Windsweeper, Sweeper of Winds

Wed Nov 14, 2033

Darkmount – Simulator

Contents:

Fusillade

Boomslang

Windsweeper

Training Drone - Darkmount

Obvious exits: Out &lt;O&gt; leads to Darkmount - Atrium.

This is a training room. Check out +help Training_Rooms for special commands.

"... and as far as /I/ was concerned, it landed FINE. So what if it's fifty feet off when the detonation path is a hundred feet wide?!" Fusillade explains as she smacks the palm of her glss-black hand against the panel, popping the simulator open. She hip-checks a helicopter mini-con out of the way, and gazes in to see if anything is already running.

Windsweeper is here already, awaiting the arrival of the officers for his evaluation. He snaps to attention and salutes smartly as Fusillade enters the sim room.

"Some people just don't understand what we do here," Boomslang replies ruefully, following Fusillade in his loose-limbed, rolling gait.

Someone has to document Windsweeper's combat evaluation for Intel's purposes, and Intel's purposes are not quite the same as Aerospace's purposes. Normally, that someone would be some lowly repainted Reflector clone in a lurid chartreuse who would look and see not if Windsweeper is ready to engage in battle but how engaged he is in serving the Empire. Is there anything to worry the Ministry of Peace?

Today, however, Contrail, Director of Intelligence (long story), is going to be documenting, which mostly just means that she foisted her paperwork off on her aide Discotheque today because she wanted to watch planes fight planes. At the sight of Fusillade, she grins easily and says, "There is no kill like overkill, eh?" Then she looks over at Windsweeper. Well, the 'con knows how to keep himself tidy, at least.

Fusillade raises hand to dismiss the salute, vivid yellow optics flicking her optics over him. She doesn't seem to have read over his dossier yet, because her hand halt mid-air, fingers spreading wide in surprise and delight. "Oh. OH! Ohhhhhhh." She begins to shimmy over to the burgundy warrior. "Lookit youuuuuu. Those're some pretty beefy barrels you've got coming off those forearms there. And most DEFINITELY not, Contrail. Looks like this guy's designer got THAT memo!"

Windsweeper backs away two steps, slowly, the urge to impress the brass warring with the urge not to touch the brass. "Er, ma'am, yes, ma'am. Triggercon, ma'am. Windsweeper. Sanitation."

"That euphemistic?" Boomslang asks.

Contrail nods slowly at Fusillade's judgement. What has Windsweeper cowed, though? Is he intimidated by Fusillade. Well, Contrail supposes that Fusillade /is/ extremely dangerous. A bit of fear is healthy. She takes a step closer to him out of malicious curiosity, and she suggests, "For making a clean sweep of the Autobots?"

Fusillade is practically on tiptoe as she circles around him. "He's a Lanccccccer," she exhales toward Boomslang's direction. The similarity seems to have prompted some expectations on the commander's part -- whether for better or worse for Windsweeper remains to be seen. The trance is broken, however, by the function description. "Wait, what? Sanitation? Wha? Whyyyyy?" This evaluation quickly starts nose-diving into awkward social encounter, rather than a military specifications eval.

"For burning things," Boomslang explains.

"Oh. Oh! No, ma'am. I mean, yes, obviously, we want to make a clean sweep of the Autobots. Filthy, disgusting Autobots allying with filthy humans. Did you know they emit oils? Just, like, all the time. From pores. And /water/. With /ions/ in it." Windsweeper begins waving his arms as he rants.

"They're /disgusting/ and we need to burn them all with pure, cleansing fire and gamma radiation until they sparkle," he concludes.

"Everything's napalm with you, cripes, Boomslang. Haven't you gone through that load that Swindle dumped on you, yet?" Fusillade pauses, rocking back on her double-thrustered heels. "I.... see," before casting a skeptical glance at Contrail. "You pranking me?"

Boomslang shrugs. "Cures what ails ya."

Boomslang tries not to use THAT napalm unless he needs it. It's... finicky.

"Oh, napalm is great," Windsweeper agrees. "It gets the stuff even concentrated bleach leaves behind. Like 'trees'."

Contrail tilts her head to one side and writes down on her evaluation form, 'Subject displays monomaniacal obsession with cleanliness consistent with sentiments expressed on radio banter. Note: do not deploy subject with Blot. Productivity will suffer.' Chagrin tugs at her facial features, and she admits, "Ah, no, not at all, Fusillade."

Fusillade breaks into laughter. "Well that's okay then..." she quickly consults her pad, "Windsweeper. Let's get you into the saddle. How do all of you feel about the airspace over southwestern US? You love it? Yes, that's what I thought," as she cruises over to the commands perched by the doorway, quickly tapping in a few commands.

The floor drops away, revealing arid, steep, red and yellow cliffs dotted with mesquite shrub througout the arroyos. Hopefully everyone remembers to transform -- or activate their anti-gravs.

Windsweeper is momentarily taken aback as the floor disappears, but quickly recovers and hovers on his anti-gravs, scanning the desert terrain for hostiles.

Boomslang remembers the seminar, and hovers like a pro!

Contrail, thankfully, was not in car mode at the time, so she does manage to hoever. She transforms - she is not going to assume that Windsweeper will be the only one in peril here. Her evaluation form mysteriously ends up in her cockpit.

Flipping into a modified F-35B Lightning II, the sky is not the limit.

Spinister has arrived.

Windsweeper turns to face Spinister, wondering if the chopper is part of the simulation or an actual Decepticon.

Fusillade pauses for a moment, then transforms, shouting over the racket of her four engines. Her voice is echoed over local broadband, &lt;&lt;Awright, we'll pair up, Boomslang you're with me, and Windsweeper, you'll be on Contrail's wing. Consider this a part of your evaluation. Or orientation. Or hazing, heh heh."

Fusillade leans forward, wingblades whipping out to their full span, even as her arms lock backward in place as the rear fuselage. Her torso folds out to the become the cockpit of a Terran B-1B Lancer, ready for flight!

Windsweeper transforms into his B-1B &lt;Windsweeper&gt; mode.

"Great," Windsweeper mutters to himself as he forms up on the Contrail's wing, keeping sure not to overtake the smaller aircraft.

With the usual ratcheting sound, Boomslang spins and flips and turns into a fighter jet.

F/A-18 Super Hornet &lt;Boomslang&gt; falls into formation off Fusillade's wing. "Aye aye!"

Space Going B-1R Lancer adds, "Welp, get to it Windsweeper! Pick one or both of us, and let's see what you got!"

B-1B &lt;Windsweeper&gt; says, "Oh, we're fighting each other! Right, got it.""

F-35B Lightning II &lt;Contrail&gt; is actually ludicrously fast. If she really put on the gas, Windsweeper would be left in the dust, which he would then be compelled to clean up. However, that is something that he will have to find out on his own. She keeps her place in the formation easily enough.

Windsweeper climbs, attempting to gain altitude over his opponents before moving in to attack. He dives back down, cannons flipping forward, their barrels glowing red as he takes aim at Fusillade. The larger target should be easier to hit, right?

Combat: B-1B &lt;Windsweeper&gt; misses Space Going B-1R Lancer with his Laser Cannons attack!

Windsweeper's shadow falls over Fusillade's dark back, moments before the laser punches toward her with a bassy square wave sound effect. The Lancer flares air brakes and vectors her thrust, wrenching herself to the left of where he had aimed. "WHOA! Those things have ginormous capacitors on them!" she says in a mixture of alarm and admiration. She slicks her wings back to give herself an arrowhead silhouette, and ducks down inside the walls of a box canyon, dropping out of his line of sight. A few moments pass, before she surges back up, this time behind Windsweeper. "Surprise!" she cackles in glee, before flinging a flurry of return laser shots at Windsweeper.

Combat: Space Going B-1R Lancer strikes B-1B &lt;Windsweeper&gt; with her Nose-Mounted Laser (Laser) attack!

F/A-18 Super Hornet &lt;Boomslang&gt; cuts in on Contrail, banking across her course to try to intercept her with a short burst of autocannon, red tracers laddering out and falling down towards the desert!

Combat: F/A-18 Super Hornet &lt;Boomslang&gt; strikes F-35B Lightning II &lt;Contrail&gt; with his Autocannon (Pistol) attack!

Combat: F/A-18 Super Hornet &lt;Boomslang&gt; (Boomslang) used "Pistol": A Level 1 RANGED attack.

Combat: You took 7 damage.

F-35B Lightning II &lt;Contrail&gt; takes damage from Boomslang's bullets, and she inquires aloud, "Ah, just what are the sides, anyway?" The F-35 is not a normal F-35. It has a rocket engine in it, because, at one point, basically everyone was doing that. It was a different time. In any case, she puts said rocket engine to use, putting some distance between herself and Boomslang, before she sends a retort his way.

Combat: F-35B Lightning II &lt;Contrail&gt; sets her defense level to Protected.

Combat: F-35B Lightning II &lt;Contrail&gt; strikes F/A-18 Super Hornet &lt;Boomslang&gt; with her Return Fire attack! [Pulled -4]

Combat: Gained 4 energon.

"I thought it was B1s and escorts in pairs," Boomslang sends back, releasing flares a little too late to avoid zinging shrapnel from the detonation of Contrail's missile. With her extended away from him, however, he has room to bring his own missiles to bear.

Combat: F/A-18 Super Hornet &lt;Boomslang&gt; strikes F-35B Lightning II &lt;Contrail&gt; with his AIM-9X Sidewinder attack!

Combat: F/A-18 Super Hornet &lt;Boomslang&gt; (Boomslang) used "AIM-9X Sidewinder": A Level 4 RANGED attack.

Combat: You took 12 damage.

If it's possible for an airplane to wince, Windsweeper does. It doesn't matter if the scorch marks are only holographic, he can't stop thinking that those are going to be near-impossible to remove without removing some exterior plating and then you get DUST in your CIRCUITS and- right, getting shot at. Fusillade is behind him, so he transforms and hovers, hoping she'll fly past him so he can get a clear shot at her 6 o'clock with his lasers.

B-1B &lt;Windsweeper&gt; transforms into his Windsweeper mode.

Combat: Windsweeper sets his defense level to Guarded.

Combat: Windsweeper strikes Space Going B-1R Lancer with his Laser Cannons attack!

"In that case..." Contrail replies thoughtfully. Her jet mode sensors take a good, long gander at Fusillade. Weaknesses: Scattershot. Silverbolt. She then tabulates this data and transmits it to Windsweeper, with the advice, "Try to look more dangerous but slightly heroic."

Combat: F-35B Lightning II &lt;Contrail&gt; sets her defense level to Fearless.

Combat: Contrail analyzes Fusillade for weaknesses Windsweeper can exploit.

Combat: Drained 4 energon.

F/A-18 Super Hornet &lt;Boomslang&gt; falls in on Contrail's six, locking her up with a radar-seeker to try to take advantage of the relatively stable flight pattern her gander demands!

Combat: F/A-18 Super Hornet &lt;Boomslang&gt; sets his defense level to Aggressive.

Combat: F/A-18 Super Hornet &lt;Boomslang&gt; strikes F-35B Lightning II &lt;Contrail&gt; with his AIM-120C AMRAAM attack!

Combat: F/A-18 Super Hornet &lt;Boomslang&gt; (Boomslang) used "Mk.82 GP Bomb": A Level 6 RANGED attack.

Combat: You took 12 damage.

Space Going B-1R Lancer does indeed whip past, the whole thirty-six foot width of her big fat aft sailing past. &lt;&lt;Wow, you're so much littler no-- GACK!&gt;&gt; The shot lands squarely on her rear radome, sending the comms and radar falling to the desert floor in a spray of ceramic atmospheric reentry tile. The space race was indeed a very real thing for a while among Decepticon Aerospace! She transforms as well, wings pleating upon themselves to rest on her hips even as she cracks her knuckles. Her amber visor glints dangerously, and she says, "Welp, qarmup time's over. Better pace yourself, sparky, 'cause I assure you that -I- can go all night." She rears back mid-air, like she's winding up for a baseball pitch. A bright sizzling mass grows along the apex of one shouder, slidibg down the magnetic catapaults lining her arms. It snaps ofg her palm, and blorts out at Windsweeper, the plasma sizzling abgrily as it boils toward him!

The sleek bomber rears up, wings collapsing onto hips even as the rear fuselage splits to form arms. The horizontal stabilizer slides up, the forward fuselage folds up accordian style, and Fusillade hops up on thrustered feet.

Combat: Fusillade strikes Windsweeper with her Plasma Caster attack!

F/A-18 Super Hornet &lt;Boomslang&gt; transforms at high speed, whipping something out in a whirling side pitch. It's a little silver ball which zings towards Windsweeper along a ballistic trajectory, then pops out thrusters and fierce-looking clawed manipulators after a second or two of flight!

The F-18 produces that distinctive transformation sound as it flips around and pops out limbs to assume a humanoid shape.

Combat: Boomslang's Chemical Spider Mine attack aimed for Windsweeper backfires!

Combat: Boomslang strikes himself with his Chemical Spider Mine attack!

Contrail's tutelege synergizes well with Windsweeper's systems, the tremendous one-two punch hauling her out of the sky. Fusillade makes note of his steadiness in robot mode as her otherwise unresponsive form plummets to the dusty ground. Terror, simulated or otherwise, grips her as the ground rises relentlessly toward her nosecone. She transforms again with a very noisy protest from her airframe. Her engines cough to life, straining in time with her antigravs to keep her from an ignoble end on the terrain. With sensor suites scrambled, she blunders for altitude, streams of white and black smoke following her. Bomb bay doors snap open, a rotary launcher disgorging from the gash. A cruise missile is dropped into place, and with a sloppy, but creative override, Fusillade instructs it to make its acquaintence with Windsweeper. The fifteen foot long weapon streaks toward him, painted in a fierce shark smile.

Fusillade leans forward, wingblades whipping out to their full span, even as her arms lock backward in place as the rear fuselage. Her torso folds out to the become the cockpit of a Terran B-1B Lancer, ready for flight!

Combat: Space Going B-1R Lancer strikes Windsweeper with her GBU-27 attack!

With Boomslang disappearing, Fusillade calls off the training simulation. "End Game," she announces, the terrain falling away as she also cues up a reset. Transforming back to robot mode, she unconsciously rubs hands over her belly armor, face taut. "He seems sound, as far as combat maneuvers go. We'll station him near Magnaron to bolster Shockwave's beachhead on the rejuvenated Maintenance Facility." She peers at her data pad again, before her entourage appears in the doorway. "I'll see the two at the Steel Balloon, if either of you can stand it. Byyyyyeeeee," she waves fingers as she sidles out.