Diagnosis: Backfire

Meeting Hall -  - Antarctica Ice Shelf

A large rectangular table sits squarely in the middle of the room, a Decepticon symbol engraved in purple in the center. Chairs large enough to fit your average Decepticons surround the table, including a huge throne at its head. The walls are bare except for Decepticon banners hanging down from the top to the bottom. Arranged on some of the walls are various pictures of Cybertron and the great battles of the Decepticons.

Nestled in the throne chair near the back of the room, Backfire sits as dark shadows ebb and flow through the room.. a swinging overhead light the culprit of the room's mood lighting. His hand cradled up to his chin, his red optics staring forward.. cutting through the dark.

This is completely out of character for Backfire, the hapless dope of the Decepticon division.

 SOMEONE CALL A CHARSTAFFER!! 

The room's door lies open, inviting to all those who would dare step past.. or step in, given the strange Halloween lighting and somber mood of the Seeker.

Blast Off happens to walk by the meeting room and the odd lighting catches his notice. He stops and turns to look inside... and quickly regrets doing so. UUUGH. The shuttle's optics roll slightly and he takes a step forward. "Backfire... what nonsense IS this? I need this meeting room cleared and ready for an Aerospace briefing in 0500 breems."

Drag Strip struts in like he owns the place because, well, in his mind he kind of does. He's bright, bright yellow even, so he's somewhat impossible to miss. With the lights out he immediately heads to the switch to turn them on, and even gives it a good pounding *thug* to make sure of it. "Turning the lights off... what are they doing here, conserving energon? Ugh, there's so much energon just waiting to be ta-... Oh, Blast Off." Drag Strip sounds thoroughly unimpressed to see the Combaticon. "Backfire? Ain't he one of the Seekers?" Yes, he should know that, especially since it was only yesterday that he fought with the guy, but to him Seekers all look/sound/act/are alike. "If you got a meeting then I'll be in-out before it gets started. Sounds like a snoozer. I just need a thermo projector." Clearly he thought he'd find one in here.

"With any luck, your wish will be granted." Backfire replies steely, evenly, depressingly. Moving forward, the swinging overhead light reveals more of his face than before. A grim, smug look adorns his face.. the bright optics dull in the illumination. "I shall soon.." the Seeker pauses, looking down at his comunicube.

"Expire."

Then Drag Strip walks in and ruins everything forever, the lights come on in full and ruin Backfire's dramatic moment. "You blasted groundpounder, I was in the middle of my DEATHRANT!!"

Blast Off turns to raise an optic ridge at Dragstrip. "Ah, I see. My meetings on time and space and everything in between are boring, while *thermo projectors* are the height of interest." He tsks and shakes his head. "I wouldn;t expect a Stunticon to *know* what *exctiting* really is..." He then turns to look at Backfire with an incredulous air. "...." He glances to Dragstrip, caught in a brief fellow moment (real or imagined) of *can you believe this guy?* before saying, "What ARE you ranting about? You'll expire? Oh please feel free to then. Just not in MY meeting room."

"Dibs on your stuff!" Drag Strip grins proudly as he calls it, in before anyone else can get a chance to! However, it sinks in that some Seeker has already laid claim to all of Backfire's stuff... maybe due to some kind of stupid contract clause that Starscreamw ould of had them sign when they joined up. "Can't happen soon enough if you ask me. You look beat, you old cog," the Stunitcon grins broadly. He was all set to roll his optics at Backfire, but then he's wearing a visor so what's the point? Drag would rather boast in the dying Con's face. "Guessing you can out of hot air to carry yourself on?" He chuckles as he means to shoulder-bump Blast off, for a kind of bro-did-you-hear-the-dis-I-just-laid-on-this-chump kind of gesture. "Come on now, Blast Off, maybe he'll die at our feet which could be just about the most interesting thing he could do. Hah!"

Drag Strip is all set to be buddy-buddy with the Combaticon when... it hits him, what Blast Off said! As he catches up he looks aghast! "We Stunticons were *BUILT* for excitement, it's what we do!" He sounds so offended! "What is the emptiness of space when you compare it to the effort of mak-...!" He slaps a hand to silence himself least he reveal his secret plans.

"You -exaggerate-!!" comes a voice from outside the hall.

In marches Flatline, the medic on duty this obscene hour. A medium sized mech, mainly black, the Decepticon has red accents running throughout his body with headlights on his chest compartment. Strutting past both Blast Off and Drag Strip, Flatline sighs as he stops next to Backfire. "You're not dying, you fool."

Backfire sighs, resting back as Flatline hooks up some wires to his wrist readout. "Well, that's good to hear!" the Seeker grins, looking from the Combaticon to the Stunticon. "You need to treat your XO of Aerospace with a liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiittle bit more respect, Blastoffer. Like, this much more?" he holds up his thumb and forefinger, increasing the space between them a smidgen. "This OLD COG beat you senseless yesterday!! Annnnnnd I'm totes not dying, doc just said so.. get your own stuff Drag Strip."

Flatline studies the readout, then looks up. "I lied, you are dying."

Blast Off bristles as Dragstrip tries to shoulder-bump him... he does *not* like close contact. At all. He looks annoyed, but at least someone is here to share in his loathing of the Seeker, so he refrains from acting TOO indignant. Letting out a small huff, he composes himself again. "That is almost too much to hope for." He glances to Backfire. "But we CAN hope, can't we?" He gazes back to Dragstrip at the Stunticon's outburst and answers, "I see things in space you could never possibly *imagine*. I'm not sure it's even worth trying to explain..." he finishes smugly. He sniffs at Backfire. "My name is NOT Balsterofferrr..." His voice trails off as he seems to become annoyed at parroting the ridiculous name. "ANYWAY. WHAT old cog? You're not speaking of yourself, right?" Then Flatline proclaims Backfire IS dying. "Well. It's been fun then. ...NOt."

As a Stunticon, Drag Strip is all tooe ager to be a bro to those that he likes. He and the fellow Stunticons practicalle wrassle each other as a means of saying hello, so it's only natural for him to invade peronal space without regard. "Oh yeah, he's the old cog," Drag chuckles as he points to the Seeker. "He's quite fond of reminding me, like his being around to watch others get things done is something of signifigance. Look at all the favors he gained, I mean, it's not like he was even around Megatron let alone built by him!" He holds up a purple hand for Blast Off to high-five, because that was a a sweet one!

Drag Strip tries to not sour TOO much, and twice over. First, Backfire points out that yes, he - Drag Strip the Greatest - lost. Fortunately, maybe that can get swallowed up by the other diappointing news - that Backfire is going to life.

But then that all comes back around!

Drag Strip actually jumps for joy. He clicks his heels and everything! "I changed my mind. Instead of themero-projectors...," he looks around for effect, "Where do we keep the shovels?" Once more he holds up his hand, this time the other one, expecting a second high-five from Blast Off!

Flatline scribbles down some notes, glances back at the readings with an annoyed look, then goes back to note scribbling. Meanwhile, Backfire has sunken back into the chair again.

His life, thus far, has been an experiment of pain.. it seems. His mentor Redshift FORCIBLY modifying his chassis after a fight with Rodimus Prime, the Galvatron Jr incident, his capture at the hands of the Inseekticon Clones (displaying different personalities of him) after Buzzkill and Scorn implanted pods in his EMPTY head, the death of his first mentor Fireback, the list goes on and on and on and on..

Leveling a glare that would make Straxus stop in his tracks, Flatline's beady optics almost pierce through the hecklers in the room. "Blast Off, that is NO way to conduct yourself.. especially as a superior officer. As such, I'll be tasking you PERSONALLY with aiding Backfire in the task to be done." he scolds the Combaticon, unplugging the wires to Backfire's forearm.

Backfire is still yet, no sign from him.. probably wallowing in self pity.

"Drag Strip, from one landmoded Con to another.. drop the superiority act. You're only making the rest of us look bad. Wouldn't hurt for you to you know.. DO SOMETHING USEFUL for a change here." Flatline chastises the Stunticon in time, folding up his notes.

"NOW, if you two are done bickering and acting like protoforms.. I'll move onto my diagnosis?"

Blast Off ...doesn't even *like* Megatron. In fact, the Combaticons tried to assassinate him... twice. Not that he's going to mention that. But he gives Dragstrip a blank stare at the high-five attempt. He... just doesn;t even know *how* to respond to that. It's possible he doesn't even know what it IS. Then he blinks as the Stunticon actually jumps for joy. Ok, he knew the Stunticons were crazy, but.... Oh well, at least it's crazy over something he can understand. "Indeed. I think that could be cause for celebration. I can bring some wine...?" His idea of celebration is, of course, a quiet evening spent with fine wine and opera music. He then stares as Dragstrip attempts a second high-five... again looking rather blankly at the other mech. Then Flatline says WHAT? He spins around to look at the medic. "Excuse me??! What are you talking about? What task?" He's trying not to sound worried now.

Where Blast Off is refined, Drag Strip is perhaps the worst of his low-class brethern and is easily among the trashiest of the Stunticons... which is saying something! All of his antics are fueled by a youthful need to impress, or to show off. Drag Strip was also programmed to excel at fitting in on Earth over Cybertron, so his actions are a mix of Joe Dirt and a drunken frat boy. Drag Strip looks anxious though as Blast Off leaves him hanging. Not once, but twice. "Not cool," he grumbles as he lowers his hands.

Drag Strip decides to cross his arms over his chest as looks at the doctorbot. It's not that he doesn't agree but more... he's not going to vocalize that. It's only someone else's victory if you *admit* to the defeat. "Is his spark seizing up?" He snorts, loudly. "But if it's doing something, I can do it better than anyone else," he gloats freely, unaware how that might get him volunteered for just about anything.

A shadow falls over the Meeting Hall. Defying all the laws of nature and logic, darkness pools in the open doorway. But red eyes glow balefully in the dark. There's a gleam of clawed hands. A hint of unholy wings trailing behind. This sinister figure must be none other than the hunter of hunters...SCOURGE...Then there's a 'click' and the gloom dissipates. The figure shakes a pistol, holds it up for inspection, then sighs. "Blinding black beam...that was hardly even a shadow!" He tosses the gun carelessly over a shoulder and then looks around. "Hi guys! What's up!"

Himh wait, it's just Brigand.

"If either of you would stop INTERRUPTING me, I would tell you." Flatline replies to them both, a stern finger waved. "Otherwise, I'm sure Warden Harrow would LOVE to see you both personally in her office."

Harrow is a punishment reserved for the most sour of soul, wicked of warts, desperate of Decepticons. IE Harrow is a emptiless black hole of which there is no escape. Abandon all hope ye who enter here.

Backfire in the meantime is still seated, slumped back, waiting to hear the news. "Okay Flatline, we get the point.. so what's wrong NOW??" he asks, a mix of impatience and annoyance.

"When you were last repaired by Shockwave and Carjack, they.. it isn't their fault, but they stemmed the problem. They didn't solve the issue, they only bought you time." Flatline begins to explain, hitting a few buttons on the table's control console to bring down a holoprojector (one like Drag Strip wanted) and screen to display it on. "This is a NORMAL Cybertronian's energon flow." Flatline comments, a picture of a Transformer and the flow of energon from core to extremities.. and back again.

Clicking a slide, the picture changes to an image of Backfire. "And this is your energon flow." Like before, the energon is released from the core.. but it doesn't cycle, it builds and builds in the extremities until finally released in a cute little animated explosion. "To put it bluntly Backfire, your POWER to manipulate energon? It's killing you slowly."

Backfire manages a meager wave to Brigand, amid the depressing news Flatline delivers.

Blast Off huffs at Dragstrip. "What?" The shuttleformer is NOT the most socially astute individual. It's funny- he and Dragstrip are nothing alike... except for two things, perhaps. Both combiners- and both were built (bodies, at least) on Earth. "You seem to have picked up...odd mannerisms. And don;t be so quick to brag about...." Ah, too late. *shrug* He brushshes it off, then turns to look at...Scourge? No, Brigand. He gives the Sweep a deadpan look. "...Backfire says he's dying. ...Again." Blast off flinches slightly at the mention of seeing Harrow. Oh, um.... Though wait- maybe he could get those happy pills again... NO. STOP THINKING ABOUT THOSE. He turns to look at the rest of the demosntration, and realizes that slag it all, he *might* actually have to help here. Backfire IS a soldier, after all. "...And what are WE supposed to do about this?"

The threat of Harrow is enough to snap Drag Strip to some semblence of attention. However, he's threatened by Motormaster like.. constantly... nad he certainly fears his leader more than anyone else, maybe even more than Galvatron. Still, he gets the point and once again doesn't admit to being silenced by failing to acknowledge Flatline's command. "What, me?" Drag Strip instead focuses on the one interesting Con in here. "No, *you're* the odd one," he calls out as a reply to Blast Off!

Drag Strip turns to Brigand and makes a 'look at this guy gesture' in Blast Off's direction. And he likes the bot! "Oh, same old. Thrust here is about to kick the bucket. Time to melt him down for scr-..."

Once more Drag Strip stops himself as he blinks - unseen behind his red visor - at Flatline. Slowly. He looks from the display to Backfire. Back to the display. To Backfire. To the display. To Backfire. Display. Backfire. And then he busts out laughing, so hard he doubles over and holds his sides.

"He's going to fart himself to death!"

Brigand studies the picture carefully. "Hmm...well what if we were to seperate the limb just before it explodes?" He pulls out an elaborate circular saw. The blade isn't spinning - yet - and you can just make out the words 'Amputron XXL - a Vulcan (tm) product.' writen on the flat part. "The best part is, we could do it five times. Surely that will buy enough time to find a cure." He pauses, then looks at Backfire, focusing on his head. "Four times. We could do it four times."

"These are just preliminaries, I'm afraid this sophisticated of an internal problem.. requires someone of equal sophistication." Flatline begrudgingly admits, something most medics in the Decepticon cause have trouble with.. admitting they don't know something, especially when it's their function.

Backfire sighs again, this time he's the straight-mech to the wacky antics of the others gathered. So THIS is what it feels like, apparently. What's good for the goose is not good for this gander. Anger grips him suddenly, instantly, his fists clench immediately. "You.. vagabonds.. currs.. let's all make a joke of this, EH?? Ooooooo, Backfire is going to FART himself to deathy death afterdeath!!" he roars, a finger stretched out pointing towards Drag Strip. When suddenly, without notice or warning, orange electromagnetic sparks of energy shoot hap-hazardly around the room!!

Ducking down below the table, Flatline calls out "TAKE COVER!!"

Combat: Backfire's Backfire's Misfire! attack on Brigand goes wild! Combat: Backfire misses himself with his Backfire's Misfire! Area attack! [Pulled -2]

Combat: Backfire's Backfire's Misfire! attack on Blast Off goes wild! Combat: Backfire strikes Blast Off with his Backfire's Misfire! Area attack! [Pulled -2]

Combat: Backfire's Backfire's Misfire! attack on Drag Strip goes wild! Combat: Backfire misses Drag Strip with his Backfire's Misfire! Area attack! [Pulled -2]

Combat: Backfire's Backfire's Misfire! attack on Backfire goes wild! Combat: Backfire strikes Drag Strip with his Backfire's Misfire! Area attack! [Pulled -2]

Brigand turns a table on its side and crouches down behind it. "Backfire, whatever you're doing is only speeding up the process!" he guesses. "Calm down!"

Blast Off gives Dragstrip a haughty look, "I am NOT odd. I am simply the only one around here with any CLASS." Then he looks a bit miserable. "....Which may actually make me... odd here." *siigh* Then Dragstrip talks about... *what*? The Combaticon steps away at the mention of bodily function and looks disgusted. Yep, definitely NOT surrounded by class here. He looks to the others, then suddenly Backfire calls him a CURR? A...WHAT? Optics flashing, his fists ball up in outrage. He takes a step forward, getting closer.... But before he can respond further, something... Blast off doesn't even want to know... races out and strikes even him! He staggers back, "What the SLAG??!!" and dives towards the doorway.

"This is tooooooo rich," grins Drag Strip. Now, if he was sensible he would be ducking out of the room, but he was built to be reckless! He dives forward as Backfire goes off - quite literally! He jumps, dodges and weaves as he means to make a grab for that projector and *THEN* bolt for the door. "Don't mind me," he chuckles. There might just be enough clean-up on this to give him amble time to get away. "He's going off already!" It's juvenile of Drag Strip to laugh when Backfire says 'fart' but then, well, Drag *IS* a juvenile. "I can't beleive he *said* it!"

Drag Strip doesn't duck for cover like Brigrand but rather he transforms, to become the yellow race car that is best suited to getting him OUT of here! "Remember," he yells back, "I called dibs on his stuff!"

Brigand shakes a fist. "Dibs!" he mutters darkly.

After the sudden and explosive reaction to his ranting, Backfire blinks a couple of times. His head feels heavy, as does the rest of his body. "I made splode." he laughs, then passes out in the throne-chair.

Getting up from cover, Flatline dusts himself off and makes a mental note to chastise Drag Strip later. "Cutting off limbs won't work, right now the ONLY thing that might work is putting his core in stasis.. but given the high votality of it, the core could just explode in our faces. No, this will require a specialist." the medic dictates aloud, stepping carefully over towards Blast Off.. the whole way casting a weary gaze at the passed out Seeker.

"I know you've got operations in Tarn, but this takes immediate precedent. And it shouldn't distract you too much from your OTHER duties." Flatline notes, not mentioning the Combaticon's ener-wine addiction or other myriad of eccentricities. "There is a Tyrest scientist, neutral, who is giving a lecture in two cycles. While my speciality is reinforcing frames and body work, HE will know much more about the heart of the matter.." he trails, pointing to Blast Off's mid-section where the laser-core resides in his frame. "Backfire's lasercore. I recommend you take Backfire and any other Decepticons you can muster and kidnap him, bring him back here.. that way we can fix him."

Flatline casts a gaze over the blown up room, "And prevent any of THIS from happening again.. as of now, the Seeker really is more harmful to US than to the enemy." Turning to Brigand, "Sweep Brigand, you accel at hunting down prey? Your skills would prove MONUMENTAL in this task."

Brigand emerges from behind the table just in time to get singled out by Flatline. "Neutral, eh? My favorite kind of prey." He smiles savagely, then his expression fades slightly and he turns his head to glance at the others. "Not too hostile, not too friendly...you know, neutral." he elaborates, completely unnecessarily. "Tyrest...I bet I can get there and back in no time. Why I might even have time to stop by a couple of businessmen I know who operate in that system."

Blast Off stares at Flatline in indignant outrage. "WHAT?!" He seems to be saying this a lot tonight. He seems to almost bristle with some electricity himself. "I don't have TIME for that! I have SO many better things to be doing... like... like filing reports!" His engines grumble, though he finally relents with a facepalm and a sigh. "Fine. Whatever. I'll see what I can do..." He looks at Brigand, shakes his head, muttering to himself as he steps away... probably to go find a stiff drink.

"I'll forward all pertinent data to your mail accounts." Flatline whispers, tip-toeing for the exit. "For now, I think it best to leave Backfire be.. who knows what kind of mood he'll awaken in."

Stirring from the back of the room, the Seeker rises from his slouched position and starts again on his tirade. "FART?? WHY.. I'VE.. NEVER BEEN SO.. INSULTED.."

Flatline makes a dash for the doorway and hall, "RUN FOR IT!!"

Brigand is hot on the medic's heels - once he's outside of the bar he transforms into a Sweepcraft and blasts off into the skies!