Dial T for THUNDERWING!

Trypticon Command Center

Once you enter this gigantic room, the first thing you see is the computer on the north wall. The main computer is Trypticon himself, regularly checking the perimeter defenses of the city. The viewer currently shows an exterior shot of the outside of the city. Several other monitors show various other views, still more display computer graphics to do with Trypticon's status, giving the viewer the current situation around the Earth at a split second's notice. Along the other walls are computer terminals that can be used to pull data from the main computer core. On the south wall is a large purple Decepticon symbol.

Contents: Trypticon Base Computer Spacebridge Terminus 

Obvious exits: East  leads to Trypticon Communications Center. West  leads to Security. Down  leads to Trypticon Main Hallway.

Sometimes being a model Decepticon means cracking a few eggs. And by cracking a few eggs, we mean doing things blatantly treasonous. Like being in regular communications with a known criminal, a real persona non grata within the social structure of the Empire. Not the easiest to accomplish feat in a military group teaming with ne'er-do-wells to begin with -- which casts all the worst light on an Air Commander with the Faustian tendency to forever strive for what he cannot or should not have. Striving for power and pride tends to be a bad thing when you screw with time to do it!

"Ready to go, R.J.!" beeps a tiny green and purple robot from the wiring-strewn floor of Trypticon's Command Center. Its clampy hand slides one final line into a socket on the large, black-and-yellow striped ring lying on the floor. Some lettering runs along the length of the side-plating, forming the word combination: ZED INDUSTRIES TRANSWARP MODEL X-532. The tiny green and purple robot turns its head, casting its sole red optic at the back of the Command Chair a few feet away.

Ramjet tilts his cone against the back of the chair in which he sits, thinking briefly. "Input his energy signature into the tracking software, along with the coordinates I last saw him at," he commands unflinchingly.

Another tiny, green-and-purple robot standing over a by-comparison enormous computer console replies with a salute of its clamp to its mono-optic. "Yessir!" It leaps from one key to another, slowly but surely inputting coordinates by stomping on the keys with its tiny feet. At the click of the last key, it declares, "We're rockin' over here, R.J.!"

Ramjet raises his arm from the rest and clenches his hand for emphasis. "Oscillate the temporal calibrator and bring the Transwarp holo-projector online!" With a push of his feet against the messy deck plating, Ramjet turns his chair around to face the Transwarp ring. "..and find me THUNDERWING!!"

The host of Mini-Constructicons reply with a cheer of, "Yeaaaah, biaaaaatch!" before doing their Air Commander's bidding. Power is tapped from Trypticon's reserves and comes flooding into the circuits of the Transwarp ring, bringing it to life with a thunderous whir of charging energy.

Thunderwing has arrived. From inside the ring, the light starts to crackle and glow, as if a miniature thunderstorm was brewing. And then, the light resolves itself, thinning to lines as it strobes across the projector port, refining itself into the form of none other than Thunderwing himself.

Thunderwing stands as the image slowly clarifies his form, adding slight colour to the crackling, glowing projection, showing him to be slightly more gaunt, slightly more battle-scarred, but alive. And also very angry. "RAMJET!" he cries as his voice crackles out across the void. "I was to contact YOU. And do not think I am pleased with your recent actions, you FOOL. Do you realise what you have done in slaying Galvatron? Do you realise what a thin thread our lives are all hanging on? No, you can't grasp it, can you?!"

"Shut UP!" Ramjet snaps right back at Thunderwing, near-lunging from his seat. He promptly raises his arm, aiming the black rifle-cannon at the projection of the madman. His fingers curl tight into his palm and let trip the concealed trigger, firing a lance of purple energy at him! It does little more than slide harmlessly through the projection and leave a neat hole against a nearby wall, resulting in Ramjet furrowing his brow and blinking at what he'd done. He glances at the barrel of his weapon, which smokes just lightly from use. "/Oh/," he comes to realize. He then looks back to Thunderwing and gets to the matter at hand. "This /fool/ you speak to is now AIR COMMANDER, Thunderwing! You will address me with respect that I deserve!" Ramjet presses his cone out and sneers angrily before coming to some sort of calm. Typical Decepticon arrogance.

Settling against his seat, Ramjet comes to glower. "By slaying Galvatron, -I- have ensured that -I-, and the rest of the /Empire/, functions for another day. Under that /madman/, we would've all stood a better chance at being fragged by his hand than against the enemy!" The Air Commander hmpfs and comes to folding his arms over his smoky grey canopy. "I fail to see how this has put us at even greater risk!"

Thunderwing simply stands in position, glowering at Ramjet. "Air Commander Ramjet. Air Commander for a brief, flickering second, in an Empire the size of a grain of sand in the scheme of things. And I /AM/ addressing you with the respect you DESERVE!" He looks away to the side and points a finger. "Insertion team Eighteen-Sigma, initialise!" he barks, before turning back to Ramjet, his hands clenching in anger.

"HE was the only one of the two who could have hoped to resist the Enemy, /Seeker/. But your failure in lusting after your short term goals over the long term survival of our race is not total. There is another way. My men are scattering across the galaxy, and it just so happens that our goals may co-incide. For the Autobots MUST be kept ignorant and busy."

Ramjet's upper lip peels back against a row of matte metal teeth as Thunderwing puts him in his place. "You and your prattling on about the 'Enemy'! The Quintessons are scattered, their homeland a memory. Humanity is resistant but will soon kneel, as will ten thousand more worlds. There is no more enemy for Cybertron. We have terminated every single threat to the freedom of our people! The Autobots are ..hnh.. misguided, but worthy, target-practice at best. I fail to see what is left beyond the buzzing chatter of that half-dead security officer!" Ramjet's optics slide to the side. He wonders. Whatever happened to Goldpaver, anyway? Must've died when Unicron's head was sent crashing into Cybertron. He then looks back to the projection of Thunderwing. "Ignorant and busy? Your 'coincidences' are hardly that, Commander! What do -you- know of the future? Already, to further my glory, I am readying an assault on their remaining stronghold of Iahex. When it crumbles, their last foothold on our homeland will be removed and then they're stuck on Earth, to which a final blow will soon be struck. But.."

Ramjet sneers again. Admitting weakness is an awful thing for any Decepticon. "Our forces are still too weakened from this civil war and I trust Sweeps about as far as I can throw one. I need a trump card to play to ensure the destruction of Iahex and the Autobots who will defend it. Since we have lost your Pretender technology and the Argosy, this trump card must be TRYPTICON. Yet he runs on low power and his systems are in disrepair. It will take far too long to ready him at the rate my repair team is moving and once he is operational, he is a... disagreeable.. weapon. I need to control him, Thunderwing. Control him and make him more powerful than before. Then, Iahex will fall and I can reap this glory for my own."

Thunderwing sneers, his arms folding against his chest. "Savour your ignorance Ramjet, for if you knew of the foe we face, you would run so far and so fast, that the end of the universe itself would not be enough. *I* am watching your back, do not forget that."

He points a gauntleted finger forwards, towards Ramjet, threatening almost to come out of the projection. "But I am not here to argue with you, it is a fools errant to argue with a wall. So long as you continue to harass the Autobot Prime at every opportunity, you will serve my purposes. But Trypticon is not controllable, not by you and not by me. However..."

He presses some buttons on his wrist, and the transmitter device starts to fizzle. On one of Trypticon's control consoles, appears a hologramatic diagram of a purple Decepticon, shiftly slowly to robot mode to buggy mode and back again. "An intermediatary. His systems will be programmed to be the optimum medium to communicate between Trypticon and yourself. If you can supply the body from the schematics, /I/ can have the lasercore injected with the spark of life, and... sent to you."

Ramjet smirks at Thunderwing. Saving his space-bacon from the Autobots has paid off! He tries hard not to start giggling like an idiot over this. Deep breath. Stay calm. Stay cool. Think big. Think mean. What Would Starscream Do? Wait, no, bad. Ramjet's optical ridges lift up at Thunderwing's denial of control, "What do you /mean/ not controllable!? He's a Transformer! Not some kind of havoc-wreaking death machine with the mind of a human child!" He sneers at the thought -- how ridiculous!

At the appearance of the transforming holo-design, Ramjet unfurls his arms from his chest. His hands come to the very edge of the arm-rests of his chair and he leans forward, amazement painted across his face. "Wha? Hnnh.. yes. I /could/ have it constructed with minimum controversy raised. Let another take the glory of it and Galvatron will suspect less of me. But.. who will this robot be loyal to? The Decepticons? Or Trypticon?"

Thunderwing stays impassive as he watches the seeker peer at the design. "He will be loyal to the Future, Ramjet. But where your petty squabbles are concerned, he will be the perfect diplomat, with loyalties between the two expertly balanced. Now go, I am busy!" He waves a hand at Ramjet, and transmits more data across the wavelengths. "This is a design for a tracking device. I cannot guarantee where the lasercore will arrive, if it is to be done in secret. Once the alarm sounds, you will have just fourteen breems to retrieve the lasercore, before it self-destructs to preserve its secrets. Now begone!" Somehow overpowering Ramjet's device, the hologram of Thunderwing flickers, and then disolves, leaving only fuzzy static

"The Future!?" Ramjet shouts after Thunderwing in alarm. "Wait! No! NO!" He rails at the dissolving image, shaking his fists angrily at it. "Come back! COME BACK! What is the Future!? I must know! Thunderwing! THUNDERWIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!" The Air Commander tilts his cone back and howls, shaking his fists once more in futile gesture. "AAAARGH!" Ramjet snarls as he brings his fists down upon the arm-rests, the resounding thud sent echoing across the the upper levels of Trypticon. "Aagh... Deejay!" shouts the desperate White Devil as he turns his chair around to glare at a Mini-Constructicon. "Find him again! Bring him back! I wasn't through speaking with him yet!"

"Uhh.. no can do, Boss! These wibbly wobbly, timey wimey ...uh, stuff.. is all prototype! One charge per unit is all ya get! Get anotha?!" the Mini-Constructicon explains with a lift of its clamps and a blink of its mono-optic.

"BAAAAAAGH!" Ramjet shouts in frustration. He lunges his fist forward and simultaneously snaps off a shot at the miniature robot. The blast turns the mechanoid into a scattering of wrecked parts.

"..harsh," blips another Mini-Constructicon."

"Unnh..." Ramjet whines as he slumps into his chair and places a hand against his cone. He can already feel the headache beginning to brew. "Did you get the data he sent?"

"Yessir!" beeps the robot.

"Download it to a thumb-drive and destroy the file on Trypticon's systems. No one is to know about this until I speak to the CONSTRUCTICONS...." sighs Ramjet. Every thing is a challenge.