=“Chromeharpoon, post:7352, topic:49995”]
The shield generator is torn from 8’s arm, and the drone starts to crawl away from Split.
[/quote]
Split steps on its back and fires his weapons at it.
“I recommend securing that colonizing device and not letting Bludgeon or his goons find it.” Epsilon said to the figure as he tried to figure out what they would need from here…“Do you have Cortical Psychic Patch schematics?”
Zeapr manages to block but is now on the defensive.
Garand nods and finishes his drink. “Knowing Zepar, he is probably getting in trouble in that fortress.” He said as he got up. “Good day, barkeep.” He began heading outside to find a way to the fortress.
The holo-Sentinel successfully tackles 11.
Sentinel #8 is destroyed, leaving 17 of its fellows remaining.
If Garand stopped by one of the Allspark terminals visible throughout the ship, he’d be able to access the ground bridge if he investigated one thoroughly enough.
“You can take the machine itself, if you wish,” the figure says to Epsilon. “I have no need of it.”
SideStep fires his pistol at 11, while his Sentinel clumsily stands up. [quote=“Chromeharpoon, post:7355, topic:49995”]
Sentinel #8 is destroyed, leaving 17 of its fellows remaining.
[/quote]
Split searches for another target.
Deep within the bowls of the Salvation’s engine room, Greasemonkey might take notice of a small robot walking along the ship’s main engine system. It was very simple, with thin arms and legs, and a lightbulb for a head. It walked along, seemingly looking around for something, though what that was he likely couldn’t tell.
Epsilon nods, “And the colonization device?” He asked, “I think it would be safer with you.”
Garand saw the Allspark display and curiously poked at it and found the ground bridge controls, after some searching he found Zepar’s signal…and was immediately concerned because it had subtly changed. He opened a portal behind himself and the other side of the arena and flew through.
Zepar saw a portal open and the roar of a cannon shot at a sentinel indicated that whatever came through had heavy firepower on their side.
The shots dent 11’s armor as it wrestles with the hologram-
-And the blast from Zepar’s cannon finishes the drone off. 16 Sentinels remained.
The remaining Sentinels were done attacking our heroes one-at-a-time. As one they charge forward, sword and shield at the ready.
“It would,” the figure agrees. “The power to cyberform worlds is not one I would want to risk falling into the hands of your enemies. Though if they acquire the Omega Lock, such power would pale in comparison to the destruction they could wreak upon the galaxy.”
Greasemonkey looks up at the little robot, his right eye whirring as it zooms in to better view the thing.
“Excuse me!” he calls up to it. “Do get down from there, if you please.”
OOC: The cannon shot came from Garand. Sorry, I should’ve specified it came from the groundbridge portal.
IC: Zepar threw the dead drone to the side and looked at where the portal was and saw something that actually made him nervous: Garand had his arm cannon up and the barrel was glowing. He immediately moved to get out of the way as a mighty plasma blast launched from the weapon on the old Angelicon’s arm towards the sentinels.
Epsilon nods in agreement, “Sprocket, do not remove or damage the device, don’t even take schematics.” He said on the comlink, “The owner of this ship has told us that would be a really bad idea.”
The small machine looks down at the engineer for but a moment, then quickly resumes it’s task. It was then clear that two or three more just like it followed the first. And five or so were walking about on the ground level.
“Bring it, weaklings!” Split laughed, firing his shotgun and the Devastator, all the while sending his blades hurtling towards the mass of Sentinels.
SideStep glanced at his holographic Sentinel.
“Hmmm…”
He fiddled with his staff, trying to increase the size of the hologram.
The Sentinels block the shot with their shields. Some of them were beginning to pick up the bodies of their fallen brethren- the ones that could be salvaged, at least; the Devastator and Zepar’s savagery didn’t leave much of their victims.
The Sentinels halt and keep their shields raised, protecting themselves from the barrage.
SideStep would be able to manipulate the hologram’s size.
“Wait, you found the owner?” Sprocket replies. “Where are you? Where’s he? What’s he like?”
Greasemonkey looks around at the tiny drones.
“Where did these come from?” he mutters to himself.
Epsilon tries to transmit what his optic was seeing to Sprocket, “He seems nice enough.” He said before relaying the instructions the figure gave in regards to what can and can’t be taken.
Garand suddenly moved with surprising speed for his old age and opens fire, “Don’t just stand there!” He yelled, “Fight!” This was an order for all the Salvation crew in the arena that could fight.
Zepar opens fire on the Sentinels, trying to aim for gaps in their shields.
Just as quickly, those few became dozens, and those dozens turned to hundreds. In a matter of minutes the place was overrun with the things. Though they seemed harmless for the moment.
“Got it,” Sprocket says. “So… almost anything short of stripping the ship for parts.”
The Sentinels tighten their formation to protect each other.
“Oh dear,” Greasemonkey sighs. “It seems we have an infestation on our hands.”
The old cyborg taps the side of his head, activating his comlink.
“Flametroopers to Engineering, please,” he calmly requests, even as the swarm of drones rose up to his ankles. “Flametroopers to Engineering. It seems some pests have taken root in the engines.”
Terminating the comlink, Greasemonkey holds up his cane, twirling it in his hands. Conduits along its length flash blue as the shaft of polished black metal turns into a gauss rifle.
“Now then, in the meantime…”
Garand and Zepar move in many different directions, firing blasts and using their wings to divebomb-slash at the sentinels but Zepar’s attacks were more savage, wild, chaotic as his greatswords danced like deadly leaves caught in a windstorm as he tried to find and exploit some gap in the Sentinels’ defenses.
“I guess that’s one way to put it.” Epsilon said to Sprocket on the comlink.
Small pieces of metal then began to fall from above, as the drones slowly picked at the engine systems. Dismantling it and taking the components back in a single file line to somewhere else.
He might also see a black and white autobot tied up in cables, being carried along by the small machines on top of the engines.
Split tried to have the blades go over the Sentinels and strike them from behind.
SideStep increased the holographic Sentinel’s height to be twice that of the Sentinels, before sending it charging at them, waving its swords wildly.
The Sentinels were vulnerable to attack from above, though they weren’t completely helpless. Some of them raise the shield generators on their arms and launch the cerulean energy barriers up toward the angelicons.
The Sentinels’ formation breaks, with many of them whipping around to deflect the blades flanking them.
Four of the sentinels throw their shields at the hologram’s legs. Others begin to re-assemble their fallen comrades.
“Understood,” Sprocket says, absolutely giddy at the prospect of getting permission to go poking around a working colony ship. It was almost enough to make him forget about more pressing matters at hand, like the fate of the cybertronian race…
Greasemonkey didn’t look distressed- just bothered, mostly. Of all the times for an infestation, this was most inconvenient. The Autobot cyborg begins to shoot at the swarm, warding them away from the more crucial components of Salvation’s six engines.
“Excuse me, sir!” he shouts above the gunfire to the drones’ captive. “You look like you could use a hand!”