2031 Olympics - Artillery Range

Foothills

You find yourself groping for a word to describe the Foothills. Wacky? Insane? Ludicrous? Nothing you come up with does this place justice...even by the zany standards of the Junkions this place is...well, you know. The mounds of junk and rubble are steeper than usual here.not so strange, right? Ahh, but the hills are actually covered with robotic foot units. That's right, feet! There are a few relatively clear paths through, which is lucky; you wouldn't want to step on any toes! On one hill a particularly thick patch of feet, all planted upside down, endlessly kick around a small round wad of metal.

Contents:

Artillery Range

Rodimus Prime

Obvious exits: Fly &lt;Up&gt; leads to Sky Above The Industrial Zone. North &lt;N&gt; leads to Steel Mountains. South &lt;S&gt; leads to Assembly Plant.

Brawl has arrived.

Fortress Maximus has arrived.

Rumble has arrived.

Warpath enters from the Assembly Plant to the south.

Warpath has arrived.

Sludge has arrived.

Swindle has arrived.


 * Clank* *Screee* *More clank* The sound of metal scraping against metal can be heard every time Fortress Maximus takes a step across the junk littered ground, but eventually the uncomfortable sounds ends as he makes it to the Foothills where the artillery range event is to take place. Having arrived on sight, he takes a moment to survey his surroundings and to discover just who else had decided to show up.

Blast Off has arrived.

Blast Off flies through, an ominous vision to any fool in his targetting sights.

Warpath folds down into his awesome tank mode.

Darkwing has arrived.

&lt;Warpath&gt; Red Tank squeaks along on his caterpillar treads, making the annual pilgrimage to the most sacred site of the olympics. Well, in his opinion, anyway. Anywhere where someone can shoot at things and get immediate reward for it is sacred in his books. "Goona, BLAM, blow the competition away!" he crows.

Sludge seems to be lost amongst the junk as he looks for his pals, "Fortress Maximum? Where you are?" he asks aloud, rubbing his chin as he looks confusedly at a rusty, red sign that reads "STOP, IDIOT!". He doesn't do his glancing around quickly and with so much around to look at, he could be lost for a while.

Battleship &lt;Fortress Maximus&gt; hears Sludge out in the distance before turning around to backtrack a few paces before waving a hand, "Over here Sludge."

Monstereo enters from the Assembly Plant to the south.

Monstereo has arrived.

Battleship &lt;Fortress Maximus&gt; transforms into his Fortress Maximus mode.

Space Shuttle &lt;Blast Off&gt; cruises along just above the skyline of the hilly region of Junk, possibly with the other two of his teammates hitching a ride. Curse Starscream for giving him the mode that doubles as 'air taxi' half the time. "Are you sure this is even the right place? There's just more, and more, and -more- junk... pity the megacorporation lost that trial to have this mottled wreck of a planet cleaned up..."

Fortress Maximus did that in robot form. Honest.

"This place is a DUMP!" exclaims Rumble, peering out of Blast Off's window. "So I guess it must be Planet Junk!"

"Am I sure? Course I'm sure, now just do tha flying and leave the thinking to Swindle and me!" Brawl blathers on, polishing one of his Electron Rifles. The Combaticon gives Swindle a playful punch on the shoulder, "Hey, you got any of that depleted uranium leftover? Could really use a boost before the competition!"

Rodimus Prime transforms into his Winnebago &lt;Rodimus Prime&gt; mode.

Sludge seems to be frowning less now that he gets some direction, "Me Sludge think place is junk," he reports honestly and walks over to Fortress Maximus.

Darkwing flies down, not using Blast off to carry him, he trans forms to jet mode and lands on the scrap that makes up the planet. "It figures that they would put an event on this planet. Probably hoping somethgin to collapse on us, or we catch some kind of rust from all this junk, while occupied by tryign to get a few shiny trinkets..."

Guns, betting oportunities and junk, how could the Decepticon dealer Swindle pass such an oportunity up? But the swindler isn't paying attention to the planet below, instead taking the oportunity of not having to pay attention to where he's going to go over some figures. "This is the place. No better place to find stuff to clean up and sell at a premium price," Swindle notes absently tapping at the pad in one hand. Which is almost knocked out of his hand when Brawl gives him a punch. "Weeelll, I would," Swindle says, recovering fast, "In fact, it'd improve the odds." Which, in this case, Swindle doesn't mind. "Buuut I don't think we're using our own weapons for this."

"I hope they give us big ones!" shouts Rumble excitedly, drumming his fingers on the window to some internal beat. "Big cannons shooting big bullets!"

Fortress Maximus agrees with little hesistation in response to Sludge's comments, going as far as crouching down a bit to pick up a piece of scrap metal in one hand before tossing it a bit of a distance away, "You won't find many people disagreeing with that observation there, Sludge. I can see why they'd stage the artillery range event here in this place." He takes a glance around him now that more participants have arrived, "This place looks a little light on Autobot participation tonight."

Monstereo tunnels up out of the 'ground', junk cascading out and around him as he rises. He looks around at all the converging visitors. "Whoh."

".. Riiight." Blast Off drawls as he comes in for a landing, deploying air brakes and veniers to slow to a hover instead of actually touching the ground. Hills are a pain to actually roll to a stop on. "How about we leave the thinking to Swindle," can't believe he's saying that, "and you and Rumble can focus on thinking how to shoot things better so we can win this silly compatition and I don't totally waste my time getting dragged along to this."

Space Shuttle &lt;Blast Off&gt; also opens up so the other Decepticons can get out.

Rumble hops out of the side door and plunges to the ground, landing with a surprisingly light crash. It sounds less like the usual thunderous impact and more like someone pushed a refrigerator out of an airplane. "Aren't you gonna shoot stuff too? You're good at shooting," he calls up to Blast Off.

Apocryphacius has a deep, dark love of weaponry, which bothers him a bit, but he supposes that this is a civil way to see some of the finest artillery the galaxy has to offer, yes? Only too late has he realised that he signed up to participate, not to be audience. This is going to be rather embarrassing, he fears! But he'll muddle through it, he supposes.

&lt;Warpath&gt; Red Tank rolls up to where everybody is gathering. "So are we, ZAP, goona get this show on the road?" He turns his tank turret this way and that, as if peering out through his barrel like a telescope at everyone. &lt;Pose Tracker&gt; Warpath's posed. &lt;Pose Tracker&gt; Rodimus Prime's pose: Winnebago &lt;Rodimus Prime&gt; rolls across the landscape, crunching robotic feet beneath his tires.

It's kind of disconcerting, really.

He arrives at the field of the event and transforms, approaching the podium.

Yes, that's right, Rodimus Prime himself has been asked to moderate the event, rather than some funny spokesperson.:(

The young Prime grins and says, "Ladies, Gentlemen, and other! Welcome tonight to the Artillery Range event!" He gestures to giant... pumpkin firing catapults? Being wheeled onto the field. When he sees just *what* they are, he rubs the back of his head and mutters, "You've /got/ to be kidding me," just loud enough for the mic to pick it up, though he seems unaware of that. He then shakes his head. "Well, anyway... each participant will have three tries to adjust the angle of their shot and see just how far they can launch the... uhm. Giant pumpkins? The judges will take the top shot of the three, and the best six will advance to the second round. Players, please let the person in front of you fire all three of their blasts before you begin." Because it makes it easier for the judge to keep track of things. "And now, up first... Apocryphacius!"

Winnebago &lt;Rodimus Prime&gt; transforms into his Robot mode.

"Say no more, Rumble and Brawl can hog all the accolades!" Brawl shouts, jumping down the side door and landing to the ground with a large *THUD*. "Don't know about you little buddy, but I'm -itching- for some action!" he laughs to Rumble.

"Well of course," Blast Off replies, once everyone else is out, transforming to his own robot mode and setting to the ground as well. Probably need his impecable skills to win in the first place, though artillery isn't as much his thing, but he'll manage. "Though targets are never quite as fufilling as.... live prey."

Rumble shares a belly laugh with Brawl, but happens to look down at the end of it. "HOLY SLAG," he exclaims, startled and shocked, as he leaps several feet into the air with surprise. "This place is COVERED in ZOMBIE FEET."

The shuttle unfolds as its size compresses down to form layers of armor, wings folding up as limbs and a head emerge, and Blast Off now stands hauntily in robot mode.

Sludge looks surprised at the report from Fortress Maximus, "Maybe Bots lost in junk like Sludge," he tells him, though it's hard to tell if he's being serious or has a sudden charming wit. "Me Sludge need nobody to stomp--. Ohh...no stomping?" he mutters as the announcement distracts him.

"That's messed up," Rumble adds, settling back uneasily onto the ground.

Snarl has arrived.

Snarl shifts into his imposing robot mode.

"Oh come now, this is RIGHT up your alley," Swindle grins in a way that suggests that he has some ulterior motive in mind. "With your shooting skills, you'll be SURE to blow this out of the planet!" Which... Just makes the odds all the more nicer! Swindle is next out of Blast Off's hold, landing a bit lighter than the other two. He gives a brief, critical glance at the body parts all around him, likely remembering the LAST time he stood on the dead. And the dead didn't like it. Stuffing his pad into his storage, Swindle turns towards the voice of the announcer. "Ah, pumpkin chuckers. Of course, just so we don't end up hurting anyone. How every noble!" How very said in a very sarcastic fashion.

Apocryphacius looks down at the zombie feet like he wants to take some home with him and dissect them. He doesn't pay overly much attention to the Prime, absent-minded as ever, but then his name is called. Wait, what? He hovers over to the pumpkin chuckers and eyes them dubiously, commenting, "I could design a better trebuchet with half my tentacles tied over my head, but let me see here..."

Artillery Range: Apocryphacius fires a shot!

THOOOM!

Artillery Range: Apocryphacius fires a shot!


 * THUD*

Artillery Range: Apocryphacius fires a shot!

KEeeeeeeeeeerrrBOOM!!!

"Excellent job, Apocryphacius!" Rodimus booms, clapping. "His best is 98 meters! Can someone else do better?"

Monstereo oohs. "Halloween Wars Part 2, The Smashings." He starts limbering up as he watches the beginnings of the event that has returned to Junkion. "And the Lone Ranger bombards the field with vigor!"

Apocryphacius corrects, "98.03 meters, and I am certain someone can do better."

"... Not even live ammo?" Blast Off questions as he peers at the devices as Swindle points that out. "How... droll. Hmph. Very well. Let's get this mockery of weaponery over with," he grumbles as he trudges over to one of the launchers.

Artillery Range: Blast Off fires a shot!

KAPOW!!

Artillery Range: Blast Off fires a shot!

THOOOM!

Artillery Range: Blast Off fires a shot!

KAPOW!!

Sludge rubs his chin and seems confused at the flying pumpkins, "Them rockets?" he asks, watching them across the sky like a mesmerized tennis crowd.

"Heh, zombie feet! That's nothing compared to what Swindle keeps around our base, Rumble." Brawl chuckles, slapping an open hand on Rumble's back. Stomping up to the machinery, he gives the two Dinobots an uneasy glare.

"Time to RAWK!" he shouts, triggering the launchers.

Artillery Range: Brawl fires a shot!

Fortress Maximus chuckles in amusement, if it were any other Dinobot then perhaps the Headmaster leader would be more nervous. Sludge being one of the more calmer and friendlier Dinobot and all, there is nothing to be worried about. "Nope, no stomping today but you get to shoot something fun." He points over to the cannon that's being used right now.

KA BOOM!!!

Fusillade has arrived.

Artillery Range: Brawl fires a shot!


 * BOOM*

Artillery Range: Brawl fires a shot!


 * BOOM*

Stomping and tromping down a path, the Dinobot Snarl holds his Long-Range Laser Rifle, braced against one of the kite-like plates on his "wing". Some of the competitors are hunkering down, finding a nice position to shoot, bracing themselves, taking time to prepare. But not this Dino, instead, almost as if an afterthought, he thoughtlessly and brazenly pulls his weapon down, ignoring the cannon that was provided for the event, firing off a shot, followed by a second, and then a third. He is actually in the middle of walking as he shoots. Without looking at his results, he turns to Fortress Maximus who had just pointed to the cannon, "What that for?"

Artillery Range: Snarl fires a shot!

BOOM!!

Artillery Range: Snarl fires a shot!

THOOOM!

Artillery Range: Snarl fires a shot!


 * THUD*

Blast Off snorts a bit, shaking some... who knows what considering this place off his hands as he walks away from the controls. "Still isn't as entertaining as actual munitions on a live target. Stationary distance is nothing compared to appropriately hunting down a fleeing victim attempting to avoid your aim..." He grouse, watching the others... and mildly impressed when Brawl actually makes a capable effort. "Idiot savant, I swear, when it comes to breaking things.."

Warpath gets control of a pumpkin-tossing cannon and lines up the angles on the turret. "BANG, BOOM, these won't explode, but they sure will go SPLAT!" he says, "Too bad they aren't bombs." Now where would Warpath have seen pumpkin-shaped explosives? He whoops and hollers as he fires off each shot.

Warpath gets control of a pumpkin-tossing cannon and lines up the angles on the turret. "BANG, BOOM, these won't explode, but they sure will go SPLAT!" he says, "Too bad they aren't bombs." Now where would Warpath have seen pumpkin-shaped explosives? He whoops and hollers as he fires off each shot.

Artillery Range: Warpath fires a shot!

KEeeeeeeeeeerrrBOOM!!!

Artillery Range: Warpath fires a shot!


 * BOOM*

Artillery Range: Warpath fires a shot!


 * THUD*

Apocryphacius comments, "It would be trivial to genetically engineer exploding pumpkins, In fact, I am shocked it has not yet been done..." He takes out his datapad and starts scribbling down gene substitutions. Better keep him away from the gardening stores for a while.

Sludge smiles slightly, even though Decepticons are around, "Oh, gooder luck, Fortress Maximum," he tells him, lumbering toward the artillery. He pats Snarl on the shoulder once he's finished and offers, "It big shooting thingie," he says intelligently. He knocks over some junk while walking and it tumbles down a hill.

Rumble tips over flat on his face when Brawl slaps him on the back, picking himself back up with a curled lip. "Hey, watch where ya put ya mitts!" He picks up a giant pumpkin. "Aww, it's just a pumpkin," he mutters, disappointed, as he toddles over to load it into the catapult. Maybe he was hoping it was an artillery shell that merely looked like a pumpkin. He squinches up his face, silver tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, and hauls on the catapult's ropes to try to get it lined up with the target area. "Pumpkins away!"

Artillery Range: Rumble fires a shot!

Artillery Range: Rumble fires a shot!

Artillery Range: Rumble fires a shot!


 * BOOM*

THOOOM!

KAKOOWWW!!

Blast Off would roll his optics if he didn't have just a visor. "Wonderful, give one of the cosmic kalimari horrors -ideas-."

Artillery Range: Sludge fires a shot!

KA BOOM!!!

Artillery Range: Sludge fires a shot!


 * BOOM*

Artillery Range: Sludge fires a shot!


 * THUD*

Swindle reaches out in front of him, looping his fingers and stretching the actuators, recreating a cracking sound. "Well, no time like the present. Shame that we aren't using actual ammo, I'm sure I have a few extra rounds somewhere." He shrugs a little bit. Pumpkins are hardly as satisfying, to say the least. Calmly, he walks up towards one of the chuckers. "When in rome, sell pumpkins like the romans do." By launching them.

Pumpkins go sailing over the horizon. Rumble pumps his little fists in the air. "Woohoo! Hope there's sumpin' valuable down the other end! Guess not if it's Planet Junk though, huh."

Fortress Maximus winces a bit as he watches Snarl pull down the cannon and firing off shots with little regard, "Oh no, that's... just fireworks, Snarl. We're firing fireworks. Pumpkin. Fireworks." The large Headmaster leader is horrible at lying as usual, but telling one of the more moody Dinobots that he had just squandered his three shots isn't something that could be regarded as wise. Fortress Maximus calmly approaches the cannon after Sludge had vacated the cannon and gives the funky gizmo a try as well.

Artillery Range: Swindle fires a shot!

THOOOM!

Artillery Range: Swindle fires a shot!

SPLOOSH!

Artillery Range: Swindle fires a shot!

KAKOOWWW!!

Artillery Range: Fortress Maximus fires a shot!

BOOM!!

Artillery Range: Fortress Maximus fires a shot!


 * THUD*

Artillery Range: Fortress Maximus fires a shot!


 * THUD*

Monstereo pulls his goggles down over his optics and then steps up to man a catapult. He makes a few angle tweaks before firing and starts singing, 'Attaaaaaack of the smashing pumpkins.... Attaaaaaaaaaaaaaack of the smashing pumpkins! They'll beat you, bash you, Squish you, mash you. Chew you up for brunch. And finish you off for dinner or lunch!" Monstereo makes his remaining shots. "I love the smell of innards in the morning." He puts his hands on his hips and inhales.

Sludge seems to be rubbing his chin as the next person walks up to use the cannon and he bumps into Swindle, Fortress Maximus, and others, in the process. He seems to have either forgotten to aim the cannon or aimed it so poorly, that the pumpkins have done little more than skip away from the firing artillery. "Hmmm...."

Artillery Range: Monstereo fires a shot!

Fusillade clatters in, puffing a bit as she skids to a halt by Blast Off. "Okay, where are the shells?!" she asks. Her lop-sided smile fades when she sees the artillery pieces. "I... this is an all-ages audience, right?" She glances down at her normal launchers, before aheming. She stares as Rumble flings his, and then with a shrug, hefts one up in her fingertalons, testing the weight. She sashays to hip-check Fort Max in the ankle, "Outta the way, playboy!" With a giddy giggle, she plunks the gourd in the catapault, and sends it sailing!

Artillery Range: Fusillade fires a shot!

Artillery Range: Fusillade fires a shot!

Artillery Range: Fusillade fires a shot!

THOOOM!

KA BOOM!!!

KA BOOM!!!

KA BOOM!!!

Galvatron has arrived.

Apocryphacius stops sketching and ignores Blast Off's hateful ethnic slur, instead pulling out his Genetics Laboratory In a Box. Heeere little plasmid, you know you want to put those bombardier beetle alleles into that pumpkin nucleus...

Artillery Range: Monstereo fires a shot!


 * THUD*

Artillery Range: Monstereo fires a shot!

THOOOM!

Darkwing walks over to one of the Artillery peices and looks it over. He'd rather be using his gun... or maybe Rumble... but he guesses this will have to do. He places one of the large gordes in the scoop and lets it fire.

Galvatron has left.

Snarl is not the most accurate of shots these days. Back when he was young, he rarely missed. But these days, as he nears his fiftieth, he just doesn't have it in him. Frowning when his distance ends up being so low, at least his best shot beat Sludges. It's something at least. Turning to Maximus, Snarl ask, "I Snarl want to go again. Use that cannon thing this time. Do better."

Americon has arrived.

Swindle stands up after his three 'shells' are launched. A frown is on his face as he rubs at his chin a little bit. "Ah, well," He shrugs, then starts to grin again, "This is why I never bet on myself anyway! Now if there were a contest to /sell/ pumpkins, that I could sweep up." He opens his mouth to go into one of his 'tales', when he looks at the rest of those collected waiting for their turn, shrugs again, and walks off.

Artillery Range: Darkwing fires a shot!

KEeeeeeeeeeerrrBOOM!!!

Artillery Range: Darkwing fires a shot!

KA BOOM!!!

Artillery Range: Darkwing fires a shot!

BOOM!!

And then Americon happened! "Out of the way, fools!" Americon says, trying to shove his way through to the catapults. He hooks some ropes to THREE catapults at once and then pulls them all back, by hand, at once! "I... am... going to win... in... AMERICA!" But the catapults fire prematurely, and Americon, still holding the rope, is sent flying with the pumpkins! "AIIIEEE!"

Blast Off shakes his head a bit at Swindle. "Stick to selling the weapons, hmmm? -Brawl- did better than you," he's gotta jab at his teammates a little. Though he pauses for a moment after that. "Granted, he is a tank."

Artillery Range: Americon fires a shot!

SPLOOSH!

Artillery Range: Americon fires a shot!

BOOM!!

Artillery Range: Americon fires a shot!


 * BOOM*

=
==============[ Artillery Range Logs ]=========================== 1. Aug 12 16:30 Fusillade               213.47 m      (6 s) 2. Aug 12 16:30 Fusillade                210.72 m      (7 s) 3. Aug 12 16:26 Rumble                   202.19 m      (6 s) 4. Aug 12 16:26 Rumble                   184.53 m      (6 s) 5. Aug 12 16:28 Fortress Maximus         183.71 m      (6 s) 6. Aug 12 16:26 Rumble                   167.69 m      (6 s) 7. Aug 12 16:30 Fusillade                 167.3 m      (7 s) 8. Aug 12 16:21 Brawl                    164.88 m      (6 s) 9. Aug 12 16:20 Brawl                    163.77 m      (5 s) 10. Aug 12 16:19 Blast Off               162.82 m      (8 s) 11. Aug 12 16:29 Fortress Maximus        150.03 m      (5 s) 12. Aug 12 16:29 Fortress Maximus        136.17 m      (5 s) 13. Aug 12 16:18 Blast Off               134.12 m      (8 s) 14. Aug 12 16:21 Brawl                   125.15 m      (5 s) 15. Aug 12 16:25 Warpath                 116.51 m      (5 s) 16. Aug 12 16:16 Apocryphacius            98.03 m      (5 s) 17. Aug 12 16:32 Darkwing                 98.03 m      (5 s) 18. Aug 12 16:24 Warpath                  96.84 m      (5 s) 19. Aug 12 16:28 Swindle                  90.53 m      (4 s) 20. Aug 12 16:19 Blast Off                87.33 m      (8 s) 21. Aug 12 16:16 Apocryphacius            86.94 m      (4 s) 22. Aug 12 16:25 Warpath                  85.09 m      (4 s) 23. Aug 12 16:15 Apocryphacius            78.17 m      (3 s) 24. Aug 12 16:33 Darkwing                 72.52 m      (6 s) 25. Aug 12 16:30 Monstereo                66.22 m      (6 s) 26. Aug 12 16:28 Swindle                  64.26 m      (5 s) 27. Aug 12 16:36 Americon                 58.06 m      (3 s) 28. Aug 12 16:27 Swindle                  54.43 m      (3 s) 29. Aug 12 16:37 Americon                 51.73 m      (3 s) 30. Aug 12 16:30 Monstereo                42.18 m      (5 s) 31. Aug 12 16:37 Americon                 31.12 m      (2 s) 32. Aug 12 16:23 Snarl                    16.64 m      (2 s) 33. Aug 12 16:30 Monstereo                13.46 m      (5 s) 34. Aug 12 16:27 Sludge                   11.44 m      (2 s) 35. Aug 12 16:23 Snarl                    10.19 m      (2 s) 36. Aug 12 16:23 Snarl                     6.68 m      (2 s) 37. Aug 12 16:27 Sludge                    6.68 m      (2 s) 38. Aug 12 16:27 Sludge                    2.78 m      (2 s) 39. Aug 12 16:33 Darkwing                     0 m      (7 s)

=
============[ 39 shots (distance sort) ]=========================

"What's that supposed to mean?" Brawl yells, stomping up to his teammates. "And if you didn't notice Blast Off, I did better than you too!"

"Yer frickin' DEAD to me!" Rumble yells after Americon displays his inimitable combat technique. "Ya blight onna good family name!"

"Cute, ladies," Fusillade sasses.

Rodimus Prime watches almost absently as pumpkins go over the horizon. He leans forward and narrows his optics, then looks down at a terminal he has to assist judging. He cheers much louder for the Autobots and their allies, which isn't surprising, but as the event moderator, he's obligated to play fair. He looks over the results. "One moment, please, while I tabulate results..."

"I won," says Rumble helpfully.

"But I can hardly pick on myself, now can I?" Blast Off replies evenly to Brawl's loud inquiry

Monstereo leans over the line and can reach his pumkins with his arm. He scoops a finger of smashed pumpkin guts up on his finger for examination. "Hmmm... no pies tonight."

"Now now, it's not ALL about winning anyway," Swindle says, a grin on his face. He reaches a hand pat both Blast Off and Brawl on the shoulders. "It's about how the bets go!"

Sludge rubs his head and frowns, "Decepticons loud. Be more quieter," he complains.

Rumble scurries over to the judging area and hops up to look at the terminal around Rodimus' arm. "If ya want ya can melt down my medal an' give it to me inna shape of a crown, seein' how I'm the King of Tapes an' all," he offers generously.

"Awww," adds Rumble when he sees that Fusillade actually won.

Apocryphacius continues to tinker quietly with creating the Pumpkin That Man Was Not Meant To Grow, not paying too much attention to Rodimus Prime's talk of tabulations. Hmm, need more nitrogen. He idly collects some pumpkin guts and sets about extracting the chemicals he needs out of them with his Laboratory In A Box.

"And it looks like those advancing to the next round are... Fusillade! Rumble! Fortress Maximus! Brawl! Blast Off! Warpath! And Apocryphacius!" Rodimus Prime frowns at the scores... looks like the 'Cons take most of the top end. He manages to avoid commenting on this, but he does smirk at Rumble. "Still two more rounds to go, Rumble."

"They always loud, but we louder!" Snarl comments to Sludge, as he still waits for a ruling on whether or not he'll get a go with that big shiny cannon thing. When none seems to come, he calls out, "Rodimus! I Snarl no get a go with big cannon thing. I use own rifle. It no work so well. I Snarl do better with cannon!" With no one protesting or stopping him, he'll begin to walk back towards it.

"All right, gentle robots!" Rodimus booms, then pauses. "And. Erm. Apocryphacius. Now we begin the second round. The three top scores will be advancing to the next... Snarl! Stop that!"

Rumble sulks back over to the catapult area, kicking a pumpkin on the way. "Stupid pumpkin. If youse were a subduction zone you'd be mine!"

Fortress Maximus feels the nudge against his ankle, and looks down at Fusillade, "Well, not a bad shot at all." He then moves back over to Snarl, sensing the Dinobot's discontent towards the results and attempts to defuse the situation with some subtle encouragement. "Don't worry, Snarl. There's always next time. Tell you what? After this, I'll treat you and the other Autobots that came participated here today to a round of Bar Moon's finest energon, hmm?"

Americon stands up somewhere in the middle of the firing range with a giant pumpkin on his head. He stumbles about the range, feeling around blindly and mumbling.

"Snarl, you had your chance," Rodimus says sternly. "If you weren't using the proper equipment, that disqualifies you, anyway!"

Leopard 1A1 Tank &lt;Brawl&gt; thumps his fist against his chest, "Yes, Combaticons rule!" he declares. Then the brute gives Swindle a shrug of his shoulders, "Well, at least two thirds of us."

The Leopard 1A1 Tank transforms into robot mode. BRAWL SMASH!

Blast Off glares sidelong at Swindle for a moment, but doesn't say half the things he probably could about those bets and who they're on. Partially because he's occupied running several new calculations based on the first round through his internal targetting computers. "Come Brawl, let us continue this cherade of combat." Though at least Decepticons seem to be winning in general.

Apocryphacius looks up from tagging genes with fluorescent markers and says hazily, "What?" He looks left and right. "I... but..." The Quintesson sets his Laboratory In a Box down on the stands and hovers back over to the pumpkin chuckers, as far away from the Dinobots and whatnot as possible. He mutters, "Could engineer a more aerodynamic pumpkin, too."

Artillery Range: Apocryphacius fires a shot!

KEeeeeeeeeeerrrBOOM!!!

Rodimus Prime sighs and takes a deep breath. "/Anyway/. We're now beginning round three. Gentlemen! Ladies! Fusillade! Approach the catapults and load your pumpkins!"

The words "stop that" echo in Snarl's laser core. He's no Grimlock, that's for sure. Grimlock would have told him to use the proper equipment. He not do so well without direct supervision. They force him to think. He not like that. This game no fun. But he does back down, for now, turning and walking back to Sludge, "Him leader no fun. He no tell I Snarl what to do. Where Grimlock?"

Artillery Range: Apocryphacius fires a shot!


 * BOOM*

Artillery Range: Apocryphacius fires a shot!


 * BOOM*

"Erm, round two," corrects the distracted Autobot leader.

"I'll continue YER charade!" Rumble insists impudently, rolling a giant pumpkin bigger than he is past the Combaticons to load it into his designated catapult.

Artillery Range: Rumble fires a shot!

Artillery Range: Rumble fires a shot!

Artillery Range: Rumble fires a shot!

SPLOOSH!


 * THUD*

KA BOOM!!!

Sludge considers what Snarl says for a loooong moment and then says, "Them not using correct weapon, Snarl. Grimlock have better practicing," he tells him concernedly. He looks concerned for the troops and watches Fortress Maximus, perhaps wondering why training is now being done with pumpkins, "Pumpkins no good, Fortress Maximum."

Artillery Range: Blast Off fires a shot!

KEeeeeeeeeeerrrBOOM!!!

Artillery Range: Blast Off fires a shot!

KA BOOM!!!

"Did that pumpkin just explode? Was that a rocket-assisted pumpkin?" Rumble wonders at the sound.

Fusillade gesticulates rudely at Sludge, before turning back to the Combaticons, and and props her shoulder against one of the catapault's stocks. She recoils reflexively in terror as Fortress Maximus addresses her, but settles down after a moment. Truce time and all that. A few suspicious squints are leveled at the Quinstesson's tinkering, but she doesn't say anything to him. "A'ight, folks, let's make it good! Change your angle, and aim like you're trying to hit Devestator in the forehead with a kick me sign, about an astroball field's length away." Unfortunately the advice is audible to all contestants. She mentally mulls over the previous round's results, and takes some care to select pumpkins as close as possible to each other's size as possible. "Whoo whoo, FAHR IN T'HOLE!"

Artillery Range: Fusillade fires a shot!

Artillery Range: Fusillade fires a shot!

Artillery Range: Fusillade fires a shot!


 * THUD*

KEeeeeeeeeeerrrBOOM!!!

BOOM!!

Artillery Range: Blast Off fires a shot!

Brawl slams two fists together, approaching the launchers. Squeezing the trigger three times, he turns to Rumble. "What's a sha-raid?"

Artillery Range: Brawl fires a shot!

BOOM!!

Artillery Range: Brawl fires a shot!

KAPOW!!

Americon, meanwhile, runs about the firing range as pumpkins splatter all around him, arms windmilling as he makes muffled screams.

Artillery Range: Brawl fires a shot!


 * THUD*

Blast Off watchs Americon getting plastered by random pumpkins, the bit of a smirk hidden by his mouthplate. "I think it was because it hit an actual target, Rumble."

Fortress Maximus nods in response to Sludge, seeing a chance in defusing the situation with the comment that the large Dino has made, "Yes, pumpkins are no good, that's why it's no big deal. I know you two can do better when it comes to real weapons." He's definitely getting better at this white lie business. Once he's done speaking he heads on over to the cannon and begins working on the various controls.

"I think it's like when a buncha guys refuel together," Rumble says, although he has to think about it.

Artillery Range: Fortress Maximus fires a shot!

KEeeeeeeeeeerrrBOOM!!!

Artillery Range: Fortress Maximus fires a shot!


 * THUD*

Artillery Range: Fortress Maximus fires a shot!

KEeeeeeeeeeerrrBOOM!!!

Rumble says, "Wait, no, it ain't. That's 'commensal.'"

Rumble shrugs.

Apocryphacius really doesn't want to know what Rumble is talking about and hovers back to his Laboratory In a Box that he left on the stands, checking to make sure that no one tinkered with his transgenic pumpkins that could be considered a Class Three warcrime in most parts of Europe. Luckily, this isn't Europe! And luckily, giant robots don't have DNA to contaminate his work.

&lt;Warpath&gt; Red Tank whoops again as he takes another round of turns. "Lemme POW, smash up a few more pumpkins, ZOOM! Is there goona be enough left to make pumpkin pie?" Not that Warpath can eat pie, but he's sure Slag or someone would appreciate it.

Artillery Range: Warpath fires a shot!

KEeeeeeeeeeerrrBOOM!!!

"'Mericon! Yer on the pumpkin range! Get outta the way!" Rumble shouts downrange at the flailing, wailing tape.

Artillery Range: Warpath fires a shot!

SPLOOSH!

Sludge rubs his chin as he takes time to think over what Fortress Maximus said, "Ohhhh..." he mutters. He then eyes Fusillade suspiciously as she walks on by like she owns the place, "Decepticons still loud," he says honestly.

Blast Off snorts. "Leave him there, Rumble. It makes this more.... entertaining."

Artillery Range: Warpath fires a shot!

Snarl concurs, "Pumpkins no good, no good at all. We DInobots should be fighting Decepticons, not playing with them. But him Grimlock, say we not smash them for . . . for . . . how long he say?" Snarl tries to remember, but he wasn't really paying attention. That he retained that the Decepticons are off limits, and that it's for a brief time, is actually quite an achievement for someone who's goal in life is to not think.

SPLOOSH!

"But he makes me ashamed," Rumble says to himself in a low voice.

Rumble ._.

Americon cannot hear Rumble due to the pumpkin on his head. However, he is eventually knocked by a pumpkin that fell a little short, and spends several moments on his back.

Thanks to Rumble's armored visor, no one can see his single tear.

"C'moooon, Warpath! Beat those 'Co- damn." Rodimus slumps as the second round finishes, and he can't hide the scowl for a moment before he tucks it away and forces a smile. "Well, that takes care of the second round! Top scoring constestants are Fusillade, Blast Off, and Rumble!" He makes a face, then forces the smile again. "The third and final round will be for the metal. Is everybody ready?"

=
==============[ Artillery Range Logs ]=========================== 1. Aug 12 16:49 Fusillade               223.24 m      (7 s) 2. Aug 12 16:49 Blast Off                 217.5 m      (7 s) 3. Aug 12 16:49 Fusillade                212.78 m      (6 s) 4. Aug 12 16:47 Rumble                   211.32 m      (7 s) 5. Aug 12 16:48 Blast Off                189.71 m      (8 s) 6. Aug 12 16:49 Fusillade                188.01 m      (6 s) 7. Aug 12 16:48 Blast Off                184.04 m      (6 s) 8. Aug 12 16:49 Brawl                    165.15 m      (6 s) 9. Aug 12 16:47 Rumble                   159.58 m      (6 s) 10. Aug 12 16:47 Rumble                  159.58 m      (6 s) 11. Aug 12 16:51 Fortress Maximus        158.28 m      (6 s) 12. Aug 12 16:52 Fortress Maximus        143.59 m      (6 s) 13. Aug 12 16:49 Brawl                   138.89 m      (6 s) 14. Aug 12 16:55 Warpath                 137.68 m      (5 s) 15. Aug 12 16:52 Fortress Maximus        136.17 m      (5 s) 16. Aug 12 16:50 Brawl                   120.29 m      (5 s) 17. Aug 12 16:54 Warpath                 109.64 m      (5 s) 18. Aug 12 16:46 Apocryphacius           104.38 m      (5 s) 19. Aug 12 16:45 Apocryphacius           103.16 m      (5 s) 20. Aug 12 16:55 Warpath                  85.18 m      (4 s) 21. Aug 12 16:46 Apocryphacius            67.55 m      (4 s)

=
============[ 21 shots (distance sort) ]=========================

Fusillade sashays up to the judge's box, and props her goggles atop her helmet. "Is the final round scoring based on the single longest pumpkin toss? Or will it be cumulative?" She glances back over her shoulder at Americon staggering about fifty meters distant.

"It'll be the single longest toss, Fusillade," Rodimus answers from his spot on the podium.

Fortress Maximus walks back to the other Dinobots, visibly unaffected by his and the other Autobots' loss in this round, "Well now, that makes things easier. How about the rest of us head on over to Bar Moon and sample some of the finest that they can offer?" The Headmaster leader gives Sludge, Snarl, and Warpath a glance for confirmation.

Blast Off was so assured in himself that he would make it to the final round that he's already calculating the final set of firing trajectories before the announcement is made. Yes, his ego -is- that big, thank you... But he's also got the skill to back it up, as has so far been shown. "Live ammunition would still be better..." He pauses to lean over a bit and peer downrange at the tape. ".. But this is somewhat... therapudic," he concedes finally, before taking the controls and firing off the last three shots.

Brawl picks up a zombie foot and snaps it in half, "RATS, I screwed up!"

"It okay, Snarl," Sludge says to calm his Dinobot buddy, "Fortress Maximum have plan," he tells him, thumbing at the big guy.

Artillery Range: Blast Off fires a shot!

KEeeeeeeeeeerrrBOOM!!!

Artillery Range: Blast Off fires a shot!

BOOM!!

Artillery Range: Blast Off fires a shot!

KA BOOM!!!

Apocryphacius actually looks very relieved that he doesn't make it into the last round. Giant robots tend to be vindictive! And it gives him more time to coax forth a prototype...

Combat: Apocryphacius has created a bomb: "Transgenic Exploding Pumpkin"!

"All right!" Rodimus shouts. "If there are no more question, let's get st-" and then Blast Off starts chuckin' pumpkins. Rodimus shrugs and just finishes with, "Yeah. Pumpkins."

Swindle pulls his pad back out from his storage, and taps away at it lightly. "Hm, I knew I should have taken those odds on 'Triplechanger getting stuck in a pumpkin," He muses to himself, frowning slightly. "Still, not a total loss today." The smirk reforms across his face, as he nods a bit at Blast Off. "Didn't I say that this would be up your alley? Well, not quite, but still. And don't worry, Brawl. We have new targets at the base for you to blow up to let off steam."

Blast Off is jerk enough to start shooting before you finish, yes.

Darkwing has disconnected.

Americon makes a sound like "WMMMGHHH!" as a few pumpkins land on him, almost as if someone was aiming for him.

"Kay," Fusillade briefly replies, before she she scrambles back to the other Decepticons. "Hey, pretty nice," she gloats at Blast Off and Rumble. "And yeah, we should totally do some kinetic bombardment sometime. Just sling out some carbon-tungsten rods, and see they hit." She struts back to her assigned catapault, and loads in her own set of ammo, a wee bit smaller this time. A nasty laugh escapes her as she coos out, "Oh oh, to the LEFT this time, Americon!" She tests the wind, finger held high, and then turns back to unload her salvo into the already orange-spattered range.

Artillery Range: Fusillade fires a shot!

Artillery Range: Fusillade fires a shot!

Artillery Range: Fusillade fires a shot!

KA BOOM!!!

KEeeeeeeeeeerrrBOOM!!!

KA BOOM!!!

Rumble spits oil on his hands and rubs them together to grease them up before picking up a pumpkin. "Awright! Let's GET GOURDY! Pumpkin master comin' through!" He rolls the pumpkin into the catapult and gets to work.

Artillery Range: Rumble fires a shot!

Artillery Range: Rumble fires a shot!

KAKOOWWW!!

Artillery Range: Rumble fires a shot!

BOOM!!

"Awww shucks, it didn't have enough BOOM in it," Warpath states. He watches the rest of the competition with an air of disappointment.


 * BOOM*

Americon sits up a bit. Did someone say something dodging to the left? Okay. Standing, he hustles off to the left--only to catch a pumpkin right in the gut! The patriotic Decepticon goes flying, naturally.

=
==============[ Artillery Range Logs ]=========================== 1. Aug 12 17:06 Fusillade               243.48 m      (7 s) 2. Aug 12 17:06 Fusillade                243.14 m      (7 s) 3. Aug 12 17:07 Rumble                   239.94 m      (7 s) 4. Aug 12 17:06 Fusillade                224.22 m      (7 s) 5. Aug 12 17:07 Rumble                   176.01 m      (6 s) 6. Aug 12 17:07 Rumble                   176.01 m      (6 s) 7. Aug 12 17:04 Blast Off                168.14 m      (9 s) 8. Aug 12 17:03 Blast Off                 165.6 m      (6 s) 9. Aug 12 17:03 Blast Off                145.36 m      (6 s)

=
============[ 9 shots (distance sort) ]==========================

Rodimus Prime claps politely but with a distinct lack of enthusiasm as the Decepticons finish out the event. "Congratulations, gen- lad- ... Robots. Blast Off is the Bronze Medal winner. Silver goes to Rumble, and Fusillade, you've taken gold. Impressive job, all around!" And he's telling the truth.

(But he's still not thrilled.)

Monstereo claps, absentmindedly splattering pumpkin guts between his fingers.

Sludge crosses his arms, "It not that good," he mutters.

"Take THAT, pumpkins!" Rumble shouts triumphantly, punching his fist into his palm.

Blast Off grunts a little. Eh. Considering Decepticons won all three, and artillery isn't exactly his -specialty-, he can live with a Bronze medal.

For -this- year at least.

The gold from the Space Race before it was discontinued won't be lonely any more at least.

The awards announced, Rodimus hops off the stage and strolls over to the launcher. He wanders around it, inspecting it, then picks up an oversized pumpkin and hefts it, expression throughtful.

Artillery Range: Rodimus Prime fires a shot!

KAKOOWWW!!

Artillery Range: Rodimus Prime fires a shot!

Brawl grumbles, "Stupid PUMPKINS!"

KA BOOM!!!

Fusillade swaggers over, draping her arm over Blast Off's shoulder in a quick squeeze and scooping up Rumble for a quick heft in the air, before falling over herself in excitement to get to the judges' stand. "Whoo, break out the Seekerbois, enerbrew, and Soviet jets!" She tilts her head at Rodimus. "Oh, flashback to two years ago, I was totally late that one time." She shades her optics with one hand, and watches.

Artillery Range: Rodimus Prime fires a shot!


 * BOOM*

Rodimus Prime doesn't manage anywhere near so far as Fusillade. He shrugs and grins sheepishly.

=
==============[ Artillery Range Logs ]=========================== 1. Aug 12 17:14 Rodimus Prime           195.04 m      (8 s) 2. Aug 12 17:15 Rodimus Prime            162.26 m      (7 s) 3. Aug 12 17:14 Rodimus Prime            107.43 m      (9 s)

=
============[ 3 shots (distance sort) ]==========================

Blast Off picks up a pumpkin, inspecting it for a moment. And nearly dropping it as he gets dragged along with Fusillade's sudden shoulder-grab. "... One drink to cool my targeting circuits prehaps would not hurt," he muses, before looking in Swindle's direction and tossing the pumpkin his way. "After this is over, see if you can buy a launcher like that. It has.. entertainment merit."

Monstereo decides to give the catapults another go now that it's all over. "Less up. More that-a-way."

Artillery Range: Monstereo fires a shot!

THOOOM!

Artillery Range: Monstereo fires a shot!

KAKOOWWW!!

Artillery Range: Monstereo fires a shot!

KEeeeeeeeeeerrrBOOM!!!

Brawl lines up Fusillade, Blast Off, and Rumble in his disposable camera lens and clicks a shot. "Sure, sure. Rub it in why don't ya?"

Monstereo says, "Whoh. I beat my high score."

Apocryphacius seems happy enough with his transgenic pumpkin and scoops it up proudly, putting away his Laboratory In A Box. He does frown over the Decepticons winning but forces himself to clap to be polite. It sounds rather like wet noodles being flogged.

You take Transgenic Exploding Pumpkin.

Americon is unconscious and buried under pumpkins. Well, someone will get him eventually.

TEN HOURS LATER

Okay, nevermind, Americon's still here, buried under pumpkins.

Blast Off says, "I feel like we've forgotten something.... oh well, it can't be important."

"Whatever," Rumble agrees.

Fusillade echoes Rodimus's shrug, still mindful of her first embarrassing exhibition fight with Rodimus and Blast Off when the judge booted them out of the ring after a five-hour long slap fight. "You're right, we need more MiGs!" Fusillade guesses wrong.

Swindle can at least catch pumpkins, even if he can't sling them. He grins as he stuffs his ledgers away with one hand, the other catching the pumpkin. "I could see the merits of having one. But not one of these," He notes, waving a hand towards the catapults, "Something with a bit more power that I can tweak to launch at passing jets." Absently, he tosses the massive pumpkin over one shoulder. "Now then, someone mentioned drinks!"

With a desire to try the cannon for himself, Snarl walks up to it, stepping over a discarded pile of pumpkins, many of them going splat, and a few going crunch for some reason. He looks at the controls, taking his time to study it for a moment, adjusts for trajectory, and fires off a few volleys.

Artillery Range: Snarl fires a shot!

KEeeeeeeeeeerrrBOOM!!!

Artillery Range: Snarl fires a shot!

THOOOM!

Artillery Range: Snarl fires a shot!

KAKOOWWW!!

Artillery Range: Warpath fires a shot!

KAPOW!!

Artillery Range: Warpath fires a shot!

KAKOOWWW!!

Artillery Range: Warpath fires a shot!

KA BOOM!!!

Artillery Range: Warpath fires a shot!

KAKOOWWW!!

Sludge walks over to Fortress Maximus after he's done watching Snarl, "What plan again?" he questions.

Rodimus Prime wanders over towards the other Autobots, perhaps intentionally trying to get away from Fusillade (she's scary :, and smirks at the others. "I think it's go to the bar moon and get drunk, if I heard right?" Then he looks at Fortress Maximus and adds, "Although if you're wanting to spend time with drunk Dinobots, Max, you're a brave, brave mechanoid."

Rumble has disconnected.

Artillery Range: Swindle fires a shot!

SPLOOSH!

Monstereo looks around at the pumlin gut carnage aftermath. "....... I ain't cleaning this up."

Fusillade vanishes out of reality.

Fusillade has left.

Results:

Gold: Fusillade

Silver: Rumble

Bronze: Blast Off

Still Waiting For The Great Pumpkin: Americon