Morally Inexcusable and Absolutely (Un)necessary

Wed Oct 24, 2033

Beijing

Bicycle horns echo through the air amidst the ebb and flow of people making their way around this megalopolis of some 20 million people. Neon lights flash from platforms atop skyscrapers in the financial district in a display of modernity curiously at odds with the heart of the city, centered and focused on the 95 acres of Tiananmen Square and the ancient glory of the Forbidden City, once home to the Chinese Emperors. Fantastically coiled dragons glare down from the palace wall, the many-tiered black roof of an imperial pagoda rising up behind it.

Contents:

Buzzsaw [Hidden]

Scattershot

Sikorsky Recon Copter &lt;Sandstorm&gt;

Repugnus

Great Wall of China

Red Pagoda

Obvious exits: East &lt;E&gt; leads to P'yongyang. West &lt;W&gt; leads to Datong Coal Mines.

Elsewhere, in old, abandoned warehouse in Taiwan...

Apocryphacius awakens in an oddly good mood. He wonders where he managed to find the /time/ to rest, between the idiot Sharkticons that have been following him around, courtesy of General Cross's bizarre deal with one of the Quintesson factions and between the actual work that Apocryphacius has to get done. He ties to hover up on his hover column to his full height, and he finds that he... cannot. He is stuck.

Tied down, actually. Apocryphacius tries to panic, and he runs into a mental wall, because his faces fail to shift. Trying to feel panicked while his Face of Light is active is just /difficult/. Most of his hardware for panic is not in this face!

But Apocryphacius takes in the situation. He is in what appears to be a decrepit, decayed warehouse. There is not much light, though, and there are stains on the floor that look rather ominous. He is tied down. His radio is... cut. There is a shift lock on his faces - he thought those were only a rumour - and he is having trouble thinking.

So what Apocryphacius ends up actually saying is rather inane, "I hope one of the lab techs remembers to feed the Sharkticons. They start chewing on the Jeeps in the motorpool if they are not fed regularly..."

A light fixture directly above Apocryphacius flares to life, putting him in a column of light... which some odd fellow in G2 colors suddenly intrudes upon! Yes, he has neon magenta paint on most of his body with some lime green bits, like on the arms and legs. And he has a faceplate and visor over his face. Hm. Clearly no one Apocryphacius has ever met! "HELLO SQUIDFACE!" the strange robot says, getting right in Apocryphacius's face. "We've got some questions for you, and we're going to expect some good answers! Because you see, we know what you did! We know what you TOOK! And we want COMPENSATION in the form of INFORMATION!"

The robot flicks Apocryphacius's skull with his fingers. "Get me? Now, that might've stung a little, but believe me, the really NASTY stuff is just up ahead!"

In case you're wondering, yes, the magenta robot is actually none other than the vile Repugnus, who organized this entire thing!

ALSO IN THE ROOM: A horribly G2 painted BOTTLETHROTTLE, Scattershot's executive assistant! He's sharpening some very severe looking blades and has two chainswords slung on his shoulders! Hey, remember all that time he spent stuck in a secret Con lab? Yep, he's actually super messed up! He says nothing. He just...sharpens.

And to one side of the space squid another figure steps partially into the light. "I suggest you do what he says." The voice comes out with a rasping hiss, likely due to the air-filteration type device worn partially over his face. Despite being a robot. Just like, despite being a robot, he's wearing what appears to be a ravaged tarp as a cloak, looped over his head into a hood to shadow the rest of his face not behing the resperator, save for a pair of glowing eyes. The rest of his somewhat squarish but not quite 'brick' build is painted in a weird combination of dark blue and almost neon greens. "You.. won't like what we have to do, otherwise."

There's a glint to the side, off the blade of the knife he's flicking back and forth between his fingers, ominously. As Sandstorm was getting rather into this, since Pug's ideas tended to be the sort of 'morally ambigious' ones that Wreckers love. The best thing about decaying warehouses? That they have all sorts of broken holes and windows to be a terrible bird voyeur through. Buzzsaw had mostly just been skulking about because, well, skulking about in the general vicinity of enemy strongholds is kinda his job before his Space Spy Sensors picked up a small concentration of Mechanical Stuff and Sorts skulking about in a place where there isn't supposed to be that much Mechanical Stuff. Being curious, the airborn spy slipped in to investigate, quietly landing on the roof and creeping his way to a window on the side of the building, clinging there as a Space Spy Camera With Space Microphone slips out, fixing on the interrogation that's about to commence. Ahhhh, how nostalgic this makes Buzzsaw for the good ol' days, helping interrogate the disloyal via inflicting pain. He's not in Generation 2 colors, though. That's the sort of thing LASERBEAK would do.]

Apocryphacius shrieks, "Oh selenium, those /colours/!" there is a ratcheting noise as his faces try and fail to shift again, because his optics hurt just looking at Repugnus's G2 cousin. And then there's a G2... whoever that is, too. And there's that sound of sharpening. Sharpening. Grind, grind, grind. At least the third awful neon figure is wearing clothing to partially hide the awful neon. Apocryphacius sputters, "I-I am sure there has been a misunderstanding. You see, uhm... well, I could not possibly be the father because I am the wrong /species/."

Thinking is hard when he cannot shift his faces, okay?

Repugnus hops and prances about the room, arms flailing maniacally as Apocryphacius gives a strange answer. "Do you hear that? DO YOU FREAKING THAT?" He bounds over to Sandstorm's left shoulder, leaning in a bit too close to him. "He's making fun of me! He's mocking me! 'I don't have to answer YOUR questions, sir! Dooba dooba doo! Bloop bloop bloop!'" Then he rushes back over to the Quintesson, and gives him a vicious shake. "I DON'T LIKE IT WHEN PEOPLE MAKE FUN OF ME! Aarrrraaaghhh!"

He pulls himself away, cycling air heavily. "You know what, you don't wanna tell us what the EDC's up to right now, fine!" He whips his head towards Bottlethrotte. "Get me a *rusty* one."

Bottlethrottle just stars at the Quint while Repugnus leaps around, and then nods at the request. He puts down the two blades and opens a crate to his left, calmly pulling out a large, ancient looking, rusty, Cybertronian sized trombone. He stares at it for a moment and puts it back, taking out a massive tentacle cleaving machete instead. He walks to the table with it, holding it in front of Paco's face. "You know, I've spent a lot of time with monsters like you and your brothers..." He rests the flat of the blade against the Quint's forehead, pressing slightly. "And it's times like these I have to admit that I'm...happy I brought some of that monster home with me." He glances up at Repugnus, offering the handle of the blade.

Sandstorm mostly stands there impassively as the brightly blinged monsterbot romps around and invades personal space. Then vents heavily, causing the filter-device to hiss extra loudly. Which isn't all that pleasant to listen to as he leans closer to the bound Quintesson. "You've still got a chance *hiss* to avoid being the experiment instead of the scientist." The knife flicks in his hand again. Then looks up to the other two. "I've got plenty of explosives *hssss* to gag those extra mouths with if the blade don't work."

Buzzsaw blinks his beady yellow eyes. Ooooh. Dirt on the EDC /and/ Autobots torturing allies? Oh, Buzzsaw just loves his job. Shifting a bit, the cassetticon quietly scootches to a slightly better vantage point, wanting to get as much footage as possible. Dum de dum dum dum!~ &lt;Pose Tracker&gt; Buzzsaw's posed.

Apocryphacius is trying to process sheer and utter terror with his happy face. It is not working very well. Yes, he is definitely scared, but he is also /pleased/ about his terror, and very faintly, Apocryphacius is aware of just how /messed up/ this whole situation is. He offers stiltedly, nervously, babbling in his fear, "I, er, am most assuredly not making fun of you, but there is this little fact of my physiology that I - oh, /please/ put that down. Just because I have my tetanus shots /really/ does not mean that I -"

Another thought cuts in. "...wait. Wait. Wait wait wait. I remember what I am supposed to do! Name, rank, and serial number, right? I am /certain/ that I was told that at some point. Right! Apocryphacius. Private. Q-211546302007. And then..."

He has a spacey pause. "...and then I end up on one of those sad commercials about dead soldiers?"

Repugnus mumbles to himself excitedly, "Yeah, yeah, come on, come on, give it to me, give to me, give me the blade," as his fingers twitch while Bottlethrottle approaches him. He lets out a pleased manic cackle once he finally wraps his fingers around the blade, and given that he stares at Bottlethrottle for a moment, cackling to himself, one might almost think that Repugnus was going to turn the blade on him. But instead, Repugnus turns back to Aprophacius, sliding the blade along his cheek. "Yeah, alright, shaaaarp! Heeheeehee! Ooh, that explosive idea was good," he says back at Sandstorm. "But we can't set them all off at once! No, set 'em off... ONE BY ONE. Heheheheh!"

Then, he's right back in Apocryphacius's face! "TELL US ABOUT THE EXPERIMENTS!" The blade comes down on the floor, aimed at a tentacle, but Apocryphacius has just enough leeway on the chains securing his tentacles to move them out of the way just in time. But then, that's the idea. The machete sparks against the concrete floor with every strike. "The men in black! The baseball cap dudes! The superweapons! WHAT ARE YOU PLANNING!"

Combat: Apocryphacius compares his Agility to Repugnus's Accuracy: Failure :(

"Oh yesss yesss, of course." Sandstorm might be nodding his head, but between the filter mask and tarp-cloak hood obscuring his head and face it's hard to tell. "One spicy meatball at a time." While Repugnus is threatening with the blade he squats down, pulling out a spherical grenade with one hand and examining it. Then holds up his other hand to one of the other faces not being interrogated and holds two fingers apart to measure the width of its mouth. "Mmmhmm." Bobs the explosive lightly in his palm, like idly jostling a baseball. "Would be a perfect fit. Doesn't start talking, set them off one by one *fffss* just need some duct tape...."

Buzzsaw blinks several times, staring at the interrogation in front of him before shaking his head several times in succession, querying his databanks for matching profiles on the HORRIFYING G2 INTERROGATION SQUAD. And Buzzsaw thought the Deceptijets were crazy... Shaking his head again, Buzzsaw settles back in to watch, shifting to a different window. It's hard to film the interrogation when Magentapugnus keeps dancing in front of the subject.

Apocryphacius is more than a bit out of it, and the blade does manage to inflict a grazing wound on a tentacle before Apocryphacius can pull it out of the way. His green ichor hits the floor in ragged drops; if it had been a more mechanical component; it would have been pink energon instead. The pain makes him shriek, and a little clarity stabs into him. The one in the cloak is manhandling explosives. Which... wait, no. Apocryphacius could do something with that. He needs his faces to think clearly, so he cannot afford to lose one, let alone two, but the /grenade/...

So he begs, "/Please/ let me go. You do not have to do this. You could just let me go," but as he begs, he tries to slide that sliced tentacle against one of the chains, slickening it. "I am mostly harmless. And a private. I am /enlisted/, for caesium's sake. Please?"

Repugnus continues hacking away like a maniac, heedless of the pain he's causing, laughing at the top of his vocalizer. "Heheheh, oh, still not talking, huh? Eh, buddy, get them grenades ready. Shame to have to waste five of them when one oughta be enough for this loser." He smacks the Quint up the head. "DON'T GIVE ME THAT CRAP! You're the EDC's top scientist! The smartest guy there! Or do you really think we wouldn't find out about your DREAM ray which you probably invented yourself!" He pauses, seeing the tentacles bleeding. "Oh, that could get infected!" He wanders, rummages through something, then returns with a bag filled with salt. "Can't have that!" And he rips the bag open, just dumping the salt all over the wounded tentacles.

EARLIER, BACK IN AREA 51...

One of Apocryphacius's Sharkticon minders suddenly looks up, mouth open in surprise, as if he realized something. "Mmmnn... you been... summoned." Then the Sharkticons insisted on dragging Apocryphacius with them to somewhere else. Initially some of the EDC personnel were concerned for Apocryphacius, but soon some black-clad men, those ubiquitous "UN agents" as they describe themselves, joined them and assured any bystanders that this was normal and fine. Eventually, they dragged him to a landed Quintesson cruiser, which had corkscrewed itself into a sandy area next to the tarmac, and before long Apocryphacius was dragged inside.

"Welcome, Apocryphacius!" one of a trio of Quintessons said once Apocryphacius was escorted up to the bridge. "We have heard... so much about you." Another pipes up. "Indeed, despite your... isolation and unique circumstances, you have proven yourself worthy of your heritage." And the third says, "But now it will soon be time to rejoin your people."

NOW

"What's Cross planning!?" Repugnus screams. "Where are the Quintessons? WHERE ARE THEY!?"

Sandstorm makes a very slow, elaborate display of reading the grenade, then shuffles a bit to the side to get closer to the Quint's rearmost face. Depending on how aware or not he was of his inactive heads Apoc may feel the spherical device attempted to be shoved into the mouth of that face. It's not as easy as it sounds. Or maybe he's making it look more difficult than it is to draw out the unpleasant scenerio. "Either start talking *ssss* or we have sushi for supper tonight. We win *ffff* either way."

Buzzsaw winces. Ooooh, salt. That's gotttta hurt. Mmm. Alright, let's see. Dream Ray, top EDC scientist, screaming angry Autobots...yeah, if Repugnus can beat that confession out, this oughta be /good/. Still, wouldn't hurt to scootch over a bit more for a better view...And, hmm, maybe that technique would be useful back in intel. Have to find something salt-equivalent for mechanicals. Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

EARLIER

Apocryphacius is always startled when the Sharkticons show these flashes of something... else. Are they smarter than they let on or merely simpletons channelling a greater entity than themselves? Actually meeting these Quintesson allies of General Cross, though, is overwhelming. Apocryphacius is so tired and ragged! He feels he should be better... something to meet them. Polished? Do Quintessons even do polish? The Autobots do. But yes, he should be some equivalent of better dressed to meet them, he feels. They might not be bad! Yes, yes, most Quintessons are awful. He has heard that often enough, but maybe these ones are just jaded amoral weapons contractors as opposed to actively evil. Pay them, and you get superweapons. That wouldn't be so bad, would it? But General Cross himself that Quintessons are fundamentally untrustworthy... and yet General Cross brokered this deal.

Humans are irrational beings.

Apocryphacius greets politely and pleasantly, "That is all rather flattering, but you really think I could contribute anything of value?"

Maybe they are /cannibals/.

NOW

More ichor hits the floor in soft patters. Apocryphacius is starting to feel a bit light-headed in addition to the forced giddy of the shift-lock. He giggles, "Perhaps... a giggle? Hee. Hee hee. Where are the Quintessons? Where are the Quintessons /not/? They could be here... or there... but do not look now, because there is one. Right. Under. Your. Nose."

He splits his concentration, trying to activate the tongue on that face that not-Sandstorm has shoved the grenade into. It is sort of like when your hand falls asleep and then you try to do needlework! He feels all fuzzy and numb and clumsy. But if he can just get this grenade disassembled with his tongue and a few of his tentacles loose (the fluid loss is making it easier to get them free, he hopes), maybe he can - he screams in pain at the salt on his wounds, optics widening and then contracting down to pinpricks, lolling about frantically. Good thing he did not bite /down/ on the grenade, eh?

Looking wounded, Apocryphacius tenders meekly, "...really. Do you not watch movies? Where do the humans /always/ keep the horrible space invaders, hmm?"

And -just- when he got the grenade to sit properly, the tongue activates and wobbles it free haphazardly. "Oops." Fortunately the cloaked robot is quick and nimble enough to catch the explosive before it hits the ground or something else that could possible jarr it into detonating.

"Ooh, do you *hiss* think he means -that- place?" And then gets a bit more forceful, using the heel of his palm of one hand to try and wedge the mouth open farther so he can push the grenade in far enough it'll pin that tongue down. Why do these guys have tongues anyways? Actually, nevermind, that's like asking why Silverbolt has such lush lips.

EARLIER

"You are far more valuable than you realize," one of the Quintessons replies evenly. "You have worked with these... crystals before, have you not?" Another Quintesson switches to his Judgement face. "Our preliminary tests should tremendous potential... and danger." The third continues, "The humans showed some technical prowess in unlocking part of these crystals' secrets, but sadly for them, they do not grasp what they are truly capable of." And the first switches to his Death face, and says, "When the humans inevitably turn on us after the Autobots and Decepticons are no more, we will be more than prepared thanks to the crystals which they provided for us. But until then, we would like you to share your research with us, and serve as our envoy to the humans..."

NOW

Repugnus steps back around to what Sandstorm is doing. "Yeah, yeah, put the grenade in! Put it in, yes! Get ready to pull the pin, I think he might be ready to talk, but who knows, he might NOT be, and he has only so many faces! So. What you're saying is, they're hanging out at Area 51, eh? Did ya meet with 'em? What did they say?"

EARLIER

Apocryphacius is taken aback, and while he does answer truthfully with, "Yes, I have been experimenting with different crystal types to target alternative alloys, such as the Terran-based alloys of which Trypticon and the Dinobots are composed," He pauses, faces shifting a few times. Apocryphacius generally likes humanity, though he is aware that some humans are just plain awful. He is not simply going to betray humanity for a species he has never known. "...and if the humans do not betray you?"

NOW

Apocryphacius is rather determined that he going to take that grenade apart with his tongue and teeth. This will be the most difficult bit of demolition defusing work he has ever done, given how stressed he is, but he is hellbent on getting this done! It may be his only chance to get out of this alive. There it is. Pieces! Pieces that he can fit back together in a different order than the grenade started if he contributes a bit of his blood, sweat, and tear in a more literal than metaphorical sense. Two of his tentacles are feeling tingly and limp from fluid loss, but he jerks them hard against the liquid-stained and slick chains, pulling both tentacles free. Apocryphacius says slowly, "They said..." He coughs up something greenish-pink. "They said... Autobots are all idiots. You /are/ Autobots, are you not? With atrocious paintjobs? Decepticons would be prouder of what they are doing. Oh, and now /I/ have a bomb. You know what /my/ bomb does? It is rather more interesting than your simple grenade."

Bottlethrottle glances over at Repugnus. "I could end his life. Perhaps make it look as though the EDC did it? Turn his species against the humans?" He starts up one of the chainswords. Bottlethrottle is insane.

"... Clever little devil." Sandstorm takes a few steps back when the Quint announces he's juryriged the explosive in one of his mouths. Then pauses to turn and give Bottlethrottle a whap upside the head, then leans in close to low harsh whisper, "We just wanna get on Cross's case, not humanity as a whole." Then leers at Apoc again, in case he has to disarm whatever the space squid rearmed out of that explosive device...

Repugnus is all cackling and laughing as Sandstorm tries to stuff a grenade into Apocryphcius's mouth, and since he dropped out of Autobot Engineering Academny, to the bafflement of everyone there, he fails to notice that the grenade has been modified until it's been done. Repugnus puts a brief stop to his routine, looking the Quintesson over. "Hnnnh... ha! You're bluffing! You..." He points at Bottlethrottle. "Let's not skip to the finale just yet. Cut off the tentacles that got free, I don't want them squirming around. Eh...." He leans in towards Sandstorm, whispering to him, "He IS bluffing, right?"

EARLIER

"They will betray us," a Quintesson says with conviction. "They have already planned to betray the Autobots, who fought so hard to keep them safe from the Decepticons." Quint #2 says, "What a miserable, ungrateful unspecies. But there is some amusement to be had, knowing that the Autobots will be spurned by their patrons as we were spurned by them." Quint #3 says, "Did Cross not tell you what his ultimate plans were? Hm. Interesting. Perhaps you should stay with us, then? You wouldn't want to be... in the wrong place at the wrong time, would you?"

NOW

"Ah, crap," he mutters, as Sandstorm reacts to the juryrigged explosive. "Eh, cancel the... tentacle removal." For once he's at a loss for what he should do. He wasn't expecting this at all.

Buzzsaw blinks, head cocking to the side. Oh he did not just hear the plural form of 'Quintesson', as in 'More Than One Of Those Things Is On This Miserable Ball of Mud And Annoying Meatbags'. Buzzsaw's eye twitches. Quintessons at Area 51. Awesome. Oh, and now the Quintesson has a bomb. Buzzsaw hunkers down behind his window, only leaving the camera up. He remembers watching that same Quint weaponize a /fountain pen/. He is totally not putting his delicate hide into the blast zone. Surely these flimsy walls will protect him!

EARLIER

"That is a... generous offer," Apocryphacius admits, feeling rather chilly. "But perhaps I should speak with the General." Find out what General Cross is up to that he is not saying. Maybe try to talk some sense into him. See if he can convince General Cross to pick some new weapons contractors who are /not/ convinced that humanity will eventually need destroying.

NOW

Apocryphacius giggles hysterically at Bottlethrottle and titters, "You are assuming my species would care if I died! Oh, that is /hilarious/! Permission to roll around on the floor laughing - oh, nevermind. They just want me to test dangerous crystals for them on a planet they do not care about!" Maybe he should not have mentioned that part, but Apocryphacius is in the middle of a full-scale mental breakdown.

Sandstorm may well be able to realise that Apocryphacius has altered the grenade so that the main charge will instead disperse a chemical into the air instead of acting as a primary explosive. A good bet would be that Apocryphacius has managed to pull off some kind of chemical nastiness - but what is he going to do with ichor, salt, and energon?

What /isn't/ a Quintesson going to do with ichor, salt, and energon?

Sandstorm will not have long to evaluate the improvised weapon, because at the mention of tentacle chopping, whether Bottlethrottle lunges or not, Apocryphacius spits out the grenade and pulls its pin with one of the injured tentacles that he worked free. There is a soft &gt;bang&lt; and then a slow, sibilant &gt;hiss&lt;. He explains eerily pleasantly, "I tailored up a novel circuitry toxin especially for all of you! I hope you enjoy being paralyzed exactly as much I enjoy having this shift-lock on me!"

Not long is all the Wrecker scout with such sharp sight needs, putting an arm out to push Repugnus back. "He's not joking, that shit's for real." Who knows what weird biomechanical gunk Quints have in their body to work with. Followed by a hiss that's not just his ventelator mask as he tries to grab Bottlethrottle and yank him back out of the way as Apoc spits the gas bomb out. "Com'n guys, playtime's over!"

Not long is all the Wrecker scout with such sharp sight needs, putting an arm out to push Repugnus back. "He's not joking, that shit's for real." Who knows what weird biomechanical gunk Quints have in their body to work with. Followed by a hiss that's not just his ventelator mask as he tries to grab Bottlethrottle and yank him back out of the way as Apoc spits the gas bomb out. "Com'n guys, playtime's over!"

Repugnus completely drops the act at this point when the grenade begins releasing smoke, backing up. "Well, shoot, that's it for fun time, then. Like a freaking five-faced MacGyver! But you're right, let's book it! This job's a wash!" And he doesn't politely leave through one of the warehouse bay doors. No, he just tears through the side of the wall, which easily gives, being made of ordinary, rusty metal.

EARLIER

"Of course," one of the Quintessons replies. "Return to the human General, but keep in mind, you belong with us..."

NOW

Repugnus lingers at the edge of the hole he just made, gesturing for everyone to run through. "C'mon, you idiots! We don't belong here!"

Sandstorm doesn't wait to see if Bottlethrottle got infected or not, he just puts his strength to use and throws him out the opening Repugnus made. Scattershot wouldn't be too happy if they didn't bring his attache back in one piece. "Don't gotta tell me twice." Not that he's afraid. Just even he doesn't want to be knocked out around a suiddle that's probably eager for revenge at this point.

Buzzsaw reacts to the threat of gas by quietly flapping to a neighboring warehouse, hunkering down against the roofline to cut his profile down, filming the fleeing Autobot Interrogators and observing the insanely giggling SquiddiemcFaceFace. Now that he's a bit farther away, tho', he does indulge in sarcasm, keeping his volume low. "Good going, morons. Now the Quintesson's gone insane and is killing you with its tongue-modified grenades. Awesome."

EARLIER

With or /to/, Apocryphacius wonders.

Just what contract did General Cross sign?

NOW

Apocryphacius watches his tormenters flee, mouth curling in disgust. He shakes slightly, woozy, and he works on freeing more of tentacles, letting the chains fall down on the floor into the puddle that had formed around him. Then he reaches around and pries off the shift-lock, examining the device, and his faces flick around at long last. Apocryphacius rasps at the fleeing Transformers, "Yes, /run/. While you still can. You may not have as much time as you think."

Apocryphacius transforms into his Apocryphacius &lt;Death Face&gt; mode.

==================================== EDC ===================================== Message: 22/28                    Posted        Author Incident Report                   Wed Oct 24    Apocryphacius -- There is a very minor incident report filed about how Apocryphacius fell down the stairs into a pile of rusty machetes and a supply cart of salt and maybe he also accidentally ate a dud grenade, and this is why he needs stitches, an aggressive course of antibiotics, lots of fluids, and rest.

This report is very obscurely filed and rather difficult to find.

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================================== Autobot =================================== Message: 3/125                    Posted        Author Anonymous Message                 Wed Oct 24    Repugnus -- (A text report finds its way into the Autobot bulletin board, all traces of who authored it carefully stripped away, and somehow locked for Autobot access only:)

BE ADVISED

QUINTESSONS OPERATING IN AREA 51

QUINTESSONS HAVE ALSO EXPRESSED INTEREST IN RESEARCHING CRYSTAL-BASED DISINTEGRATOR TECHNOLOGY. IT IS UNKNOWN IF THEY ALREADY HAVE THIS TECHNOLOGY OR ARE MERELY WORKING TO ACQUIRE IT.

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================================= Decepticon ================================= Message: 2/88                     Posted        Author Intel Report: Taiwan              Wed Oct 24    Buzzsaw -- Audio follows. "RIGHT. Buzzsaw here. I was sniffing about Taiwan on Earth, mostly because the Autobots like passing through from time to time, when I noticed a large amount of high-tech mechanical signals in an abandonded warehouse district. Figuring that there was nothing to lose, I slipped down to take a look. When I got there, I found a fairly standard interoggation team, and the subject was /interesting/." Snapped shots of Bottlethrottle (God so much G2), Repugnus (in NEON G2 COLORS OH GOD) and Sandstorm (Wearing CLOTHING to hide his shameful G2 Disguise Camo). Data correlation and cross-referencing from hardworking Gumby Archivists tag Repugnus and Bottlethrottle with a possible confirmation on Sandstorm. "Seems that a bunch of Autobots had kidnapped Cross' pet Quintesson to find out what he was working on. Also, interesting note, looks like the 'bots managed to Shift-Lock the Quintesson's Face so it wouldn't change from the initial one, which apparently was messing with his head. Might be useful." Footage! WOO. "Anyways, the Quintesson positively ID'd himself as Private Apocryphacius, Serial Number Q-211546302007. After that, the main interrogator, who I /think/ was Repugnus, started ranting about Men in Black and baseball caps and super weapons. Oh, and he also noted that he believes the EDC responsible for that Dream Ray, which seems logical. Now, here's the intersting bit." More footage, mostly of the cutting of tentacles and the dumping of salt on said cuts...and then... Direct BirdCam Footage:'"What's Cross planning!?" Repugnus screams. "Where are the Quintessons? WHERE ARE THEY!?"' "About this point, the prisoner started getting...ah...odd. He started referring to Quintessons. As a plural. And stated that they are where humans always keep their Horrible Space Invaders, which Repugnus took to mean Area 51. Apparently, the prisoner had been meeting with a Quintesson delegation. According to the prisoner, the Quintessons said that the Autobots are idiots and that the Quintessons don't care about Apocryphacius dying, they just want to test these crystals on a planet they don't care about." "Unfortunately, about here is where the interrogation ended. The Quintesson managed to use his tongue to jury-rig a grenade, salt, and his own ichor into some sort of anti-Mechanical gas weapon. Yeah. I think I mentioned before in an earlier report that we should never, ever, EVER take this particular Quintesson's ability to weaponize things lightly. Ever. Paralysis gas. The Autobots fled at this point because they didn't want to /test/ the gas' effects, although I think the smaller one got hit by it." "Finally, the Quintesson freed itself and shifted to a far more ominous looking face, then told the Autobots to Run, because they don't have as much time as they think." "My tenative conclusions are three-fold. First: We have /multiple/ quintessons on the planet, or have had such at one point, and they were possibly based at the EDC Facility at Area 51, or something similar. Second: The Quintessons are involved with the EDC's new Cybercidic weaponry. Third: The Autobots and the EDC, or elements thereof, are NOT getting along at all, and their alliance is under pressure. I'll leave it up to Command to decide what to do with this information, but I find the involvement of Quintessons... ah...unsettling." At the bottom is Buzzsaw's typical dataslugs, including links to the databases with all the raw footage, including the entire interrogation that he could see with his Space Cameras.
 * XO Intel Spinny and Security Codes*

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