Men of Science

‘’’Flame Dunes’’’

All around you as far as you can see, a vast undulating field of fiery red sand dunes stretches to all horizons. The constant, driving wind flings a steady hail of sharp-edged particles against you. The upper layers of the sand creep along under your feet, and you find it hard to keep your footing. If you look very carefully toward the west, you might make out a faint shadow. Hills, perhaps, or just maybe - traces of civilization?

Contents:

Modified MiG-23 Flogger &lt;Contagion&gt;

Obvious exits: Launch leads to Deep Space - Paraplanar. East &lt;E&gt; leads to Petrified Ocean. West &lt;W&gt; leads to Abandoned City.

A vast, undulating field of fiery red sand dunes indeed. Unbroken and monotonous all the way to the horizon. There is nothing here except for the shrieking wind and the grating of sand, the curvature of dunes and the hard, sharp edges of jagged rock. There is nobody here. Except, of course, for Contagion and a series of vile, pulsating cauldrons that contaion a bright orange liquid. He is cheerfully dumping some of it on the ground -- watching gleefully as it begins to sear it's way through the patches of sand; fusing them first into rocks and clumps and then melting them away entirely.

Scorpion &lt;Pincher&gt; skitters across the dunes, the abrading wind erasing the marks of his passage almost as quickly as he steps. He holds up one claw to shield himself from the wind. This is lonely work, on the edge of nowhere, but it is valuable work all the same. The Red Planet was held by the Decepticons once, and someone must assess what damage was done, what damage remains, and what hope is there for the world. To simply defeat the Decepticons is not enough of an apology to the universe at large. There are other debts to be paid. He lowers the claw and peers just over the crest of a dune, chemosensors pinging on something unusual. Compound optics, too many of them by most standards, swivel to track the source of those noxious fumes.

A Seeker labouring over cauldrons. Pincher supposes he should not be surprised, as he opens the valves to load his stinger with paralysis toxin, plotting his next move.

Contagion is indeed labouring over a cauldron. And he isn't even a witchy thing! Look at him go, and the orange stuff sear and bubble and hiss. Little columns of acrid steam come from the hole that now looks to be quite deep. Easily twice the height of the average transformer and the acid still doesn't seem to have lost it's potency. Grunting to himself, Contagion adjusts his gas mask and steps back towards another of the cauldrons -- taking something from a shelf of his minature lab and adding it to the compound. It promptly turns purple. All at once, he looks upwards on a whim and happens to catch sight of Pincher.

"Well!" He says out loud. "What have we here! Autobot? Decepticon? .... native mecha-fauna? Oh, well, it doesn't matter! An ample test subject you'll make for my latest concoction!"

He dips his left cannon in the noxious brew, and slowly, the wing and shoulder tanks on that side begin to swirl purple instead of green.

Scorpion &lt;Pincher&gt; clacks his claws together, as he has been well and truly spotted now, holding one claw up in a flourish. He observes dryly, "Some of us believe in informed consent before experimenting upon sapient test subjects. Some of us remain to be educated." The oxidising power of that superacid there looks to be quite frightful. To so recklessly test it on sand, where it could contaminate the aquifers below or even dissolve tiny creatures living in the sand! A /proper/ chemist is a safe chemist. "I will say it once - come no closer, or you'll be consenting to be /my/ test subject. Due warning."

Contagion raises both his optic ridges. Oh, this is glorious. He hadn't expected anything like this. Another scientist! Now his ego has been challenged and all sorts of trouble is set to be caused. He pauses, curiously and languidly leaning on the edge of one of his cauldrons. He's completely heedless of the fumes that roll around his head and a few flecks of rust that fall off of his face and contaminate the sample. "Consent?" He wonders. "I suppose next, you'll preach me some drek about not harming test subjects. But, have it your way. I'll come no closer." His posture shifts and his wings fold downwards on their swing-joints to make him look smaller than he is. "It's been forever since I've met another scientist. Perhaps you'd like to . . . " "BE REDUCED TO YOUR COMPONENT ACIDS!" And with that, Contagion HURTLES the cauldron and it's contents of purple goo towards the Scorpion!

Scorpion &lt;Pincher&gt; transforms, rising up into his horned, masked robot mode, his 'hands' still nothing but serrated claws. He holds up one claw, as if to block the attack, and a shimmering blue forcefield bursts forth from the claw, covering him. The acid splashes against the shield and trickles down to the sand, where it hisses and smokes. He observes it all with keen grey optics before he points to the shield with his free claw and says simply, "Splashguard. Never leave - or enter - the laboratory without one. Now that I have established that you do not intend to do no harm..." Pincher draws his laser torch, a cutting beam as much tool as it is weapon, and he snaps off a shot at one of Contagion's wing tanks.

Pincher turns into everyone's favourite friendly neighbourhood scorpion-man!

Contagion isn't entirely surprised by his attack not doing what he expected. This is part of his reasoning for quite such an unrefined assault, to see what sort of defenses the other casually has. Either way, he watches his contaminated sample dribble away and do it's evil deeds to the sand instead of to Pincher. He watches too as Pincher's cutting beam strikes almost where he had aimed and slices off a section of his control surfaces and pits deeply into the armor of the wing in question. Contagion looks at it thoughtfully, reaching up a hand to brush off the carbon scoring. When he does, even more of the rusted-out armor sloughs away and he smiles at Pincher -- the action having been clearly symbolic: You'll have to do better than that to hurt Contagion. He's already falling apart.

He snaps off a shot with his left arm mounted cannon -- a wash of oily purple nasty that goes flying out towards Pincher in a veritible projectile vomit of chemicals. If it strikes though, it will do absolutely and utterly nothing. Perhaps it's just purple paint? It's gooey, a bit, but just seems to want to stick and do nothing at all. Even sensor scans will indicate it is not attacking his plating in any way.

"You should have thought better than to pick a fight with a Rainmaker, Autobot! Especially an unknown pipsqueak like yourself!"

"I would observe," Pincher replies thoughtfully, "that you flung an experimental superacid at me, after I quite reasonably suggested that you might better leave well enough alone." Pincher is happy enough out of the spotlight, doing a job that needs to be done. Contagion's vitriol about his status as an unknown washes off him with a shrug. Not fast or agile, the purple does coat Pincher, and he regards it dubiously. The chemical engineer transforms, scrapes up a bit of the purple with a claw and /tastes/ it, trying to make heads or tails of the unknown chemical. He picks his way over the acid-hissing sand, scuttling closer to Contagion, sometime straight, sometimes sideways, aimless as the blowing winds themselves.

Then, Pincher strikes, lashing out at Contagion with his serrated claws, aiming perhaps to shear the exhaust nozzles off the Seeker's feet.

Pincher turns into an acid nightmare scorpion.

Contagion is not very agile either, when it comes right down to it. Honestly, what we have here is a fight of. . well, people not very good at getting out of the way of things. The chemical that he flung at Pincher is highly. . . indeterminate. It seems to have a strong root in metallic elements but it is completely and utterly harmless in and of itself. It doesn't taste very nice, either. It is not grape soda! The Autobot's attack is successful too, and Contagion finds that he has lost not only a thrust nozzle, but he has found his foot enclosed by a scorpion's claw. He frowns beneath his gas mask.

"Sometimes . . . " He muses. "When delicate and scientific methods fail . . " A shower of rust falls as he reaches behind him to draw a long chain, with a monolithic spiked ball on it. All drip corrosion. " . . . brute force generally works." And with that, he simply attempts to pound the stuffing out of Pincher with the ball and chain until he lets go.

Apparently, in the Mad Chemical Engineer Handbook, there is a requirement to be poor at dodging.

Pincher swallows down the awful taste, as unwise as that might be, and he muses aloud, "Perhaps... a catalyst? Something harmless by itself that will nonetheless speed me headlong towards my doom when a second chemical is applied?" The rusted spiked ball cracks into his back plating, sending shards of cyan and magenta armour flying. Corrosion seeps along the edges of the wounds. Those will be septic before the next daybreak, Pincher suspects. While he has Contagion by the ankle, however, this is a perfect opportunity to indulge his nature. Pincher's trail swivels, and the stinger lashes out at Contagion, paralysis toxin loaded, ready for injection should he strike.

Being poor at dodging is probably a requirement of scientists just about everywhere. Though, at least these two are not universally pathetic. Is Pincher right about the chemical being a catalyst? Well, Contagion certainly isn't telling him! He's likely going to find out soon enough though, as Contagion raises his right arm to bring the spiked ball down towards the head of the other. At this juncture, he is struck dead center of mass by the Autobot's toxic stinger. One will note that, if they are running scans, he seems to take very little damage from the actual chemical. . though the paralytic effect is there and he sort of keels over on his face with a thud, spiked ball still in hand. Already though, his systems are venting toxins and he is beginning to stirr.

Scorpion &lt;Pincher&gt; is able to admit, "Impressive filtration systems. Hope you won't mind if I take a better look at them." He surges forward and takes the hit on his thorax, more shards falling away, more creeping rust lacing his bright acid-colours with dull. His stinger switches to an armour-piercing drill, and he tries to rake it down Contagion, to tear his torso open to get that better look he was wanting.

Contagion is opened like so much a laboratory experiment. One will find that despite its corroded appearance, Contagion's armor still has some resistance to it. Not to mention, it's chemically resistant in the extreme. So if he's that bad looking, one can only imagine what kind of fumes he stands in all the time to do that despite the built in resistance. He still hasn't got all of his mobility back, and so he watches with interest as his torso armor falls apart and one of the fans mounted there comes out with a metallic bang. Some sparks fly out here and there, but no signs of pain come from him. His internals are just as much of a mess as his externals, and it really might dawn on Pincher that it is a miracle that he's still running, let alone this well.

Suddenly, Contagion transforms and explodes off the ground in a shower of fire -- rising up with his thrust nozzle still obviously damaged, but doing it on brute engine power alone. He wheels quickly, and launchers on his wings snap open and a pair of rockets go forward towards Pincher -- and if they detonate, they expand outwards in a cloud of green paralytic gas.

Folding in on himself, Contagion transforms into a Modified MiG-23 Flogger.

Scorpion &lt;Pincher&gt; is indeed observing that Contagion seems to be rather hard on himself with his work, but then - what are a few body parts in the name of science? Has Pincher not stripped parts from his own frame in the name of his craft, in the long, dark hours, alone in his sojourn to unravel the workings of the universe? Has he not pushed himself to his very limits, going days, weeks, without recharging, ceaselessly pursuing truth? Neglected to even refuel until he fell and passed out? The only thing he can fault Contagion on, aside from methodology and ethics, is that slovenly appearance. A little Corrostop works wonders. He pushes himself over and transforms, casting the shield just in time to stop the rockets. A green haze fills the air just beyond his protective bubble. Pincher rasps out slowly, "Your delivery methods are intolerable. One breeze, and your own comrades will suffer your work." Why else would Pincher use a nice, neat stinger for targeted injections?

Pincher turns into everyone's favourite friendly neighbourhood scorpion-man!

Modified MiG-23 Flogger &lt;Contagion&gt; transforms again; landing daintily despite the damaged thruster. Anti-gravs are good for something, it appears! He simply begins to walk towards Pincher with his hands by his sides. "Why should I care about my comrades?" He wants to know. "Further test subjects, nothing more. The pursuit of the perfect contagion is worth the sacrifice of a few foolish idiots who couldn't be bothered to step out of the way. Survival of the fittest, and all of that." He raises his right arm and fients a shot of chemicals at Pincher -- but it isn't the real attack. That comes from the nacelle mounted engine on the bottom of his left arm. The wind cannon there activates and blows a spray of acrid sand towards Pincher in an attempt to momentarily blind him!

Expanding outwards, Contagion reshapes himself into a robot. His variable geometry wings move into full extended position while a series of hoses join their tanks to his shoulder mounted weaponry. His twain auxiliary engine pods end up on his forearms as his face-shield magnetizes into place.

Pincher picks out some of the rot from his back, studying the degradation, how his metal crumbles from the gentle pressure of being held between his claws. He wheezes softly, sadly, "I did not expect you to understand. Those who put on that badge," he points at the Decepticon blazon, "so seldom do. I suppose it is better than those who /do/ understand and ignore it, anyway, but the fact remains either set of thought processes is pathological." The feints send him scrambling down into the sand, trying to take cover behind a cauldron, leading him perfectly into Contagion's true intention. He is blinded, for a moment, and he mutters to himself something about leaving his best pair of goggles back on Tau Ceta, how thoughtless of him. He can't be certain where the Seeker is, but he can still attempt some battlefield surgery, sweeping one claw out in a slashing arc.

Unfortunatly, Contagion is hidden behind that wave of sand when Pincher is making his observations. Pincher will feel the claw strike Contagion ... somewhere, but it is more than likely too little and too late as the seeker attempts to crash in full force into the robot-mode Autobot while he is blinded. The attempt is to send him to his back so that Contagion can end up with his knee in the other's groin and hopefully his left hand on the other's face. "Ah, Autobot . . you are the one that doesn't understand. All ethics are is a hindrance; something meant to slow you down and prevent discovery. If one attempts to follow the 'golden rules' of science, and pretends to 'do the right thing' and intentionally keeps themselves from avenues that are amoral . . how can one expect to truly find the best results? It is mathematically impossible. If you wish to be a true scientist, you MUST be open to explore all options." It's a lecture that by the way it rolls off of Contagion's lips, he's given many, many times. "Compassion and morality . . is toxic to science."

And then it begins. His right arm cannon begins to pump out a furious amount of green goo, as he feathers his antigravs to lunge upwards. It turns out Pincher was entirely right -- he WAS sprayed with a catalyst, that if it makes contact with the stuff that Contagion is shooting now is capable of doing all sorts of acidic nasty.

Pincher replies wearily, as if he has said this before many a time to deaf audios, but he will say it to his dying day, "I say again, 'Do not harm.' If I must leave some roads untraveled, so be it. Some knowledge is not worth the price." He's grabbed and battered. Pincher struggles in Contagion's grip, not enjoying how the tables have turned on him at all. "So name me /pretender/ if you will." He gasps as he's sprayed, and he falls down to his knees, as his armour melts away from him. Pincher withdraws an emergency chemical wash and douses himself. Perhaps his ameliorative measures will only make the problem worse, but if he leaves this problem be, he will surely perish.

Contagion is beginning to get honestly frustrated at this point. "That makes you an inferior researcher, then. Roads untravelled are potential discoveries in the making. Anyway . . I really don't have time for this, Autobot." He says, cheerlessly. "You really did catch me in the midst of a very vital experiment. First, it was silly that you came along; then it was annoying, and now it is flat out irritating. You really, really, really need to die." And with that, he lunges in while the other is trying to douse himself and attempts to tackle him straight into one of the fiendish cauldrons of nasty.

"Fact of the matter is, if all you're classifying me as is an /irritant/, like some vinegarroon spraying nothing more harmful than acetic acid, well..." Pincher just barely manages to transform in time back into a scorpion to scuttle away. The dousing wasn't entirely successful; that acid is still eating away at him, just more slowly. He is not saved; he has merely bought himself a little more time. Someone wiser would run now, take to the dunes and the cover they give. Pincher is, as Contagion keeps calling him, an Autobot, and if this experiment of Contagion's is vital to the Rainmaker, then it is all the more vital that Pincher should disrupt this mockery of science. His drill-stinger tries to bury itself in one of those wing tanks Contagion has and drain the Seeker of his very life's energon. "...perhaps I ought to take a sample of you for quantitative comparison."

Pincher turns into an acid nightmare scorpion.

Contagion struggles on the ground with Pincher for a moment, but the other really does have the advantage at close range given that horrible altmode. Secretly, Contagion hopes that Scorponok will eat Pincher someday. Either way though, he grapples and fights as best he can -- succeeding for a moment at holding part of the other off. "Mere weak alakai, you. Not even worthy of being acid." He recoils involuntarily as the tail spears his wing assembly and begins to drain energon at a prodigious rate; dropping to one knee. He smiles, though -- and reaches down to his boot assembly and draws a long, dangerous looking knife. He doesn't attack Pincher though. He smashes out his own wing tank in a shower of sparks, transparisteel and more importantly, a gout of that caustic, horrible junk that powers his weapon systems that is flowing out and probably over Pincher's tail, let alone himself.

Scorpion &lt;Pincher&gt; mutters, "He who has no respect for the hydroxide ion will die by the hydroxide ion. Really. Have to watch out for that lithium diisopropylamide. You seem to have a one track mind. Acid, acid, acid. There are other beautiful, glorious chemicals equally deserving of love and adoration, like cyberneurotoxins! Oh, the beauty of how their chemical structures conjugate, the one enantiomer perfectly harmless and the other side of the mirror perfectly /lethal/, ah HaH hA HAH!" Yes, the Autobot scorpion has just broken down into a fit of cackling mad laughter, even as Contagion's caustic crud washes over his tail. Perhaps the pain is getting to him. Pincher rises up, a delighted look to his cold, grey optics, and he draws his cutting torch and points it over at one of the cauldrons, giggling, "Better fly, Rainmaker," as he shoots at the bubbling vat. After him, the deluge.

Pincher turns into everyone's favourite friendly neighbourhood scorpion-man!

Contagion is actually fairly pleased at the moment. "Now you're talking like a real scientist." He hisses at Pincher and attempts to punch him in the face. Then behind him, maybe even before the swing goes off. . a tremendous explosion and a gout of noxious chemicals. Apparently, Contagion has been keeping things next to each other that really shouldn't be kept next to each other, because as one cauldron goes up and splashes into the next an even bigger and nastier explosion happens, that chains onto the next and the next. It's quite a conflagration and it goes on for probably a good minute. The force of it is enough to throw the seeker a good hundred feet and he lands facedown in the sand with a smash -- leaving a rusty smear in a long sort of skidmark. Fly he did. He's also momentarily stunned.

Pincher throws his head back and has a good, long laugh, claws on his hips, as he hides safely behind his forcefield, admitting to no one in particular, "I do so love a good explosion." Then, he turns and transforms down into a scorpion, scuttling off into the dunes. The Hospital Planet, Caduceus 9, will have the medical care required to heal the damage left by Contagion's acid reign upon Pincher's body. When he is whole again in body, he can return here to undo the damage done by... well, blast it all by the Celestial Spires of Iacon! He never did get that Rainmaker's name.

Pincher turns into an acid nightmare scorpion.

Combat: Scorpion &lt;Pincher&gt; begins retreating, outrunning all pursuit.

Contagion doesn't come to until well after Pincher is gone and on his way. As he looks over the ruins of his secret lab, he quietly hopes that Pincher's face melts off -- and if it doesn't, he's going to guarantee it soon!