Dr Sixarp (log)

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===================== Reports =================================== Message: 9/11                     Posted        Author Five Hundred Years On             Mon Dec 10    Galactic News -- Galactic News Journal, Issue 2x45^5

Can it really be five hundred solar years since the Fifth Galactic War ended? Certainly today's remebrance ceremony presided over by Nespa's very own Graff Vynda K would seem to indicate as such. Five hundred solar years since the brutal conflict that started on the planet Sisong span out of control and engulfed half the civilised worlds of Mutter's Spiral.

Can anyone forget the shelters where we cowered during Mageddon Cascade attacks. The star Quaquod imploding from the effects of a Sevenfold Crown? Or even the vile Admiral Kang's personal warship, The Iron Gauntlet, shaped like a gigantic hand, which literally crushed planets in its fist.

Of course, for some races, five hundred solar years is a long time. For others, it is the blink of an eye. But no-one should forget that even though Kang is long dead, his inner circle, known as The Sisong Seven are still out there, hiding from their war crimes amongst the stars.

Can we forget? Can we forget the vile Magnus Greel, Minister of Justice who together with his Peking Homunculus caused the deaths of untold thousands. Memories of the geneticist Sorvad whose twisted experiments into biology caused untold pain to thousands, and whose bioweapons killed billions more. And of Doctor Sixarp, whose name lives on in infamy as one of the most twisted weapons developers to ever walk the Spiral. His legacy still lives on, be it from the now sadly inverted world of Betafarl, or Crandor, where the inhabitants are still partly cybernetic as a result of his experiments.

Wherever they are, if they still live, they must be brought to justice. Because even if they can dismiss or forget their crimes, we cannot.

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Decepticon Start!
NCC Medical Ward

''Like its previous incarnation, this medical ward was designed with the medic in mind, with all the modern advances to make the dirty work of repairs a world easier. It is well lit, the blue and violet metal of the walls and decor is a shade paler here, and the ubiquitous filigree is missing, all to assist in ease of cleaning. Still, the place veritably sparkles. In the furniture, there is a subtle motif of blades and sharp edges, as if to evoke the scalpel of a surgeon, although it is all quite safe. Around two dozen beds, more comfortable than their sharp looks would suggest, fill the medical ward, laid out in a tidy grid, and more can be flipped out of the walls should emergency demand it. A set of tracks on the ceiling mirror the grid of beds, allowing advanced scanning equipment and tolls to be swiveled around to the various beds. Computer terminals and cabinets are molded right into the walls at intervals, and while there are the normal medical security cameras, it appears as if someone has set some of the cameras specifically to watch the cabinets.''

Shockwave would frown if he had a face. Granted overclocking is good in gaining short term boost but it tends to wear out over time and prolonged use. "You are correct Scrapper. He is also aware that prolonged overclocking is not advisable?"

Sixshot visibly relaxed, as if he'd been fighting on some subconcious level being trussed up. His head lowered to a resting position, optics still bright, but noticably fixed. Immobilized, Sixshot would still be able to offer a comment when he felt it necessary, though he was willing to allow graciously Fusillade her due there. That Shockwave might participate was unexpected, and Scrapper's explanation for it was at the same time...unsettling. When in battle you could only get killed, threatning his higher functions was saying he could turn out like Blueshift. He'd rather be dead.

Scrapper nods to his cycloptic comrade. "Yes, but try telling a warrior the dangers inherent with upgrades and they'll still want the upgrade. The lure of power is just too strong for them." Taking out a laser screwdriver (who'd have sonic?), Scrapper steps up to Sixshot. With the one-mech-army hanging from the ceiling, the spot in Sixshot's chest where he needs to operate is at a perfect level for Scrapper. Whatever he's doing is too precise to really be seen, but the occasional flicker of the screwdriver shows that he is doing _something_ or other.

And speaking of the awesome guy known as Blueshift, he enters the medbay, large as life, with a large metal ball stuck to his head. He looks about expectantly. "Has... has anyone seen any sweeps guys?"

More whirs and clicks surround the pod that is effectively melded into the corner, the glow in the optical units growing steadily brighter as her energon systems flood dormant non-critical systems. There's a subtle shift in her positioning as Symphony's mobility systems unlock from standby mode, analysis systems run through status checks internally as the optical pods swivel and assess the individual occupants - Scrapper, Scavenger, Shockwave, Fusillade, Sixshot. Initially these names mean nothing as pathways are re-initialized, information floods from storage into her flowing mind and the status checks return all green, and thus a soft scratching is heard as she disconnects herself from her perch, dropping to the floor and landing on extended spidery limbs with a soft clink.

If Sixshot hadn't been aware before, he sure was now! He was right there, but being referenced as if he were not-- a typical engineer trait. He'd long gone from being another Decepticon, but more like a challenge. "I'm willing to accept the risk if the situation demands it. Power or no, what speaks for itself is results." He answered even if not directly asked. His voice was oddly detached.

"No... no Sweeps..." Scrapper says absentmindedly. Almost all of his attention is on the work. All joking aside, he -does- take this surgery attempt seriously, and is doing his best to make sure Sixshot's head doesn't explode. "Your vision might go a little bit blurry, Sixshot, as I speed up your the clock rate of your TPU." Targetting Processing Unit, obviously. By increments, Scrapper does just that, slowly increasing the rate.

"Naw, you're good for now, Blueshift," Fusillade waves the fugitive in, although her citrine optics are agleam with miscief in Sixshot's direction. Granted, the next time she's in for physical upgrades to her alt mode, there will be plenty of opportunity for him to swing by and make veterinary school cracks. There's a quick flash of her glossy pale ghost grey and burnished charcoal grey from at the clicking at the periphery of her audial range. Shockwave keeps an optic on Sixshot's vitals..."Everything is normal for now. Perhaps a tiny hint of stress in there. You can relax Sixshot, Scrapper is one of the best.

Blueshift nods, the ball still stuck to his head. "Ah, good good. I uh, found a package addressed to Shockwave, and now its stuck to my head" he frowns, not really explaining how it could have got there. "It uh... won't come off. Can someone shoot it off?"

Homunculus was here the whole time, of course. It's his suitably imposing stature that kept him generally out of sight beneath one of the tables. Face twisted in its usual unpleasant way, he steps out into the room proper. Engaging his grav systems, he floats free of the floor and hovers about head height with everyone else, just to catch a better glimpse of what seems to have everyone occupied. He looks sorely tempted at the thought of shooting someone who is actually asking for it, but he's likely far down the list for that honor.

If Scrapper hears Shockwave's compliment, he doesn't react to it. The laser screwdriver flickers a few more times. "Still able to see alright?" he asks the warrior.

Shockwave looks up at Blueshift trying to figure out the whole package stuck to the head thing. "How in the world did that happen Blueshift and from who did this package come from?"

Sixshot was listening closely, even to what Blueshift was saying...waste of processing time that it was. He would take the other up on his offer if no one else had leapt to do the deed themselves by the time everything was finished. "Even without voice-recognition I can tell who it is at the door." He answered. And, he tried to relax, it came more easily this time around as if with Shockwave's logical and continuous assessment of odds was reason enough for him now.

The Battle Engine takes a few short steps, seeming tentative - but oddly as soon as Blueshift speaks there's a loud whine and whir as the gunpods swivel and deploy, the Vulcan II turrets coming to life as if prepared to honor Blueshift's request without a second thought. Symphony, however, hesitates as higher level brain functions over-ride base feral instincts and the weapons ratchet to a stop, though the primal malice that seems to color her optical units in this mode doesn't fade away as her attention turns now to what exactly is going on around her, still apparently recalibrating herself after a long dormancy.

"I was... looking to see if it was a bomb sir, you wouldn't want a bomb, would you sir?" Blueshift wails. "It was in a pretty box as well, expensive looking. I know you wouldn't want to be blown up by an expensive bomb, but... I got it stuck to my head!"

A faint 'hnn' of boredom is directed Sixshot's way by Fusillade, before she double-takes at Blueshift's situation. She can't be horribly surprised, but there's a growing knot festering in her pump that Shockwave is going to get it in his single, beady bulb to delegate the investigation... "Not in here, there's auto-countermeasures," she murmurs to Symphony in an even tone to halt the engine's advance.

Shockwave ponders the odds //Probability device is dangerous: 71.4% Probability device stuck to Blueshift because of said device or box properties: 12.6% Probability device stuck to Blueshift because he is an idiot: 87.4% Is the box worth the risk of investigating myself: 45.7% Conclusion...// "Fusillade...see what this box thing is all about. I am busy assisting Scrapper." he says flatly while keeping an optic on the vitals. "Still looking good."

Finally, after this fairly complex 'boot-up' the familiar nails-on-chalkboard voice utters, perhaps raspier than normal and certainly in a softer tone, "Yyyess... it is med-center." yeah, okay she's not FULLY back online yet. There's another ratcheting sound fills the air as the gunpods withdraw once more, the body shifting and tilting to look at Fusillade, all of the informational files are there, but beyond that Symphony finds no particular emotional coloring and thus the attention returns to Blueshift, malice still radiating from her as she tries to piece things together.

"Frak."

Blueshift starts to tug at the ball stuck on his head. It is smooth, silver and shiny, and there is no obvious way that it is stuck there (Mostly because Blueshift is a huge idiot really). On top is a large, inviting button. He keeps hitting the ball. "Doesn't anyone have a chipper thing? To scrape it off?"

Homunculus watches the various exchanges of conversation in silence; one optic ridge raised imperiously. Though still glowering for no good reason, he slowly folds his arms across his chest and begins drumming his fingers impatiently along his chassis. "Perhaps we should return to the suggestion of shooting it off," he offers from the side, nodding at Blueshift. "I'm sure the countermeasures could be disabled in some fashion or other."

Soundwave steps in quietly, holding a datapad and tapping away at its screen. He appears to have no idea that there is some sort of catastrophe brewing in here.

Scrapper continues to work Sixshot over. "Your vision, Sixshot? How well can you still see?" he asks for the second time. The Constructicon is only barely aware of the issue with Blueshift, as his focus is on Sixshot. He's in the upgradin' zone, as it were.

2007 Cadillac Escalade SUV  wanders in, not really paying attention to where he's going..he's in day seventeen of his search for the NCC Cafeteria. Clearly, there are some things he has yet to learn.

"I mean, yessir." Fusillade frowns a bit, before striding over to Blueshift. She paces around him, like a wolf pup trying its best to size up how to approach a porucpine. "Right. Shockwave wants me to remove his sticky package from Blueshift's head..." At that point, she unholsters one wingblade, and with the menacing slither of metal edges over each other, she half-opens it to form a V shape. "Hold still, Trooper," she commands Blueshift, as she angles the edge under the contact point between Blueshift's cranium and the item, making an effort to not compress any obvious controls on the thing. She jams the swallow-tailed weapon down.

Fusillade succeeds in grasping Blueshift, throwing him off-balance.

"I can tell that that Blueshift has something remarkably stuck to his head. How stupid past the obvious it is, I can't tell yet." Like if it is a bomb indeed, or worse. He was paying more attention however to what Scrapper was doing, his 'gaze' turned inward.

Blueshift yelps as Fusillade cuts the object from his head, taking a bit of his helmet with it. "Aaaie!" he wails as he starts to flail violently as with a snap it comes free. "Oh Primus, my head might be leaking!" Fusillade now has one (1) smooth sphere with a button on it. There is no obvious reason why it stuck to Blueshift's head other than his incredible stupidity

Scrapper hmms and says, "Ok, that's about all I dare to overclock at the moment, then." He pulls the laser screwdriver back out and lectures the warrior a bit. "Now listen, Sixshot, this isn't an exact science. There might be side effects. If they are too severe let me know and we'll reverse the process before you get permanent damage to your lower functions." Now that he's no longer in the zone, Scrapper becomes more aware of just what's happening with Blueshift, Fusillade, and the others. He peers in their direction.

Blitzwing had come to see Sixshot get overclocked, out of professional curiosity as much as anything, but is pleased to find that there's some of Blueshift's usual buffoonery going on as well. Bonus!

Soundwave puts down his datapad for a moment, watching as Fusillade slices away at Blueshift. Is she performing some much needed brain surgery, or is this something else? But more importantly... "What is that object?" Soundwave asks, pointing at the ball.

2007 Cadillac Escalade SUV  idles in the corner, having been intrigued by the shiny sphere in Fusillade's hand. He refrains from speaking, which is probably for the best.

Holding the wingblade flat up, balancing the sphere on the tip and thusly doubling her arm's length, and the distance between the item and herself, Fusillade asks, "Do we have a containment field of some sort that I can deposit this thing? I am not qualified to render technical advice about this time." That last appears directed at Soundwave, although it's just as likely that she's announcing it to the room at large.

"S-s-shall I exa-a-mine the device for explosive propertiesssss?" Symphony asks as the quadrupedal war platform approaches the silver object, sensor units sweeping over it curiously before her attention raises to lock onto Fusillade, whom has been put in charge of figuring out what idiocy Blueshift has gotten himself into, "I-i-i-t might be dangeroussssss." clearly there are still systems not fully functioning inside of the battle engine - she's being HELPFUL for heaven sakes.

"It could be a space-melon!" Blueshift blurts out for no reason, rubbing his head in pain

"SILENCE! Or I shave the rest of it off," Fusillade barks out.

 Rippersnapper says, "Where everyone go?!"

Homunculus tries to maneuver himself in order to float a little closer to Fusillade and the relocated object of curiosity. His gaze flits back and forth as everyone seems to be determined to get a word in at the moment, save Rider of course. There's nothing much he can contribute at this point, unless someone needs to have the massacred.

 Scrapper says, "We aren't in the medbay."

2007 Cadillac Escalade SUV  beeps his horn. "Yo, it's just a ball or somethin..chill, y'all. Someone got a space-hoop stuck to their head? We can get a game on!"

 Rippersnapper says, "Oh, where are everyone?"

"Severe, as in self-implode? I'll be sure to let you know Scrapper." Sixshot was kidding, kind of. It was a serious business indeed when it came to these things, but Scrapper had it right, warriors were always more willing to accept whatever damaging effects which were the result of pushing their systems to the limits...for power. Warriors just each all had a more decorated way of approaching such a trait. "Thank you, I look foward to testing out the results in the first battle I can." To the limit. It was also getting very busy in the repair bay, and the fact some unknown object had also arrived made him want to be re-activated and let down all the more.

 Geo says, "Having tea at Autobot city. You should join"

 Magma says, "Either there or Cybertron..."

Glancing askance at the mini-Galvatron, Fusillade smiles ruefully. "Demolitions experience is a plus in this case, yes," she replies to Symphony as she turns to a medical table, and slides the silvery sphere onto the surface. "The button is a fierce temptation..."

Scrapper tilts his head slightly, looking at the strange sphere with the button. "Severe as in your internals could overheat and melt," he tells the Sixchanger. "But no explosion, no." Now only half paying attention to Six and half paying attention to the silly wackiness going on, Scrapper slowly begins undoing the various life support hoses that kept Sixshot monitored during the procedure.

Soundwave nods to Symphony. "Permission granted. But first, place it within a containment field. If the device explodes, that should greatly minimize the damage." He considers the button, himself. It seems so obvious to press it. Maybe... too obvious? He rubs the bottom of his faceplate, wondering...

Blueshift is staring at the space melon. "Uh, surely if it was going to blow up, it would have done so. Can't we just have like, Blot press the button and hope nothing bad happens. Or something bad happens, one of the two?" Of course, if anyone scans it, they will find no evidence of any explosive device whatsoever

 Rippersnapper says, "...We at Autobot City....?"

 Geo says, "No, no. I'm joking."

The Battle Engine shifts and reconfigures, the sounds normally associated with this conversion sounding rather grinding and out of synch before Symphony approaches the sphere, battle mask locking into place over her face as her hands reconfigure into deep scanning tools specifically designed for working with explosives of all sorts. As she reaches the table, she hits a button on the side, a field snapping over the entire contraption as she bends over, bringing one of the several probes close to the surface, beginning a digital dissection of the device in question.

 Rippersnapper says, "Rrrrrrippersnapper no joke. Rippersnapper tear gears out you tell lie to Rippersnapper."

 Magma says, "Check Cybertron..."

Surprisingly, Homunculus seems to take the hint. After the sideways glance from Fusillade, the tape drifts up and back over the leading edge of the spectators. Compliance isn't usually like him, but out of the way he scoots. He seems oddly patient, simply observing as best he can from his new vantage point.

Any scan of the device will not reveal much, save that it is some sort of transmission relay, though where any signal may come from is unknown

When her voice comes again, it's deflated and perhaps a bit bitter, "Nnnnoo signs of explosive material, energy, chemical or otherwise. D-device appears to be of communications origin, but another will have to determine more." the field snaps off and Symphony steps away, hands reconfiguring as her battle mask withdraws once more. She looks decidedly bitter that she wasn't going to be able to play with something that goes boom, but soon her expression turns placid as she half slinks, half staggers over to stand very close to Fusillade, leaving the device where it sits for another to deal with.

Scrapper glances at the sphere, then at Symphony as she runs tests on it, and then at the twit. "Blueshift, where did you get this thing?" he asks, obviously curious. He is uncertain if he really wants to know the answer, but he's willing to tempt fate.

Soundwave continues to rub at his chin. This is really bothering him. Too simple. Too... obvious. Is he freaking out over nothing? Maybe. But caution has kept him alive for a long time. "If it is a communication device, then we should press the button," he proposes. His way of saying that he thinks it's a good idea, but wants someone else to do it fo rhim!

"Duely noted." Sixshot replied, waiting patiently to be let down and everything done with. He'd be happier to be under his own power and able to, well, /move/ if things got messy. "I'm going to hold you to the 'no explosion' though." Was he being serious?

"AW C'MON, y'all! Somebody press a button already!" With that, the SUV in the corner transforms, revealing the chrome-accented form of Rider. "Y'all a bunch'a..." He trails off as he walks towards the containment field, arm outstretched, finger pointed...aiming towards the button... The Cadillac Escalade shifts on up into Rider's big pimpin' robot mode.

...and he presses the dang button already!

As Rider presses the button, the device starts to whirr and come to life, the previously smooth surface of the ball opening up as a beam of yellow light eminates from it. The light resolves itself into a hologram of an ancient humanoid, sitting in a technological wheelchair, looking more like a corpse than anything alive. "Ah good..." he mutters, dark eyes shining as he starts to cough. "'hem. You found it at last. It seems you are more cowardly than the Autobots, who are already on their way to me right now. That may be the difference between your life and your death. My name is Doctor Sixarp. I /trust/ you have heard of me"

Scrapper finally unhooks the last wire that had been keeping Sixshot suspended. He's about to launch into yet another 'be careful and you might experience wacky side effects' speech, but he decides if Sixshot wasn't listening to him before, he isn't going to start now. "Hey, wait!" Scrapper shouts at Rider, seeing what's going on over his shoulder. "Don't touch th- ahhh..." he stops and stares at the hologram. Scrapper has only vaguely heard of this punk. Galactic history isn't his strong suit.

"Your name lives on in infamy, supposedly," remarks Blitzwing. "But I wouldn't expect too much historical knowledge if I were you, Decepticons aren't real big on book-learning as a whole."

Homunculus tenses as Rider reaches for the sphere. Narrowing his optics, he drops his arms to his sides and looks ready to launch himself at whatever the device spews forth. The image of a crippled old man hardly seems worth the effort though, and the diminutive warrior manages to relax somewhat. He nods to the figure, but otherwise doesn't offer a response.

Soundwave folds his arms smugly. "You are a sentient life form of some note," he understates. "Why have you sent us this device? And how did it come to be attached to our... comrade's head? Was he attacked by it?" Somehow Soundwave finds that absurd, but within the ream of possibility where Blueshift is concerned.

The image of Sixarp grins, and then he suddenly devolves into a violent coughing fit, bile trickling down his mouth. Slowly and shakily he wipes it off, giving a cackle. "I sent it to you. The device has no adhesive properties, your man was simply too much of a bufoon" he croaks. "But time is short. I learnt that a while ago, your forces met one of my Orbital Defense devices on Gragulox. Well, I hope you weren't impressed, because frankly, it was nothing to what I created later on. But I am old, and I do not intend to die." His eyes become slightly more steeled. "I am issuing you an invitation, to meet me at my base, and bid for my creations. I could end your war with a flick of my wrists. And to sweeten the deal, I have also invited your shall we say, adversaries"

Scrapper was good to not waste his time. Sixshot was listening now that he was set down, having briefly checked himself over outwardly to make sure everything was in place, then within. Satisfied, he looked foward to testing out the new changes with all intents of pushing it to the limits...if anything went wrong, well. He knew who he'd be looking for to fix it!

Scrapper was on the mission to Gragulox, though he stayed behind on the shuttle, mysteriously right around the time when Gantry showed up. Mysterious. "Good news, Sixarp," Scrapper quips, "You're right - we /weren't/ impressed." Beyond this, the Constructicon seems somewhat empathetic to Sixarp's story. "Wait, you invited the /Autobots/??? The Autobots wouldn't know what to do with a doomsday device if it bit them on the tailpipe!" Note to self, Scrapper thinks. Make a doomsday device that bites Autobots.

Soundwave mutters, "The walking eye." He had such a wonderful conversation with Shockwave that day. But that's not important now. "Your weapon was admittedly difficult to destroy, even though it did not damage our personnel by very much. We would certainly be interested in browsing your other products. If you have made progress since your last effort, we may even consider purchasing one. But I guarantee you nothing." He turns to the other Decepticons, and puts a hand to the side of his head.

 Soundwave has encrypted this channel.

 Soundwave says, "The Autobots are likely to destroy Dr. Sixarp's weapons. We must arrive before them."

Sixarp starts to choke again, gunge running down his cheek as he leans forward in his chair. "I recommend then, Decepticon, that you read up on your galactic history. I..." he starts gurgling again, wiping down his chin with a cloth. "I have in my possession weaponry that has decimated entire solar systems. And what have /you/ done? Skulked about on this mudball of a world for the past few decades. For a small fee, I can raise you up above the Gods. You are my preferred buyers, the Autobots are there as... encouragement"

Homunculus' expression softens somewhat at the implication of weapons capable of absurd destruction. That may not be exactly what the old codger said, but it certainly triggers high explosive sugar plum dreams in one little Decepticon's head. "It would be easy to take this offer, then kill the Autobots when we get there." His voice is low, with an edge of almost glee at the thought of the carnage to come. "Then we will have no competition for these devices. Instead of their comrades returning, we'll surprise the remaining fools with their final destruction."

"Your time might have been better spent pursuing, oh, I don't know, medical ventures," Fusillade remarks dryly.

 Scrapper says, "I agree. If there are weapons to plunder, lets plunder it."

 Sixshot says, "If it involves dealing with the Autobots, I consider it worth my time."

<Decepticon> Soundwave says, "Yes. And, of course, we will kill the Autobots while we are there."

Symphony stares listlessly at what's going on, shakes her head, looks up at Fusillade and then turns and moves away, her equilibrium still sitting slightly off. She approaches an exit and pauses there, glancing over her shoulder before ducking through the door.

<Decepticon> 7th Biggest Sixshot Fan Blot says, "Blot say Sixshot will win the day! Sixshot is strongest!!"

<Decepticon> Blueshift says, "Can I eat the Space Melon now sir?"

<Decepticon> Soundwave says, "NO!"

<Decepticon> Homunculus says, "If what he says is true and the Autobots are already en route, we should perhaps take our leave of the base and try to intercept them."

Scrapper would grimace at the alien's disgusting visage, but his facial features don't make that easy. All the Decepticons seem to be on the same page here: Kill the Autobots, take the weapons for themselves. As Primus intended. "Small fee? Heh, sure. Where to?"

<Decepticon> Rippersnapper says, "Rippersnapper hope Sixshot bring home Autobot trophies... sign, for Terrorcons!"

Sixarp grins at Fusillade, choking again. "Oh, my lady, I have. I am already for past my normal lifespan, but the flesh is weak. I will wait for you on my base on Nothoth. The device will broadcast my location when it deactivates. Do not-" he starts to cough up bile again. "Do not attempt to turn this visit into a squabble with the Autobots. I will not /allow/ fighting in my base. Once you leave of course, it is a different matter. That is /all/." The device flickers off, and from then on, simply broadcasts the same set of co-ordinates over and over again

Rider stands, nonplussed. He was hoping for something a little more exciting from the button, truth be told. Not that he'll tell you that. "See. Told y'all mechas ain't nothin' to it. Y'all need to man up sometime."

Soundwave taps his featureless chin for a moment. "His facility will likely be equipped with built-in defenses. We will heed his warning not to initiate hostilities... until we have what we want." He peers at the coordinates. "Let us not waste anymore time, and begin this operation." Turning around, he begins to step out of the room, making sure to glare at Rider on his way out.

Scrapper recoils at the choking hologram. It is very, very gross. The Constructicon grabs his magic murder bag/took kit and falls in line behind Soundwave.

"I'll keep an eye on the base while you're all off chasing the Walking Eye contract then," Blitzwing says to the other Decepticons as the phone call ends. "Good luck thrashing the Autobots or haggling with the decrepit old mad scientist or whatever."

Blueshift waves, deciding to instead stay behind and eat the space melon once everyone else has gone

Autobot Start!
Autobot City - Repair Bay

''This is the main repair bay for the Autobots. Several operating tables lie in a row here, and a long bench lines one wall. On the bench are assorted tools used in repairing damaged Transformers. Scattered throughout the room are various repair bots, awaiting the arrival of more wounded to repair. The room gives you the perception of being immaculately clean, not a tool out of place.

On the left side of the operating arena are wide sliding doors that open into the recovery ward. Less frantic than the busy repair bay, it consists of two rows of immaculate beds on opposite walls for those needing peace and quiet to rest and recover from their repairs. The sounds of quiet conversations between medic and patient, or between visitor and patient, are about all that disturb the quiet.''

Paradigm is standing in the repair bay, a box on one of the desks, staring at it, screwdriver in hand as he examines the item. It seems to be packaging, with Autobot City's address boldly stamped onto the top

Lee-Zard is sitting at a computer, and appears to be playing Asteroids. Large headphones are covering his audials, and he wiggles along to some unheard tune.

"What do you MEAN you can't just SOLDER it back on??" roars Scattershot, terrifying the poor Gumby Medic. "It's JUST an ARM, ya buckethead." The arm in question is danging from Scattershot's left hand. Naturally, his right arm is missing. How he lost it is anyone's guess, but it probably involved an awesome space war. The Technobot Commander looks upset.

"I am UPSET with this development," he comments, more quietly now. "Now just solder this thing back on before I'm forced to use it to beat you to death." Scattershot holds the arm out towards the medic, a meaningful look in his visored optics. After a moment, the Medic takes the arm and begins to solder it back on, wisely refraining from any commentary.

Paradigm looks over wryly at Scattershot before going back to examine the box, which is addressed to Ultra Magnus. But hey, Magnus isn't about. "Repairs can be tedious, but like anything if rushed, the results will be poor. And perhaps /fatal/" he mutters sharply to Scattershot. "In short, let the experts do their job"

Entering the medbay with the woosh of the entrance doors sweeping open, Ultra Magnus seems to be moving calmly on his way to the training center -- to ensure his recent repairs are all in working order. He only stops when he notes Paradigm and his box, blue eyes turning a bit curious in their expression. "Paradigm?" He questions after a moment. "What've you got there?" His question might be a bit muted, though, in the wake of Scattershot's uproar. He turns, and frowns. "A bit impatient today, eh, Scattershot? Don't worry; I'm sure the medic knows what to do." Of course, when isn't Scattershot impatient to get back to shooting things?

"It was delivered today for you by special galactic delivery" Paradigm purrs, turning to Magnus. "I thought it wise to check it over before handing it to you, since its probably a crude trap of some sort. Though it doesn't look like it"

Scorch grumbles as the shouting causes him to wake up from his nap on a med table. Getting to his feet he gives the room a quick once over to see if any of his brothers are about before looking for the remote for the television.

Scattershot looks vaguely mollified and even more vaguely mortified at the dual admonitions. But still less than convinced. He turns his head away from Paradigm and Ultra Magnus, not wanting to make optic contact. "Yeah, well," he mutters in reply. The fingers of his left hand drum impatiently on his knee, which is in turn bouncing up and down as he taps his foot. "Ain't MY fault I ain't modular."

The Technobot Commander turns his attention briefly towards the box, managing, through sheer force of will, not to snap at the medic for not being done yet. "What is it, some kinda gun?" he asks, excitement sneaking into his optics. "Is it big?"

Lee-Zard peers over as Ultra Magnus enters, and pulls his headphones down around his neck. Tinny playback of old Spiece Girls recordings can be heard from the headphones. "Ooo! It must be an early Christmas present from Space Santa! I wonder where LeeZard's present is..."

One can hear the lift that goes up and down between the repair-bay and the training arena. After a moment or so, a huge mech literally has to bend over to enter the area. Broadside's optic visor shines a moment, as he takes in all that area around. "Uh...ummm. Did I miss a radio transmission...." He says, then clicks his radio one quickly. "Must've been from Peacekeeper, she probably forgot to turn mine back one..." He says, quickly trying to pass the blame.

The frown that touches Ultra Magnus' lips now is a bit more thoughtful as he advances on Paradigm, taking a closer look at the box in question. "There's no need to be so cynical about it, Paradigm, but it was good thinking just to double check. Thank you." Thank said, he moves past Paradigm to the desk, once more looking towards the box.

"Hm. Wonder what this could be, anyway?" A gun? An odd thing to mail. But rather than wonder about it any more, Magnus will just set about to opening it up to see what, exactly, is inside.

Paradigm puts his scanning device smartly away, and with a smile stands aside as the box is opened. Inside it is a smooth metal sphere with a large button inset onto the top. "Hmm, hardly a gun, Scattershot. And by all accounts, you are not in need of any more large balls"

Bluestreak is kinda staying back and out of the way for the time being, more curious about what's going on than anything.

"Maybe it's a bomb," Scattershot comments, craning his neck to try and see what's inside, while the Medic tsks about the big mech's constant movement. Scattershot's knee tapping has, at least, temporarily subsided as his curiosity about the sphere in the box gets his interest. "Maybe it's an ANTI-MATTER bomb." he elaborates, sounding hopeful. "I always wanted one a' those things." A brief grin. "Show them Decepticons what's what with one a' THEM, I tell you what."

Durango emerges from underneath a pile of boxes that just walked through the door, having, for once, brought them safely to their destination.

Mulling over the contents idly, the Autobot City Commander can't help but squint. "No, not a gun at all..." Magnus speaks calmly as he reaches inside to pull out there metallic sphere, eyeing the button on top. "... unless your guns look like this, and then I think you'd have more to worry about than not." A brief pause, looking over to Scattershot, and then back to Paradigm. "No, I don't think this is any kind of weapon at all, Scattershot. Paradigm, you're sure this thing isn't an explosive of any sort?"

Lee-Zard's large optics open wide as the mysterious package is opened. He shakes his head free of his headphones and scampers over on all four feet, towards Ultra Magnus and the mysterious object. "Does it have any glitter? Or tinsel? Or candycanes? Can Lee-Zard see it?"

Paradigm stands, hands behind his back as he stares at Magnus. "I am a top class explosives expert, and know more about xeno-technology than any other Transformer alive. If it is a bomb, it is both nothing I have ever seen before, and not a very /good/ one. I trust that if anyone wanted to send you a bomb, they wouldn't have put an inviting button on top. A timer would be much more efficient"

There is no glitter :(

Lee-Zard still thinks it's from Space Santa.

Broadside walks over towards Ultra Magnus, and kneels down to get a better look at the device. "I got it!" He exclaims, "It's one of 'dem, work stress balls!" He says, and rises back up to nod at everyone. "Yea, that's what it is...." Though, he then looks at everyone, who's possibly passing him a weird look. "Im tellin' ya, that's all it is..." He then shrugs to the crowd.

Sunstreaker peeks up from over a bench, snatches a wrench, then ducks back down behind the bench.

Hey, that kinda rhymes.

"Hmmm. An inviting button on top of a bomb..." Scattershot looks pensive, then raises his good wrist towards his mouth. A small recorder pops out of his forearm. "Note to self: send a bomb with an inviting button on top... to the Terrorcons." At Broadside's exclamation, he looks up with incredulity written on his robotic face. "That's ridiculous, Broadside," he admonishes. "EVERYONE knows those stress balls come in PAIRS." Sheesh. Autobots today.

"You never know with some people, these days," Ultra Magnus mutters out flatly, staring at the sphere. He wouldn't put it past someone to send him a bomb with a giant button on the top to activate it; he really wouldn't. "Well then, let's see what this thing is, exactly." Assured that the device -isn't- going to explode if he touches it the wrong way, Magnus sets it back down on the desk, and presses the button atop...!

Broadside looks down at Scattershot, "Well we found this one, that might make it one!" He says, and sighs at the Technobot leader. "I swear, you think just because Im big, that Im not sharp." He presses a finger to his helmet, which makes a -pinging- noise. "Im tellin' ya, if it isn't one of them...ill..." He stops, and watches as Ultra Magnus sets the strange device down. Though, he doesn't continue as the city commander presses the button on the top of it.

As Magnus presses the button, the device starts to whirr and come to life, the previously smooth surface of the ball opening up as a beam of yellow light eminates from it. The light resolves itself into a hologram of an ancient humanoid, sitting in a technological wheelchair, looking more like a corpse than anything alive. "Ah good..." he mutters, dark eyes shining as he starts to cough. "'hem. You found it at last. My name is Doctor Sixarp. I /trust/ you have heard of me"

Scorch pushes his way over to see the now floating image then shakes his head as it speaks. "Me not know you? Who am you? Ball tell me Scorch you it am now."

There is a gun in Scattershot's hand now. It is not clear when he drew it. Maybe it was just too fast to see. But there is a gun in his hand and it is pointed at the hologram. "Doctor Sixarp!" he barks. "Magnus, Paradigm, Broadside... get back! He's a madman!" The acid pellet rifle makes a low humming noise as it powers up.

Lee-Zard leans in close, anticipation written all over his gecko-like face. "Lee-Zard wonder what will happen? Curiosity killed the cat in the hat!" He waits, rather impatiently, until the hologram appears. "Huh, I always thought Space Santa would be fatter. What we do for fancy hologram of Doctor Sixarp?"

"Its a hologram" Paradigm drolly announces. "Please tell me you can tell the difference between a hologram and real life, I thought the Technobots were supposed to be the smart ones. If it /were/ a device meant to harm, it would have /done/ that by now. The experts do not hang about"

Bluestreak waves his hands slightly as Scattershot brings his weapon out of nowhere--likely subspace. "Scattershot, I don't think it's a good idea," he protests, continuing to stay back and out of the way. Never mind the fact that Peacekeeper would have Scattershot's core should the Technobot commander open fire in the med-bay...

Quick to react, Magnus' right arm sweeps out calmly as he steps backwards, placing a single hand on Scattershot's shoulder. "Calm down, Scattershot. Paradigm is right, it's just a holographic transmission; he can't do any harm to us. Though..." Ultra Magnus' eyes narrow, focusing on the form of the not-so good doctor. "I'm sure we know who you are. And you should know we don't like wasting time. So... what do you -want-?"

Sunstreaker pops up near Ultra Magnus's shoulder, frowning. "Just a hologram? Well, ok, it's probably safe. But I'd toss it in a furnace anyway, just to be safe."

Unbeknownst to all, Wheelie climbs out of an air duct, because that's how he gets around the city. He is small, so no one can see him, regardless of stats, abilities, or whether you want to be a twink and say you see him when I just said you couldn't you stupid creep. Utilizing his small stature, Wheelie is able to calmly enter the scene, head and shoulders below the rest, looking around to see if there is any dip at this apparent party.

"Of COURSE I know it's a hologram!" Scattershot replies, harshly. "But if you think this psycho is just dropping by for a social call..." he leaves that sentence hanging as Ultra Magnus speaks his mind. "I still say it ain't safe. Remember Crandor?" The Technobot shakes his head. "This ain't right. Any second that sphere's gonna blow up, or release some kinda rust virus, or... I don't know. I just don't trust it."

Broadside leans down to look at the hologram. "Aww, just a hologram. Here I thought I might've gotten to squash something." He then shrugs. "Be that as it may, ill just have to wait. Atleast make some use of my two useless forms." Though he quiets down as he wants to listen to what the image may say. Though, he doesn't like how he has to literaly kneel to even seen the image. Hopefully though, it will be loud enough to be heard.

Durango takes a seat on a nearby rolling chair...or is it Wheelie? Who knows, they're about the same size, and equally as uncomfortable. Peacekeeper should really invest in some new furnishings. Padded.

The image of Sixarp grins, and then he suddenly devolves into a violent coughing fit, bile trickling down his mouth. Slowly and shakily he wipes it off, giving a cackle. "What do /I/ want? More what I can /give/ you" he croaks. "I learnt that a while ago, your forces met one of my Orbital Defense devices on Gragulox. Well, I hope you weren't impressed, because frankly, it was nothing to what I created later on. But I am old, and I do not intend to die." His eyes become slightly more steeled. "I am issuing you an invitation, to meet me at my base, and bid for my creations. I could end your war with a flick of my wrists. And to sweeten the deal, I have also invited your shall we say, adversaries"

It's a tank. A really really really big green hulk of a tank with a nasty crimson drill. Now it's a freakish-looking robot wearing a grin expression. He doesn't actually open fire on it, but he does tighten his grip on his blasters, "End the war?!" A shake of his heavy helm, "This guy's full of it."

Wheelie's legs buckle a little as Durango sits on him, but luckily a lifetime of cooking his own robot steroids in the wilds of Quintessa has rendered him freakishly strong for his tiny size. He shoves Durango up off of his head, adjusting the immobile brim of his visor.

"Lee-Zard not likey nasty weapons." The little Junkion wrinkles his nose in disgust. "But it be double-plus ungood for Cons's to have new toys from evil Space Santa." He also surreptiously takes out a small scanning device, which looks a lot like a Star Trek tricorder. He aps a few buttons and attempts to get a lock on the transmission, and sees if it becomes possible to triangulate the coordinates.

The flickering image of Sixarp suddenly reacts to the goings on, eyes glaring balefully at Lee-Zard. "Do not try me, you creature. If I wanted, you would be dead in an instant. I will make no secret of my location if you agree to meet me." He starts to cough again, a horrid, hacking thing, head turned to where Quickswitch is. "You doubt me? Your collegue knows of my skills. And knows what would happen if they fell into your enemies hands. Let that be your motivation, perhaps?"

Sunstreaker scowls at the transmission. "Man, we don't want what you got, freakshow. Right, guys? Am I right?" He looks around for approval--which he always craves.

"We don't have any interest in your doomsday devices, doctor," Magnus states plainly. "Anything you've invented is going to do more harm than good." And that, as they say, is the bottom line. But there are other things to consider. -Especially- with the Doctor's last statement. Ultra Magnus pauses for a moment, looking all around him at the Autobots assembled, and then back to the holographic image of Sixarp. He smiles, just slightly. "... End the war, huh? I assume you'll give us your coordinates, then, or already have it programmed into this little device of yours?"

Durango stares down Sunstreaker. "Ah say we go. Can' affoahd not teh."

Broadside waves his hands at the image, "The only thing that can end the war, is us Wreckers!" He boldy proclaims to the image. "Isn't that Right Quick?" He then turns towards Impactor, "You agree too, right boss?" Though he then rubs his head at the image. "Actually I never heard of you..." He says, trying to pester this said evil man. "Though, I could just be failing in selective memory..." He then turns to Magnus, and wonders what he'll say to all this bullglitch.

"We gotta plug this creep," Scattershot mutters to Ultra Magnus, under his breath. Out loud, he says, "Why should we believe this ain't a trap, Sixarp? You're not exactly Captain Trustworthy. For all we know, as soon as we land that big damn giant hand spaceship'll crush us to death, not so much as a 'how d'you do'." He grunts at the general tone of the responses. "He looks old an' crippled, but Sixarp ain't no joke. This here's a stone cold killer, less soul than a bucket fulla dark matter."

Sixarp grins. "I will wait for you on my base on Nothoth. The device will broadcast my location when it deactivates. Do not-" he starts to cough up bile again. "Do not attempt to turn this visit into a squabble with the Decepticons, I will not /allow it/. That is /all/." The device flickers off, and from then on, simply broadcasts the same set of co-ordinates over and over again

Paradigm strokes his chin. "If he wanted us dead Magnus, we would be dead now. That's the way he worked. No tricks, no deathtraps, just weapons of mass destruction. And I personally do not want to see any such things fall into Decepticon hands. We must have something that he wants"

The robot twists and lengthens into a leaping puma. Quickswitch sits on top of some shelving, hissing defiantly down at the hologram! Faster than the eye can follow, Quickswitch transforms into a mecha-puma.

"Me not creature, Me Lee-Zard! Humph." He grumbles, and flicks off the scanning device. "Me was just making sure you not be a trick Decepticon transmission." Lee-Zard ponders over the evil doctor's information. "Not like evil doctor, but what if he gives all nasty toys to the Decepticons? We not let him."

"Wheelie can't say this he trust," the golden robot giggles. "But keeping 'Cons from weapons? Must!"

"..." Magnus is silent for a moment after the broadcast flickers off. As he assumed, the coordinates begin to flicker into existence, broadcasting directions to the man's base. "... Agreed, Paradigm. If he's sent invitation to the Decepticons, we don't have much of a choice. He doesn't want us dead for -now-, but I don't doubt there's some sort of trick involved here. But..." Magnus turns towards the rest of the Autobots, sweeping a hand out. "Alright, Autobots. We're going to meet Doctor Sixarp at his base and see what little game he has planned here. I don't have any interest in using any weapon this man might have made, but... if we can secure them? We can destroy them, and keep the Decepticons or anyone else to use them to bring further harm on anyone else."

Scattershot stands up, arm finally re-attached. He clenches a fist. "Well, obviously we can't let the Decepticons get their hands on Sixarp's weapons... but I don't think goin' in there is the way to do it." He looks at Magnus as he issues his decree. "Look, Magnus. We got coordinates right here. All we gotta do is send a nice big planet buster that way." The Technobot gives a cruel smile. "If we're lucky, it'll get Sixarp AND the 'Cons. Two robirds, one stone."

Broadside waves his hand dismissingly, and then notes. "Im in, we gotta keep these possible death weapons out of the 'Cawns hands." He then walks over towards the door, and then looks back. "I know my fellow Wreckers would agree with that." He says, and the leans on the door frame. He's waiting to see who else will come along. Atleast he might push them more into action, then just to stand around and talk about what must be done.

"Now wait here, lets not be hasty" Paradigm hisses. "Of course, he is evil. But technological progress always comes at a cost. War always creates a surge in technology. Even your beloved humanity developed most of their drugs in labs where they tortured innocent creatures. Perhaps we can use what he has, perhaps some good can come from his evil"

"Ah 'ave teh admit...Scattehshot's plan's got mehrit. But I can' help but wondeh who or what else lives on that planet, Scattehshot. Might be innocents." He almost looks saddened by the thought that some giant bomb wasn't going to engulf the entirety of the Decepticons. "Bettah we take a gandeh ouhselves, eh?"

"If technology only death produce," Wheelie chimes with a giggle, hopping up onto a med-bed to gain height, "Wheelie will help it vamoose!" He giggles again.

Bluestreak nods faintly. "I don't care if we will use the weapons against the Decepticons or not. I'm only worried about keeping the Decepticons from getting those weapons so they can't use them against us or anyone else," he agrees with some of the other 'Bots. "I'll go too."

"Me not be helpful if Decepticons get nasty, but Lee-Zard good with technology, me come too!" The energetic little Junkion rises up onto his hind legs, and puffs out his chest.

"We can't do that, Scattershot," is Magnus' flat reply, his head shaking firmly. "For one, we don't know how populated the planet he's living on is. For another, he no doubt has some sort of satefy measures in case we decided to take such a route to take him out. He's not a stupid man, by any measure." A pause, as Magnus looks towards Paradigm. "I don't condone anything the things that you've mentioned, Paradigm, no matter who has set about making them. Not sinking to that sort of level is what seperates us from the Decepticons. Remember that."

The Autobot XO looks back again towards everyone else, frowning deeply. "I'm not comfortable with going to this madman's base with only a semblence of an idea of what's going on, but we have little in the way of alternatives. Autobots, here is our mission: we go to Nothoth, secure Sixarp's weapons, -whatever- they may be. We ensure that the Decepticons don't get their hands on it, and -if necessary-, we take it all apart. Understood?"

"You speak plain right in my ear -- Wheelie gets your orders clear!" The minibot breaks into another fit of giggles like a tiny chrome mentalist.

Bluestreak nods at Ultra Magnus' orders. "Understood, sir," he confirms.

"And, of course, take the good doctor into custody" Paradigm adds. "He is after all, a wanted war criminal"

Broadside slams his fist into an open palm. "Alright, now we're talkin!" He says with a moderate show of pleasure. "Curshin' Cons, and weapons, what more fun could there be. Well, other than changing my twin modes to useful vehicles." He then chuckles, "So, who's flying the atrocious machines there? Im definately not volunteering for that assignment." The gigantic mech looks at everyone, and really hopes there are some pilots who can fly the shuttles there.

Curious Quickswitch quirks his brows and comments, quietly, "What about the Decepticons? They're Cybertronians like we are--even if a lot of them have hit lists a mile long... I'll go, if it means keeping whatever weapons of mass destruction OUT of their hands, but not if it means unleashing it on /everyone./" Oh, if only Quickswitch could remember more than a few million years back.... (curses his player for typing slowly)

Durango walks towards the door. "You comin?" He leaves without really waiting for an answer. He'll see everyone at the landing pad.

Autobot Shuttle <Alpha Trion>

''The interior of the shuttle is very roomy. There is a highly technical cockpit that seats numerous bots at various stations, and a huge cargo area for additional troops or equipment. ''

Scattershot mutters something about acceptable loss, but sighs and throws up his hands. "FINE. Fine." He finally holsters his rifle, looking rather disgusted with the whole situation. "If those are your orders, that's what we'll do. But I ain't happy about it." Scattershot crosses his arms. "At least there'll be SOMEONE there willin' to pull the trigger... if things go sour." A pause. "Or if Sixarp looks at me funny." Another pause. "Or if I get antsy." The Technobot Commander leaps into the air and transforms into his FTL fighter mode. "I'll fly escort," he emits, verniers twitching and weapons re-aligning. "Y'know. Just in case."

Cyber-Puma <Quickswitch> gazes outside the shuttle window at Scattershot, aching for Sixshot's ability to travel the stars. Ow.

Broadside slowly makes his way into the ship, and then walks towards one of the back seat. Slowly, he sets down and screeches as the seat seems to small for him. "Would it kill the techs to make a seat big enough for my aft!?" He yells to the Autobots outside. "I swear, no consideration for the larger mechs!" Though, he does find a way to strap himself in. The seat's general location is one in the corner, and far away from any window.

Lee-Zard scampers up to the cockpit of the shuttle, and seats himself at a console with lots of flashing lights and fancy astronomy displays, and which he assumes to be some sort of science or navigation position. "Whee, shotgun!" He says with glee, even though there doesn't seem to be a shotgun seat on the shuttle. He straps himself in, and gets ready for the ride.

Moving into the Alpha Trion calmly, Magnus takes a set, strapping himself in and preparing for take-off. "Alright, set coordinates to Nothoth," he remarks, looking out a nearby window distantly. "And be prepared for anything, Autobots. Primus knows what the good Doctor actually has planned for us once we arrive."

Paradigm simply quietly takes his place at a console, still stewing over Magnus's words. "To destroy any technology is the act of an ignorant luddite" he mutters. "Yes, we are the 'good guys', but we are not /stupid/"

Durango sits down on a chair near the bay doors, ready to be the first one out when and if necessary. He takes the travel time to clean his weapons' systems. He braces for the travelspam.

AUTOBOT SIGIL SPINS AROUND ON SCREEN, AS MUSIC PLAYS

And now, back to our show, as the shuttle comes within sight of Nothoth...

Broadside finally turns on his optics, after having them turned off during the flight. "Are we there?" He asks, and hten watches the others leave. "Alright!" He says, and then leans forward. "Ahh slaggin' glitch!" He says, and finds out that he's stuck in the seat. "Oh yea, leave me in here guys, Im only STUCK IN MY SEAT!" With a mighty heave, you can hear as Broadside tears up the armrests of the chair!

Lee-Zard watches as the infamous Nothoth appears on the sensors. "Mr. Radar says 'bloop!'. I think that means we're here." He says, and taps the screen. "Or is this one Mr. Coffee?"

Outside, Space Fighter <Scattershot> warps out of subspace just ahead of the Alpha Trion, sensors stretched to their limit as he scans for hostiles. "Nothing on scanners yet, Magnus," he radios to the shuttle. "But... take it slow."

Arrival on Nothoth
Nothoth The surface of Nothoth is simply one thing - white. Snowy tundras and treacherous mountains lie covered in millenia of snowfall, a thick white sheet of snow is almost perpetually falling across the whole land, as harsh winds whip across. This is the planet's winter - a ten year period where the snow never stops, where it is forever night with lightning cracking constantly across the sky.