@ValkyriePrimal @MakutaOisli @ProfSrlojohn @BlackBeltGamer98 @DuneToa @Rukah
Once our heroes have finished their search of the dropship’s wreckage (OOC: this is their last chance to make one final check and maybe take something with ‘em if you feel so inclined) and returned aboard the Pulsar, Salvage takes the battered barge back into the air, and rockets off to Iacon with haste. Fortunately, the rest of the return flight is uneventful. No more pirates or hired guns fall from the sky to make trouble, and Iacon has seen no further attacks in our heroes’ absence. Now that night has fallen again, blue, green, and white lights have come alive within the ancient city’s golden towers, making the buildings shine like brilliant beacons in the darkness.
The Pulsar descends as Riveter’s Rental Spacecraft comes into view. The docks have been scrubbed of flame-retardant foam, but much of the place is still scorched or singed in patches following the incident with the insecticon. Riveter herself comes out of her office to watch the Pulsar return, and her eyes go wide as she eyes the battle damage that her most prized model has sustained.
“What the-! How-! I’m gonna kill those spawns of glitches!” she sputters, stomping over to the cradle in which Salvage brings the ship down. “I don’t care if Unicron’s coming back from the dead again; there ain’t gonna be enough of these guys left to make a tugboat when I’m done with 'em!”
The Hall of Records is still closed, barricaded while its damages are assessed and the Iacon Police make one more search for evidence. The library’s pavilions have been reduced to rubble from bombs and missiles, and the statue that was toppled by its perimeter remains on its side. It will be put upright again, though, and the Hall of Records will be rebuilt soon enough- no part of Iacon has ever remained in ruin for too long.
The Excalibur II is docked at the Tower of Pion space elevator, so high up as to be beyond the sight of Iacon’s citizens. The frigate’s crew unloads the gunship used by the thieves who ransacked the Hall of Records, which had been intercepted by Cybertron’s orbital defense grid before its pilot could make his escape. Officers from the Iacon Police will be taking the ship and its contents to their headquarters to have it all analyzed, and its pilot will be detained and interrogated with the rest of his cohorts.
One of the thieves, though- the ex-NEST operative named Viktorya Kaidanovsky- has been released thanks to Ivory’s intervention, and she has taken residence in a shelter on Iacon’s lowest level. Per the instruction of our heroes, though, an officer covertly watches over her.
The space bridges at the city limits emit a steady stream of offworld visitors from their gateways, and just as many travelers are leaving Iacon through them, also. Additional guards have been posted around the space bridges in light of the attack, but again, no further incidents have occurred. Antennae blossom from the roofs of Iacon’s interstellar communications towers as people inside make calls to friends and family on other worlds.
Speculation is running wild through the streets of Iacon. People trade rumors in hushed whispers on street corners and in parks. Bots returning from the Tomb of the Primes are gossiping about the fantastic event that occurred there; combine that with what limited information that has been made public about the Hall of Records attack and our heroes’ activities, and some wild stories are already being spun.
The mercenaries creep forward and peer down at what Honeycomb has brought them. The leftovers will hardly make for a proper feast, but they are better than nothing.
“Where’d you get all this?” the Sergeant asks as his troops start to divvy up the pickles, pasta, and eggs. They’re much more hesitant to start digging into the pineapple-defiled pizza, however. These professional killers have had to eat some pretty disgusting things in their time- things that could hardly be considered food by most intelligent beings- but there are some lines that even they will hesitate to cross.
“If she’s anything like her namesake, I think she would be an excellent choice,” Overgrowth says enthusiastically. “I was going suggest allowing me to procure a Knight cruiser from Ironclad, but Excalibur II would do nicely.”
“If you would excuse, me, though, I must now go to our prisoners,” the Knight then says, and she turns to leave. “I am confident that I can deliver them safely to Primogenitum on my own, though if anyone wishes to provide us escort, I would welcome the company.”
“Hey, we’ve been doing pretty well for ourselves recently,” Leslie says with a frown, and he crosses her arms over her chest. “We haven’t had a major war in nearly fifteen thousand years- that might not be very long for cybertronians, but for us humans, that’s pretty remarkable. It took us nearly bombing each other into extinction and letting nanotech chew up Earth to figure it out, sure, but you gotta give us some credit.”
Unfortunately, the Pulsar’s medical suites are tailored exclusively for cybertronians, which means that the equipment that Razor needs won’t be found here. The Iacon Police headquarters, though, would have such equipment: with other species now welcome on Cybertron, the New Imperium’s institutions must be prepared to combat the unfortunate reality of interstellar crime. Since Razor is now in the company of our heroes, getting access to these facilities should be much easier for her than the average citizen.
At the Primal Basilica, Downburst and the other Angelicons maintaining the seat of the New Imperium’s power have been bombarded with urgent requests from the leaders of Cybertron’s colony worlds for an emergency meeting to discuss recent events. Among the politicians is Chancellor Nirali Patel of Amity, who also serves as the de facto liaison between the cybertronians and the rest of human civilization. Defender, and anyone else who wishes to get humanity more involved in this adventure, may wish to speak with her; and the rest of the colonial leaders are also clamoring to learn more of what has transpired on Cybertron.
“President Bootleg, I’m sure Salvage is just very busy right now,” Downburst sighs to the hologram in front of her. “That doesn’t mean-”
“President-Czar-God-King Bootleg, please,” the hologram interrupts. It takes considerable effort for Downburst to avoid rolling her eyes.
“That title is pretty much the one part of this job that I actually like, so I’d like to hear it, please,” Bootleg continues. “And Salvage is never too busy to talk to me. That means he’s probably dead. And if he’s dead, it can be reasonably assumed that Axis and everybody else with him is dead too. Which leaves this whole operation here flailing around like a chicken with its head cut off. We’re leaderless and vulnerable and basically we’re probably all going to die.”
“Don’t you think you’re jumping to conclusions just a little?” Downburst protests.
“Kid, the last time some old doohickey that once belonged to a Prime got this kind of attention, the Heralds of Unicron showed up and I almost got eaten by an Infernocon, like, twenty times,” Bootleg insists. “I’ve got a Spider-Sense for this kinda thing and lemme tell ya, it’s going off right now.”
A cloaked ship speeds away from Cybertron’s orbit, making a break for the edge of the Hadeen solar system. Within its dampened hull, the human man known as Gabriel paces through tight, dimly-lit corridors that wind through the vessel’s interior like metal arteries. Pinpricks of red light glare down at Gabriel between the bulkheads as he seethes and gnashes his teeth.
“I wasn’t the one who insisted upon relying on the dregs of society for such a crucial step in the plan,” he snarls into the darkness ahead of him. No response comes apart from the rhythmic pulsing of the ship’s power core. Gabriel comes to a halt, glowering at the shadows on the bulkheads and the points of light twinkling within them.
“I was careful- fortunately for you,” he scoffs at no-one. “The pawns know nothing of consequence, and I will deal with the survivors in due time. In the meantime, you-… perhaps you SHOULD consider my recommendation, in light of recent events.”
Gabriel whips around as if to face another unseen party, his cloak billowing out around him. “No!” he snaps, the word echoing harshly down the corridor. "When have we ever cared what Dominus wants? Point him to another planet to raze for the time being, keep him occupied. There are certain pieces that haven’t yet fallen into place; I need more time.
“Let them!” he then says, turning around again and storming up to his vessel’s cockpit. Holographic panels swirled around a circular porthole looking out into empty space, displaying glyphs from a multitude of alien languages, various planets, and persons of interest. “They’ll find it for us. Much more reliable than petty thieves and brutish mercenaries, these interlopers. No… no, they wouldn’t be so foolish. Let them chase after Sentinel Prime for now. Hold back Dominus and his rabble until I’ve finished; I’ll give the signal when it’s done.”
The anger fades from Gabriel’s face as whatever prompted these strange outbursts subsides. Now, his brow furrows as he contemplates his next move. He raises a gloved hand, and more holographic panels materialize in front of him. Some show the fierce faces of several of his operatives- more capable and trustworthy agents than the thieves he’d hired for the mission on Cybertron- while another displays a map of the planet Clemency’s south pole, taken from a whether satellite. Yet another shows the faces of Liege Maximo and Beta Maxx, and one more has a peculiar emblem upon it: a sword and a lantern together inside a wreathe of flowers…