Surfacing Again

Washington - North America

The Evergreen State is bordered on the north by Canada, Oregon to the south, Idaho on the east, and the Pacific to the west. The northwest corner consists of the Olympic Peninsula, with its rainforests and the towering Olympic Mountains. However, the region east of the Cascades, the forested and sometimes volcanically active mountains running north to south through the state, is largely dry, including the arid Columbia Plateau in the south. Forming the border between Washington and Oregon is the Columbia River, one of the world's greatest sources of hydroelectric power. The state is home to a variety of industries, from lumbering to their famous apples to the manufacture of jet aircraft, missiles, and even spacecraft.

Contents: Debs Estate

From a remote stretch of rocky beach in Washington State comes a faint emergency signal. It belongs to Blast Off, who has not checked in anywhere since he was supposed to head to Combaticon Base a few days ago. The signal is weak, but after a period of intermittent broadcasts, it's finally growing more steady. Blast Off is a very punctual, professional mech and for him not to check in, even with the Combaticons, has been very odd. This signal hints that something has gone quite wrong for the Combaticon shuttle.

From somewhere down the beach, the thumping bass and blasting guitar of a radio can be heard, accompanied by the mass of headlights as some vehicle or another makes the best of the beach. Lyrics can be heard not too soon after, as it draws nearer Blast Off, and...well, at least it's fitting music.

"...Come back... come back... back to Jamaica. Don't you know, we made a big mistaika. We'd be so glad if you told us goodbye, and we promise not to shoot you out of the sky!"

The buggy crests a small rise, dropping down as the rack of lights fall on the Combaticon, the radio promptly shutting off as he approaches.

In a ridiculously complicated series of twists, turns, and noises, Dustoff transforms into a STORM SRT-V.

The first sight that hints that Blast off is even there is a flash of brown metal sticking out of the sand. As Dustoff looks closer, he'll see some of the familiar brown, gray and purple... in addition to the scorched black marks of fire burns. Look even closer, and he'll notice Blast Off's heat shields have pretty much either cracked and fallen off completely... or just melted and fused onto his metal "skin".

Dustoff will have to look closely, though, because the Combaticon isn't even that easily seen... he's wedged very tightly into some beach rocks, and the ebb and flow of the tide has brought up vast amounts of sand that have buried the mech even further. He doesn't seem to be stirring.

Dustoff will also notice /what/ has wedged Blast Off so tightly in the rocks- a big fence post stabbed through his side and under the rocks.

Storm SRT-V  remains on spot for a moment, lights simply bathing the spot ahead for a good few moments. In truth, he's checking broadcast signals and positioning data to make sure he's in the right spot. Satisfied, he finally transforms, pulling out his rifle and killing the lights to let low-light optical sensors kick in as he scans the beach.

"Right... know yer here somewhere." No Bots? Check... EDC? Nope... stragglers? ...not a one.

Dusty starts towards the transponder and the rocky outcropping in question, climbing atop it and peers in. "You in there, BO?" He pulls out a small handheld light, shining it in. "Well..." He takes a good moment to think of a proper word or remark, finally settling on one.

"Shit."

He hops down, wedging his own small frame into the spot as best he can manage, leaning his rifle nearby and snapping the light onto a bracket on the side of his helmet. "Gonna give yer battle-buddy a talkin' to for this one..."

A wave laps up from the ocean, and if Dustoff pays attention to such things he will notice the tide is coming in. There isn't a lot of time before this spot on the beach is covered with water and sand again. A crab crawls along the rocks and eventually along the scorched arm of the Combaticon. The hard exoskeleton surface of its legs "click click clicks" along the melted metal, but when they reach the black hand half-buried in the sand, there is a slight twitch, then all is still again.

The fence post is rammed through Blast Off's side and lodged deep underneath... it will be difficult to extract him without tearing him up further in the process.

Storm SRT-V  glances at the water. Yeah, that's not good either. He continues to wedge himself in as best he can, pulling out a laserscalpel to start working on the protrusions. No removals, not yet, but he can at least hack them down to a manageable size for the time being. "Need ya to say somethin' here, BO. If not, I'm givin' yer stash over to science."

There's an almost practiced speed to his work on the log... He's no doctor, it's true, but this isn't surgery, and it's not the Repair Bay. This is the field. His domain. "Y'know, they laughed at me when I told 'em I was gonna be a frontline Doc... heheh. You believe that?" He pauses to take a look at the injury itself briefly before resuming his work. "Let's get this...stabilized an' get ya outta here, how's that sound?"

As Dustoff starts working on the Combaticon, his presence seems to draw a response. A very weak one. The hand twitches again, then all is still for a moment. But finally... in the darkness a very faint violet glow begins to shine... Blast Off's optical visors... barely there, but they are there. One side is visable, the other side of his face is buried in sand. There's another long moment as Dustoff starts working on the post... and as he feels the vibrations, the Combaticon seems to freeze.

The one visable hand clenches in a fist... or it tries to. Dustoff's voice seems to finally break Blast Off out of his silence, and for the first time he tries to move his head to see who is hovering over him. His servos don't seem to want to work, though. There's a very soft, quiet, "Wh... where am I? It's... dark... small...." There is an unusual edge of panic to his voice.

"Dark, small, and ain't space. I know. Bit of a pain..." He finishes shortening the post and starts to brace and secure it in place, so he can move the combaticon without causing too much more damage. "But don't worry. Scorn ain't here t' get hungry, and-" he pauses, glancing back at the way out, "ain't a Bot in sight. So, 's all good. 'sides, I'm here. Ain't that just th' best?"

He pauses to check the water, then his work. "Alrigh' now, here's what's gonna happen... I gotta get ya out of here, and it's probably gonna feel like I'm rippin' ya outta Grimlock's teeth, but I gotta do that 'cause we're about to turn int' Seacons here, and I ain't keen on bein' so fishy."

He checks his work again and goes to grab the Combaticon. "Alrigh', on three... one, two-" screw three, he lifts on two to avoid the possible strain from anticipating the lift, digging in his heels to start dragging him out, grabbing his rifle on the way.

Space Shuttle  tries to look around again, fails, and finally lies quietly again. But he's coming a little more to his senses. "D...Dustoff?" The Combaticon's body actually relaxes just a little, and from the creaking of his servos, it's apparent this may be the first time it's done that in days. That may cause the noise- as well as the inordinant amounts of *sand* that have seeped *everywhere*.

As Dustoff explains the situation, he listens and mutters, "I.. wait... I... oh." Dustoff's "trick" works, and the Combaticon doesn't tense as much as he might have otherwise as he's lifted out of his "prison." But the sudden yanking movement hurts, of course, and there's a gasp of pain as he's pulled out. Sand is just *everywhere*, and Dustoff will see more scorch marks all through his form. He's mostly a dead weight still, not offering a lot of resistance... he doesn't have the strength.

Storm SRT-V  might not be in the best of positions, or even equipped with strong enough servos to simply lift and carry Blast Off out, but dragging's a time-honored tactic, and he keeps with it, taking advantage of the sand's ability to help shifting and sliding until he's above the tide's reach. With that, he's content to release his grip, turning around to promptly start work.

His pack thumps to the ground beside him, a quick smack to one side opening a compartment with the energon IV lines, which he starts running, a support-rod on the pack itself extended and acting as the holder for it. "Alright. Lessee what we can do here, huh?" He chuckles softly. "Man... yanno, knowin' how you fight? Can't wait t' see th' other guy... Who was it, hmm? That Prime fellah?" He angles the headlamp to get a better look at the fence-post, pulling out his scalpel to start cutting it out.

"Gonna get ya patched up, run the lines through a filter an' see what I can do t' flush out any contaminants that mighta gotten in there." Optics briefly glance at his pack to check the spare energon tank. "Yeah...got enough for one. Lucky you."

< Decepticon > Dustoff says, "Hey, anyone got a shuttle and able t' make a quick run to th' beach?"

Blast Off stirs a bit more as the energon starts running through his fuel lines, and he begins to move his head and look around. Finally, he gazes up at Dustoff, seeing him with clarity for the first time. He remains quiet for the most part, though when Dustoff asks who he fought he looks away again, optics dimming a bit. "I... crashed. Hit... a satellite."

< Decepticon > Dustoff says, "Yeah, let's not all jump up at once now. Alright, lemme rephrase this... Got one casualty, ambulatory, need a lift out t' get to more suitable facilities. Stabilizin' right now. So get yer aft in gear an' get a shuttle out this way."

Storm SRT-V  doesn't even blink. "Uh huh... Aunt Mae's Satellite Farm, right?" He looks the post over. "This here's some nice grade pine, stained an' weather treated... great for keepin' those nasty satellites outta yer yard."

He starts to clamp off broken lines as they're cleared of the fencepost, finally satisfied when enough are done to pull it out. "Alright... count t' two this time..."

Blast Off glances up at Dustoff uncomfortably, but just glances away again. "I... I hit a satellite upon reentry. After... we... we got something. We got... a freighter, I think? Yes... Rumble, Misfire... and I.... we got a freighter. I... succeeded. ...I think." He blinks, trying to remember the details. "I... was returning home.... hit the...object... burned." His optics narrow, then widen at Dustoff's last comment. He braces for the impact- long before the count of even "one", fists clenching. This is gonna hurt.

Storm SRT-V  is a tricky medic... this time, he doesn't pull. Not until three...or four. However long it takes for that relaxed confusion to hit. And then he'll pull.

Once the piece of wood is free, he simply tosses it to the side near his pack. "There we go..."

With that out of the way, it's almost routine. Get the lines reconnected, check to make sure everything's running straight. "Might need to fly ya out of here."

Blast Off keeps bracing... but doesn't have the strength to keep it up forever. When he finally relaxes again, the post is pulled out. He hisses in pain, crushing a fistful of sand in each hand as an initial wave of nausea hits him. His fuel tank seems to churn on him, but eventually the feeling subsides. Then he sinks down in relief, optics dimming as his systems finally stop pinging him with constant warnings.

He lies there for a moment, then blinks. "...Fly." Wing elevons twitch, and he appears to be trying to see if he can muster the strength to fly himself out of there. But his flight systems are pretty well shot at this point. Sighing, he asks, "...How? I am usually the transport."

Dustoff uh huhs. "Don't even think 'bout it... I'll have ya so drugged up ya won't know 'Up' from 'Crash'. Though, at that point they'll prolly be th' same..." He continues to work until one main line is left unpaired, hooking up the pack's auxiliary energon reserve tank to start cycling out the old and pumping in the new, and with it...flushing out the sand. "This might take a bit..." He sighs, glancing around at the beach again. "We gotta get outta here soon, too... no tellin' who might stop by."

Combat: Dustoff runs a diagnostic check on Blast Off

Blast Off simply listens quietly. He's not much of a conversationalist to begin with, and badly injured he is even less so. But he blinks nervously at Dustoff's last comment, glancing up at the highway as if he's suddenly worried they will indeed have company. At the same time, his hand instinctively reaches towards where the stab wound is.

Dustoff goes about his work, monitoring the transfusion as he replaces the filters every so often, grimacing at the amount of sand that's gone through. "Man... Alright, time t' be level here. Ain't sayin' this is why yer here, or who done this -you say a satellite, fine it was a satellite- but there anyone that knows yer here that might stop in t' check on ya?"

He glances at an indicator, tapping it and frowning as it nears 'Empty'. A bit faster than he'd like...but, nothing's ever perfect. Once it's done, he goes about reattaching the line and spot-welding in patch plates. "I ain't got a shuttle t' carry ya... took long enough drivin' out here as it was. So... either yer flyin' once I get ya fixed up, or we're findin' a spot to hole up until ya can."

Blast Off looks silently out in the distance, still reticent. The tide has covered the spot he was in, and he would have been trapped under there again if Dustoff hadn't finally rescued him from that prison. And if there's anything the former Renegade Decepticon hates, it's a prison- understandably. And as much as he hates to admit to anything, withholding information could be dangerous. To them both. Dustoff deserves to at least not be left in the dark.

Blast Off sighs, glances furtively over at Dustoff, then back out to the ocean again. He responds very quietly, "..... Blurr. He.... knows." He glances back up at the highway, then looks morosely at his hands and the wings on his legs. "I... am unable to fly. I still need some time for internal repairs. There... could be some caves along the coast in these rocks somewhere, I suppose."

Dustoff nods. "Alright then. We'll move fast." He finishes the patch and checks it over before reaching to roll Blast Off over. "Gotta get the back." He doesn't even pause. Blurr's fast... and as he said, gotta move fast. "So, here's the plan, then. We get to shelter, settle in, and I'll do what I can t' wall it off an' mask our presence. Gotta hold out until a shuttle gets here, or you get to bein' a shuttle."

There's silence as he works on finishing the 'exit wound' side of the patch. "Gonna leave you here..." He sets his rifle in the Combaticon's hand. "Anythin' not me shows up, end it. I'll make use of th' parts. If it's human... I'll just point an' laugh. Gonna scout up the beach a bit for a spot an' return real quick. We'll get ya moved right after, alright?"

Blast Off lies on his "stomach" as Dustoff works on his back. The "tail fin", or vertical stablizer in his shuttle mode, sticking from his back may make him look a bit like some sort of sand shark. Fortunately, it can be folded to the side when he's lying on his back, so it's not totally awkward. He accepts the rifle, nodding. The fact that he doesn't *huffff* at some of Dustoff's commentary is another indication of his injury level. "...Alright."

Dustoff takes another moment to scout the area before rolling the Combaticon onto his back and dragging him towards a spot where he can sit up somewhat. It's better than just laying there in waiting. With that, the medic's off, transformed and zipping down the coastline to scout out cover.

Blast Off makes himself as comfortable as he can, though it's not very comfortable, of course. He grips the rifle and looks up at Dustoff. Before the medic zooms off, he offers a quiet, "Thank you." Looking away, he adds, "Blurr wanted me to divulge Decepticon secrets." He gazes at the medic. "....I did not."

Dustoff heard. Even in the rush to get to scouting, he heard. << Yeah, I know he didn't. Know you're better than that. 'sides... was a satellite, right?>>

Blast Off listens, and waits a moment in silence. There's a small sigh of.... grateful relief? <> The Combaticon then sits by the shore, holding the rifle, listening to the ebb and flow of the tide and awaiting the medic's return.

Dustoff is back before too long. Though, he stays in form. "Gonna get ya hitched up and pull ya along. Got a spot. Not too far. It'll work well enough for now. Just hook up to th' rear bumper-rail an' we'll be off. I'll see about gettin' a shuttle in with another call... must be some trouble interferrin' with signals in th' area. All you gotta do is keep off your feet an' out of trouble."

Blast Off nods. "Very well. That will... not be a problem." There's one last glance towards the highway, a mixture of worry and a subtle glint of anger and frustration, then his gaze calms again as Dustoff gets to work. "My... radio signal... was intermittent, I... believe? But it... did eventually get through.... obviously" He looks at the medic again. "Thank you for... answering."

Dustoff gets everything hooked up and rigged. How? Animation magic. It happens. "Hey, 's what I do, yanno? Someone's gotta get out there an' pull back everyone else. Heheh... if I run out, then I end up on th' front fightin' like some general infantry. Pfft...yeah right. Ain't gettin' anywhere near that title."

Shifting into gear, he starts pulling the combaticon along towards the hideaway discovered. "This is why I keep sayin' we need a Search-and-Rescue crew... yanno, Guardian Angel types, SRT, all that stuff. Heheh...we leave plenty enough behind already..."

In a ridiculously complicated series of twists, turns, and noises, Dustoff transforms into a STORM SRT-V. Blast Off assists as much as he is able, then goes along for the ride. For once, someone's giving HIM a ride, not the other way around! He slowly nods. "Yes... a group like that would be useful. As it is, *I* am usually the one expected to transport troops out. Less... transport... would allow me to concentrate on destroying Autobots, instead of ....rescuing mechs like.... Triggerhappy from the likes of... Wraith." He does manage to issue out a bit of a huff there. It's a tiny one, but at least it's a little more normal sounding for the Combaticon shuttle.