Torpedo into the Sun

Sun Jul 2033

Absolution - Laboratories

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=================[ The Absolution ]============================== ''The science sector of the Absolution is a sterile, cold space in which all manner of technomacabre experiments occur behind sealed doors. Thick, clear walls quarantine necessary areas, bridged by corridors with lit walkways. Unless the holoscreens are up, anyone walking through the area can see into any of the lab spaces -- some might prove utterly boring, and some might contain sights that cannot be unseen.'' The workspaces are largely soundproofed, rendering the walkways almost eerily quiet, save for the footsteps of others and the occasional hisses of doors.

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External ship broadcasts for this room are ON         Type +shiphelp for help

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Obvious exits: &lt;MB&gt; leads to Absolution - Medical Bay. &lt;O&gt; leads to Absolution - Deck Twenty.

Fusillade enters from the main corridor.

Fusillade has arrived.

Buzzkill enters from the main corridor.

Buzzkill has arrived.

Galvatron has arrived.

Flywheels enters from the main corridor.

Flywheels has arrived.

Contrail has just gotten some quality repairs from Buzzkill. She's feeling a lot better, though her aileron is going to have to heal on its own, and she probably needs to go get a drink sometime before her next battle. Contrail recaps for new readers of the comic, "So, how is your forensic analysis of that Alligatorcon I wrestled in New York going? Still smells terrible, I bet..."

Flywheels comes to visit Buzzkill and Contrail in the labs, having heard about that Alligatorcon, the Galvatron clone, and the incident on Alkor Zephyr. He glances around at everyone present, and for once it seems that he isn't actually arguing with himself. Amazing, right? "Sooo..." he begins. "I heard someone cloned Galvatron, lately."

Fusion Artillery &lt;Galvatron&gt; sweeps in from the hallway, shoving a sweep out of the way as he comes in. The sweep makes a deep scraping bow as soon as it picks itself up, before scurrying away on some errand or other. "Yesss, that does happen from time to time. Did you SEE the clone? Do you think it was a good LIKENESS?"

Galvatron straightens up and converts his supports back into limbs, his cannon sliding down and locking into place on his arm as his scowling face rises from his shoulders.

Buzzkill sits at one of the workspaces, poking around at the few pieces of stinky Alligatorcon arranged in front of her with various poking tools and the like. "For as long as I function, I will never forget this smell." She looks so serious as she speaks, almost as if the stench totally traumatized her. "I tried to ignore it but I couldn't. I tried everything I did to get rid of it. I took out every single piece of that disgusting beast and scrubbed them clean with the harshest cleaning chemicals I could find and then gave the body a thorough scrubbing." She looks down, the visor of her hardhat shadowing her face. "..But it didn't do anything. It's like nothing I've ever seen before. I honestly have no idea what's causing it." When Galvatron enters, Buzzkill snaps to attention; rising to her feet to salute so fast that she knocks her chair over. "Lord Galvatron! I have not seen the clone in person but judging by the sample I briefly saw, it was a terrible mockery of your likeness."

Contrail waves her hands in a vague gesture in the air and explains to Flywheels, "I guess 'clone' is being used as kind of a loose term, but there has been a small facsimile of Galvatron encountered, yes, and also a Galvatron fleet, though I don't have as many details on the fleet as I'd like." She chews her lower lip. Then /slag/, Emperor on deck! Contrail performs a respectful salute and greets, "My lord. The likeness was imperfect. The construct lacked a nose and appeared to have shark teeth. However, while it failed to capture your immortal handsomeness, I do not believe it was /intended/ as a caricature. The features were not /that/ distorted. Carjack was doing the analysis on the origin of the armour fragments I retrieved, but Carjack is... indisposed." Contrail steeples her fingers and looks shifty. She glances over at Buzzkill and the Alligatorcon and mumbles, "Maybe we can weaponise the smell."

Flywheels salutes sharply, then shakes his head. "Galvatron, sir! No, I didn't see it, actually. Contrail did, though." He says, indicating the new director of Intelligence. "Speaking of Contrail," he continues, turning to the fem. "I heard you took a beating on Alkor Zephyr. What were you guys out there for, again?"

He blanches slightly at the smell, glancing at Buzzkill's workstation and wondering how she's managed to put up with it for this long.

"Oh smelt, who let Blot and Apeface in here?!" Fusillade says from behind a scowl and her hand as she futilely holds it up to ward off the stench. "The fleet definitely was NOT veristic," she says from behing Galvtron. "Didn't even manage to pull off 'warship' very well either, I could barely tell the cruisers from the frigates when I did my fly-by. Anyone hear if it's managed to shoot up the Autobot ship yet?"

"Cyclonus wanted to give me a PRESENT," Galvatron explains to Contrail, crossing to peer down at the alligatorcon parts with a frown. "He saw fit to build an escort fleet for my flagship, and furthermore decided to build it out of one of my earlier clones' giant orbiting head. With... consequences. Indisposed HOW?"

Buzzkill rubs her chin at Contrail's suggestion of making a weapon out of the smell but she doesn't look too convinced. "I suppose we could do that but it's a little outside my, uh.. expertise." Basically meaning there's no way in hell Buzzkill is going to put up with the stench any more than she has to. Galvatron staring at her work makes her a little nervous so Buzzkill resumes poking at them with things even though she's not gaining anything from it so she can look like she's doing busy science-y things.

"Have you collected enough material and technology samples to satisfy your curiosity? In SEALED containers?" Galvatron asks Buzzkill pointedly.

Contrail snaps her fingers and smiles wide as she explains, "Antimatter. Wonderful, explosive antimatter." She is clearly enjoying this concept a bit /too/ much. "Which we did indeed obtain! As for Carjack, ah... well, Moonracer knocked him out. Blasted sniper." Most of these things are in her reports, but it's not like Contrail expects anyone to read them. As long as she keeps her expectations low, she's never disappointed!

Flywheels looks interested. "Antimatter, eh? I take it's even more explosive than our current weapons and stuff? Must've been worth it if Carjack and Spinister got KO'ed." Yeah, he's read the report. "Wait, -another- clone of Galvatron? How many -are- there?!"

Without any real conversation to add to, Fusillade's gaze eventually draws down toward Flywheels's feet. She stares openly. "Fourteen, maybe fifteen, this time?" Fusillade adds,

Galvatron doesn't usually read them. He has Cyclonus summarize them for him in their weekly meetings.

Fusillade adds, "Although each certainly was.... a fragment of what the whole should be." She dips her head towards Galvatron. "Any strategic targets in mind, Cate -- Contrail? Bombing's fun and all, but it's just not satisfying unless I know that I am really ruining someone's WEEK or MONTH instead of their day, yannow?"

Buzzkill's curiosity will never be satisfied, it's actually a really terrible curse. "Ah, yes, my Lord. I think I've collected everything I need from this specimen for now." She makes a mental note to seal the containers next chance she gets. "It really is a piece of work. Shoddy, disgusting work."

"Very good," Galvatron replies. "Put the rest of it in a torpedo capsule and fire it into the sun."

"And then get some air fresheners and hang them up in here," Galvatron adds. "I'm sure the humans have endless air fresheners you can take from them in a lightning raid."

Fusillade continues to stare at Flywheels's feet, and clenches her jaw as Galvatron makes his will known. "Yessir," she mumbles.

Flywheels glances at Fusillade. "What are you -staring- at?"

Fusillade's gilded shoulders quiver as she struggles to stifle a guffaw. "Phhhfff your FEET."

Buzzkill says, "Probably your freakish tank feet," Buzzkill helpfully adds matter-of-factly."

"Your feet are enormous," Galvatron tells Flywheels sternly.

Galvatron adds, "Do something about that."

Fusillade raises one of her hands in appeal, "I promise that it won't come up again. It's just.... wow. This is the first time I've been in the room with you."

Transformers usually react a little when someone says their name. They look around or widen their optics. Contrail has no reaction at all to 'Cate', but she does react to 'Contrail', should anyone be paying attention to her body language. Dryly, she replies, "I suppose you could bomb an air freshner warehouse after we take what we need. More seriously... the Autobots have retained control of the antimatter bridge on Alkor Zephyr and may build a base around it. Given that the Autobots have been focusing so heavily on Earth - their response times are amazingly quick - now would be a good time to bomb Iacon and their other Cybertronian holdings. In addition... Earth is struggling to get back on its feet now that their technology works again. I suggest we hit them in more... low tech area. Destroy their crops. They may have their gadgets, but they won't get anywhere if they are starving."

Galvatron says, "You look like a Jumpstarter."

Flywheels sighs, shaking his head. "What, you've never seen a duocon before?" He transforms then, to show them the -reason- why his feet are so large.

Flywheels splits apart, his two components shifting into their respective F-4 Phantom II and self-propelled howitzer forms.

Fusillade perks up at the mention of crop destruction by Contrail, throwing both fists up in the air in glee. "Yay! Napalm!" She then snaps around as Flywheels splits, and ooohs quietly at the Phantom, ignoring the part that his feet turned into.

"Try to keep your feet under control at the very least," Galvatron warns Flywheels, then turns back from Flywheels' feet to Contrail. He might actually not remember that she used to be Catechism. He never seems to call the same Sweep 'Scourge' twice in a row. Or else he doesn't care. More likely the second. "Iacon is a crawling blight on our planet, but... yes, I do like your idea of destroying the food production. Do we have weapons suitable for the task?"

Scrapper has arrived.

Flywheels' components combine into his unified biped form.

Contrail might not remember being Catechism, either, so it's all good! She grins and confirms, "Oh, definitely. Just like the Executrix said - napalm!" She rubs her hands together. "Hit some of the South American orchards with that and... bye bye bananas!"

Flywheels unifies into his biped form once again, and nods fervently at Galvatron. "Yes, sir! I will do my absolute best." But he suddenly interrupts himself. "Heh, I -knew- I was always the more -attractive- one!"

"Shove it up your waste regulator."

"Glitch, mine is -yours- too."

"I can't even -begin- to tell you how -old- that is!"

He shakes his head, as if attempting to shut himself up about that, then responds to Fusillade's enthusiasm. "Heh, yeah. Blowing up a bunch of plants, that sounds fun. Maybe you can use 'em test the new antimatter thing."

Fusillade then frowns, pulls out her holo-foil pad, and begins scrolling through the roster lists. "So... you been assigned yet to a division? Aerospace, or Infantry? Or..." She hmmphs, and snaps it back shut. "I think I will!" she says to Flywheels.

Buzzkill has seen the freakish abomination that is Flywheel's alternate mode (modes?) before so his transformation and subsequent bickering gets barely a passing glance, the entirety of her attention on the conversation about burning up crops to bring down humanity. "I have to say I like this idea a lot. It's so beautiful in it's simplicity and the effects it will have on the human population are better than just blowing up a power plant or an oil rig or what have you."

Contrail thinks of something and adds, "If you could put your... lowest performing troops on patrols over the Kamchatka Peninsula, that would be splendid. Don't divert any useful troops, I must stress. Just, if you need any... alternative punishment details, I would be much obliged." Flywheels's bickering does not phase her, as she's seen Flywheels bickering with himself and Misfire at the same time. She nods to Buzzkill. It's very simple! Probably why they haven't done it sooner. Who wants to burn crops when you can crash the moon?

Fusillade sidles to one of the workbenches, peering at the welders and torque wrenches. "Yeah?" she asks quizzically at Contrail. "Well, the working conditions are pretty rotten, it'd be a good choice. Something tells me there's another layer to it, but I won't push." She considers a moment. "Tell me more about the Autobot fortifications -- if anything's known? -- around the antimatter bridge in Alkor Zephyr, though..."

"The lowest-performing troop is already spoken for," Galvatron points out. "I have assigned Windshear to patrol the interior of a thirty-by-twenty-by-fifteen metal box which the Battlechargers have buried somewhere on Cybertron. I assigned this task to them because I knew they would immediately forget where they had buried it, and no one must know the box's location.

"You see," explains Galvatron, spreading his arms as he warms to his topic, "Windshear's little prison is to serve as a time capsule, so that future generations of Cybertronians, basking in the glory of my benevolent tyranny and having long since lost the capacity to feel joy out of a lack of misery to compare it to, might find her and truly understand my struggle by being introduced to a concept known to their ancestors; utmost failure through relentless stupidity." He pauses to wait for applause.

Winged Payloader &lt;Scrapper&gt; walks into the Absolution Laboratories, flanked on each side by Bonecrusher and Scavenger. The pair of Constructicons are carrying what appears to be scrap parts, raw materials, and some old files; most likely restocking for their somewhat remote base on Pequod. Sending the two away with a dismissive wave, Scrapper walks by the commotion with only a passing glance.

Taking a seat at his own workstation, the evil Payloader begins to extract some information and specs from the secure server and transfer said files to his portable drive. A look over his shoulder, however, rests on Buzzkill's workbench.. where the Alligatorcon's remains were.

"Is that's what's left?"

The Payloader reconfigures into the Necromechanic Scrapper!

"You're not going to build anything out of that one unless it's something that is immediately placed outside," Galvatron orders Scrapper. "Buzzkill has demonstrated empirically that its stench rivals that of Apeface's."

"We're supposed to fire it into the sun, it REEKS," Fusillade replies to Scrapper, relieved that the urge to remind Galvatron that Contrail said 'troopS' had passed.

Buzzkill isn't really sure what Galvatron is talking about but she applauds anyway. "I've already collected a few samples of particular interest so yes, that's all that's left." She nods at Fusillade and Galvatron's testimony. "Yes, I can say without a doubt that it is the worst thing I have ever had the misfortune of smelling. If you want it you should probably act fast because I plan on getting it out of here as soon as possible."

Fusillade belatedly golf-claps.

Contrail puts up her hands and winces as Galvatron explains Windshear's doom. She is appreciative as Fusillade agrees to her request about Kamchatka and nods, adding, "Tell them to report at once if they sight any Autobots or EDC. Reconnaissance of Autobot holdings on Alkor Zephyr was hampered by... Grimlock." She says the Dinobot's name like a curse. This is why she has put a hit on his head. He keeps ruining everything!

"Whose decision was it not to retreat from Grimlock?" asks Galvatron pointedly.

Flywheels has no idea what Galvatron is talking about, but he applauds anyway. Windshear's fate sounds pretty nasty, though he has no idea who that is, either.

Contrail's optics flash, and she puts her chin up, straightening her back. She says, unashamed, "Mine. And we got a cache of antimatter out of it and set back whatever it was the Autobots were doing in the process. The cavern suffered extreme structural damage, and a fair amount of their equipment was damaged."

Shockwave has arrived.

"I commend you for your sucesses and chastise you for your recklessness, then. In... no, not equal parts." Galvatron thinks about it for a moment. Sixty-forty."

Contrail says, with sincerity, "Your wisdom is infinite, my lord."

Galvatron looks around the lab in case it might just be lying out. "Where are you keeping the antimatter at the moment? I don't want it anywhere sensitive."

The blast-proof double doors that serve as the entrance between the laboratory and Deck Twenty slide open to admit Shockwave. The Military Operations Commander is looking specifically for Galvatron, and it rarely takes long to find him. Stepping past the individual workstations towards the gathering, Shockwave focuses on the Decepticon Warlord. "Galvatron," he emits, "We need to discuss our operations now that our plan on Mars has failed." At the mention of antimatter, Shockwave glances at the others present for the first time.

Once securing the download, Scrapper stands and approaches the carcus. "My interest isn't in rebuilding, Lord Galvatron." he respectfully answers, taking a closer look (while also disengaging any mechanics in the use of smell). "Is that duct tape?" he intones, getting a closer look.

"This design, if in such the use can be applied to such an atrocity in mechanics, has several similarities to one S2.19." Scrapper denotes, not immediately realizing they don't instantly know what that is. "The second series of articles on recycling Autobots into useful contraptions." he adds.

"Anyway, maybe we can add some of that antimatter to give the napalm a bit more of a zing." Any matter would work quite as well as napalm in this instance, but it is beyond Fusillade's ken, although not enough to keep her from announcing, "And I hope it's developed by someone competent!" She begins to swish toward the doors, wingblades whisking around her knees. She pauses to give Shockwave and Galvatron a bow at the neck, before quickly slipping out.

Fusillade vanishes out of reality.

Fusillade has left.

Contrail has no idea what Scrapper means. She reports, "Carjack has the antimatter extraction device, my lord." Well, he's unconscious, so at least he can't muck with it... Contrail respectfully salutes Shockwave when he arrives. The salute is 80% as fancy as the salute for Galvatron.

Flywheels looks up at Shockwave as he enters, saluting to him as well and wondering if he should bring up the issue he has been considering for a while. But doesn't say anything just yet. "So far we've decided on burning the humans' source of sustenance, I guess."

"It is, can you believe that?" Buzzkill sneers, absolutely reviled by using something as crude as duct-tape for advanced robotics. "I'm actually embarassed for whoever, or whatever, built this thing." She pauses to give Shockwave a salute before continuing. "I'm being very generous when I say 'built' because it wasn't so much built as it was just thrown together. Engineer probably had no idea what he was doing, or maybe they were just in a rush. Either way, it's terrible and they should be ashamed."

"Hm," Galvatron replies, wondering if that's anything to do with why Carjack is all exploded, but leaves it unasked. "Aerospace will be pressing the areas surrounding Iacon while those equipped with flame weapons will hinder Earth's food production. I will hear your suggestions for the ground forces, however, Shockwave."

Shockwave sees all the saluting and/or head bobbing, but doesn't openly acknowledge them. "You plan on expanding the attack to two fronts, then? My concern is what is to be done with Earth. We have lost our major holdings there, and I am not confident that even Trypticon can hold an area for long without significant infrastructure and engineering support." A quick glance at Scrapper is given here before turning his gaze onto the... thing that has been built. What is it, anyway?

"I'd be inclined to congratulate whomever constructed.. this." Scrapper sighs, nodding along with Buzzkill. "Only for the fact that it operated in the face of complete lack of sophistication." Harkening a look over towards Flywheels, Scrapper suddenly regrets the last statement. Hopefully the Duocon isn't smart enough to put two and two together.

"Admirable disection, Buzzkill." the Constructicon leader notes, still processing the remains. Shockwave's entrance brings a slight nod, before it's back to work on the Alligatorcon. "Have you bothered to extrapulate the source of the materials used?" he asks the Insecticon.

Contrail pulls out a datapad and jots down the note 'antimatter napalm' on it. She observes that Scrapper seems to be confirming what Buzzkill has been saying: that the Alligatorcon is a piece of slag. Carjack being exploded is completely unconnected to the antimatter, strangely enough, but if Galvatron isn't asking, Contrail isn't going to tell. After a moment, she decides to ask Scrapper, "What's a S2.19?"

"I'm glad you asked!" Scrapper smiles, though with the faceplate, it's more like a creepy optic blink. "I published a series of articles in what you can do with leftover Autobot scrap parts." he laughs a bit, almost out of character for his calm, cool demeanor. "One of such elaborate designs.." he clicks the viewscreen to display a picture of a gray, red, and blue Alligatorcon (obviously of higher design value). "Was the Alligatorcon."

Turning back to the table, "This, however, is painting by numbers."

Contrail stares at the design for a long, long moment, her mouth open. She raises her index finger, thinks better of it, and then lowers it. She says slowly, "So... someone made a horde of really slaggy bootleg copies of one of your designs? Huh. I guess we ought to get Ratbat to sue?"

Flywheels peers at the viewscreen. "Someone? You sure -he- didn't do it? After all if he designed the things..." He shrugged. It made sense, really.

Turning to face Flywheels, Scrapper's optics squint ever so slightly. "I assure you, if I had -anything- to do in it's construction." he pauses to look back over the corpse. "I wouldn't use 'duct tape'."

Seriously, is this Duocon that daft?

"Holding areas on Earth is not our forte," Galvatron counters. "As I mentioned before, we are strongest when we strike from darkness and disguise. Deceiving our enemies. Open displays of power are for later, after the enemy is cowed and under control, which sadly the Autobots and Earthlings are not." Galvatron scowls. "Your idea for disposable prefabricated resource collection sites is sound, Shockwave. Are you trying to convince me otherwise?"

Flywheels shrugs, unfazed by Scrapper. Yes, he probably is that daft. At least compared to the Constructicon scientist. "Just sayin', if you really wanted to do something like that and cover it up, you're smart enough to."

While he waits for Galvatron, Shockwave watches as Scrapper talks shop with the others. Stepping up to the Alligatorcon, he gives the thing an appraising look. Turning back to Galvatron, the cyclops considers his words for several seconds before replying. "No. We can continue to operate without a homebase on Earth if need be, and focus on a wider array of facilities." Trypticon and the Absolution will have to be. "I will, however, be putting some effort towards a secret bunker to house only a spacebridge. Getting to and from Earth is a logistical nightmare for certain types of troops otherwise."

Suddenly, a thought strikes Contrail, and she says, "Scrapper, your design was meant to be made out of Autobots. Is this knock-off made out of Transformers, too? Maybe really terrible Transformers, like Junkions?" She's cool with that if that is the case. She's just asking.

"The secret dropship site is limited in the amount of material it can extract, for another thing," Galvatron adds. "I have... plans for the Absolution, however. With some work it could deploy onto Earth undersea, where the humans and Autobots both are almost wholly blind, and then move about the planet with impunity, harvesting undersea and coastal resources at our leisure. With a little... well, a lot more work, it could convert into a battle mode which would discourage all but the most coordinated attack. We should use what we have to better advantage before we reach for untested things, while we are in this state of... setback."

"Utilize the Absolution? That would give us a relatively cheap base of operations on Earth," Shockwave states, "Though it will severely hamper our space fleet. In addition to Cyclonus's unexpected loss of our new armada and shipyard, our space based plans will have to be completely redone." All of his strategic assumptions included having these two powerful resources. "Are you willing to accept worse results in our space campaigns?" Shockwave doesn't mean this as a challenge, but a genuine question. Getting a relatively cheap, yet powerful base on Earth is nothing to sneeze at.

Flywheel's comment goes unnoticed in the meantime, as Scrapper turns his attention to the Intel Chief. "I strenously doubt it, Contrail. Even the crude form of Junkions utilize some form of advanced mechanics."

Stepping aside so Shockwave can get a closer look, the Constructicon leader continues. "Frankly, this construction is rudimentary by Cybertronian standards. If it was made from the remains of a Junkion, the person constructing it removed any evidence of it's source with pinpoint precision."

Scrapper adds, "Then threw 'this' together."

"For the time being," Galvatron replies, sounding suspicious of the question. "We have been highly successful in space combat lately. I am satisfied with our standings."

Contrail looks at her notepad, twiddles her fingers together, and sincerely hopes they do not put the new secret spacebridge anywhere near Kamchatka. She nods along as Scrapper explains that the Alligatorcon is not made out of Junkions and maybe looks a tiny bit disappointed. Contrail asks, "So no luck on sourcing the parts at all?"

"Very well, Galvatron," Shockwave says without hesitation. His focus is now purely on the Decepticon leader. "I will carry this out. Objective one: Reconfigure the Absolution for deep undersea operations. Scrapper, either you or one of your Lieutenants are to begin drawing up the plans to make this feasible. Inform Military Operations what resources you require. Objective two: Construct cheap, 'throw away' energy facilities around Earth to take advantage of the humans' temporary weakness and keep the Autobots busy. Objective three: Repair our shipyards at the Warrens. Objective four: Harass Iacon with our air superiority. I will be adding Objective five: Solidify our political hold on Crystal City. The infrastructure there is considerable and I plan on expanding it to absorb the surrounding sectors into the city." And this is why urban sprawl is evil, people.

Flywheels also forgets Scrapper, and turns to Contrail. "Did you get something off of that tiny Galvatron clone? Or just the stinky Alligatorcon?"

"And bring me the plans before you bring them to Shockwave," Galvatron orders Scrapper. "I don't want any surprises, or material wasted on those ridiculous 'OSHA-compliant' railings over the bottomless pits in the engineering spaces. That's material my warriors raid for, and you'll use it with respect."

Galvatron also disapproves of the Constructicons' union-mandated break periods but this is not the time to bring it up with Scrapper.

"At once, Shockwave." Scrapper nods, turning back to Contrail. "Upon cursory examination of these parts, it's an even bigger mystery. See this piston here? Limited production cycle on Earth circa two thousand eight in Detroit. The energon pump there, only in use on the production line during pre-war Cybertron. Most of the outer plating here is Junkion in origin." he spews, pausing when Galvatron's orders beckon.

"As you wish, Lord Galvatron." Scrapper agrees. So bottomless pits are out, at least they still get their mandated ener-coffee breaks.

FOR NOW.

Shockwave doesn't object to Galvatron getting the plans first. In this case, Shockwave doesn't have anything conniving up his sleeve. "Crystal City, the Absolution, the energon facilities... this *will* tax MSE, Scrapper. Is your division up to this?" He seems to have lost interest in the crappy Alligatorcon.

Buzzkill vanishes out of reality.

Buzzkill has left.

Contrail admits, "I am qualified for underwater operations." So she may well get drafted to carry stuff underwater for the engineers. "I did recover some armour fragments from the tiny Galvatron clone. Carjack was analysing them. I'm not entirely sure if the events were connected or bizarrely coincidental."

Flywheels says, "Well, you got any idea what he came up with? I mean, they kind of happened at the -same- time."

No no, bottomless pits are IN. Railings on catwalks are out.

"You know your business, Shockwave. Carry on." Galvatron heads out now that his instructions are made clear, which also gets him away from the stinky 'gator.

Galvatron has disconnected.

"Up to it or not, it shall be done." Scrapper replies to Shockwave, aware that if he can't get MSE to do the heavy lifting.. he'll have to goad the Constructicons into it. "If anything, they will be approached in the utmost logical order."

"I assure you."

Contrail states the obvious, "I think whoever did this wanted to disguise who they are. Because seriously... gathering that many different kinds of parts from that many places would actually be pretty difficult? I'm gonna say they probably were sloppy on purpose, too, to hide any distinctive design style. Probably why they borrowed your template, too, Scrapper. Junk, Earth, Cybertron... if they don't run our circles, they're certainly pretending that they do. The things attacked the Autobots /and/ Decepticons, maybe even humans, too, so that doesn't say anything conclusive..."

Shockwave studies Scrapper for a good ten seconds before replying. "Very well. If you need additional mechpower, inform me." There's lots of military guys who can do the easy construction stuff. Read: Carrying stuff from one spot to another spot in order to leave the skilled guys free to do the hard stuff.

"Either extremely difficult or extremely desperate." Scrapper nods to Contrail. "It doesn't surprise me these atrocities attacked friend or foe alike.." he trails, plucking the central CPU from the corpse. "I can't be a hundred percent sure without an in-depth analysis, but this unit is barely able of threat detection and offensive capabilities. I'd suppose it's use was two fold."

"One, haste and lack of superior design and mechanics know-how. Two, to further conceal the identity of the maker. These processors are extremely easy to comeby." Scrapper adds, again pausing to face Shockwave.

"Of course, Shockwave. Though this will put certain 'delicate' current endeavors on standby."

"Tch, yeah. I'm -sure- they wanted the whole slagging universe to know who they were..." Flywheels mutters sarcastically in response to Contrail. "Don't you think whoever did this might not actually be that horrible with mechanics? Like you said, could just be a cover-up and from the looks of it, they still did their job. So they didn't exactly need to be some design marvel."

"Who are you again?" Scrapper asks, being condescending on purpose. Of course he knows who Flywheels is, he's like the walking frankenstein of the Decepticons!

"Who am I?" Flywheels smirks wryly. "Primus, I thought you were smart, Scrapper." Again with the sarcasm.

"Understood," Shockwave replies, looking down at the Constructicon. After sparing a quick glance at Contrail, Shockwave makes his exit, not giving anyone a proper farewell.

"My point exactly." Scrapper sighs, examining the corpse a little longer. "What are you doing thinking, grunt?"

"Do you recommend complete evacuation of Pequod facilities, Shockwave? It is possible, given the manpower, we would just need the proper storage facilities for our current projects."

"Understood," Shockwave replies, looking down at the Constructicon. Before he can make his exit, his opinion is requested. "No. Pequod is strategically located within the heavily fortified Six Lasers systems. With the Olympics around the corner, this will be useful." Little does Shockwave know, the Olympics will be having a new venue this year!

"I'm just saying... Scrapper said it's a marvel that these things even worked," Contrail reminds, and she shrugs. Pequod... known for its space whales, she thinks. Contrail rubs her chin and suggests, "Maybe I should assign my troops to scour the New York sewers for clues. They could use the /fresh air/." Her optics flash with malice; maybe she's just a bit annoyed at Intel's general lack of productivity. "Any tracking suggestions, Scrapper?"

"Understood." Scrapper replies to the one optic'd logic machine.

"Tracking might be a waste of time, given the already evident elusiveness of the maker. Though scouring the outlying areas for clues is advisable, Contrail." he admits, breaking away from the Alligatorcon to collect his portable drive and shut down the workstation he was occupying.

Shockwave, safe from additional questions and having completed what he came here to do, takes his leave. His mind is filled with ways to turn the newest batch of Decepticon plans to his advantage.

Spinister has arrived.

Spinister is basically in two pieces, having been more or less bitten in half by Grimlock. Singe and Hairsplitter have been on silent vigil since the group's return to the Absolution.

Flywheels says, "....what happened to -you-?"

Contrail jots down on her notepad 'assign Intel troops to scour New York sewers'. Then she glances over at Spinister and his sad little Nebulans, and she fidgets. Contrail admits, "Grimlock happened."

Flywheels says, "...oh."

Looking up from his datapad, Scrapper finally notices Spinister's lacerated form on the workbench. Either he's extremely unobservant, or the animators just conviently decided to illustrate him there. In either event, the Constructicon leader pads over to the Targetmaster and performs an evalution of the form.

"Grimlock.. It looks as such." he notes to nobody in particular.

Combat: Scrapper runs a diagnostic check on Spinister

Combat: Scrapper expertly repairs Spinister's injuries.