If you are interested in joining, please visit the rules/signup thread. ________________________________________________________________ December 13, 2017 Lake St. Clair "Pump systems operating at 100%. Flooding in compartment C5 and J6 will be neutralized in three cycles." Kiloton sighed in relief and leaned back against the captain's- her chair. It still felt wrong. She had always wanted a command position, but this wasn't quite what she had been hoping for. Every single prisoner loose in a human metropolis, with nothing at her disposal but a sunken ship and said ship's crew- good, honest Decepticons, to be certain- but hardly equipped for the task at hand. She opened up a ship-wide PA. "All available personnel, please report to the bridge."
Stockade marched into the bridge, gave a hearty salute before standing up against the wall. "Stockade reporting for duty, ma'am!" he announced. Water dripped on the floor, due to a partially flooded deck he had to wade through.
Delphi padded quietly onto the bridge, eyeing the scattered puddles with distaste. She had nearly stepped in a few on her way; her flight-capability had allowed her to avoid those parts of the ship which were genuinely flooded, and, along with a strong sense of prudence, was the only thing that had saved her from being a mess like Stockade. Many flying Cybertronians bore frames of abnormal stature; in the specific context of this particular situ8ion, Delphi's rather modest size had been a boon-- The young R.A.I. officer wasn't adverse to wetting her metal if it was absolutely necessary, but she was loathe to slosh her way through a slurry of alien brine mixed with oils and lubricants and stray coolants from the ship if she did not absolutely have to. She felt some small inkling of self-satisfaction at having arrived before the ship's active captain dry and clean. "Reporting, Captain." She snapped a quick but crisp salute.
A sopping Splintercore trudged his way onto the bridge, spreading water everywhere. The poor mech had been in one of the flooded compartments when the water had came in, and only quick action on his part had prevented him from being swept out. Facing his commander, he saluted, sending liquid flying. "Splintercore is here!" he proclaimed. Knocking some water out of his audial, he added, "Soaked, but here."
After some minutes or so a loud vibrating noise came from the ship's damaged and flooded corridors. A tan tank entered the bridge and transformed. "Killbison on your service." he bowed really elegantly "But if I may add the ship's really wet."
The roar of an engine echoed throughout the bridge as a low-slung Pagani performed a ridiculous powerslide through a puddle. Stinger converted with a flourish, raising her shield above her head to deflect the splash of water she had sent airborne. "Aw, man, I can't believe these slowpokes beat me here," she chuckled. A matte-black flier followed, entering the room far less dramatically. She tiptoed through the standing water, looking repulsed with every step. "Scythe One on standby, Comrade Kiloton," she groaned. Kiloton surveyed the group. They weren't exactly a full combat unit, but they would have to suffice for now. "The good news is, the ship isn't taking on any more water," Kiloton explained. "The bad news is that she's probably not going to fly again any time soon. Which means we'll need to be recovering the prisoners on foot. They've likely fled for the city of Detroit; that's where we'll look first. You can deploy using a large escape pod, they're rated for hazardous environment use and have a built-in flotation device. Stockade, I'm giving you command and control authority for this excursion. Cover as much ground as you can, and stay incognito. There are millions of humans up there. We can't afford a breach in cover. Delphi, I'm assigning you to Whisper as Scythe Two," she said, gesturing towards the matte-black flier, who still seemed to be shrinking away from the water. "Scythe Team will perform aerial reconnaissance until Stockade calls for air support." Whisper shot a nervous glance towards Delphi and began to awkwardly wring her hands. "Those are your orders, Decepticons," Kiloton said, flashing a salute. "You're fighting for the revolution out there. Good luck."
Delphi dipped her head sharply. "Understood ma'am." Taking the "good luck" for what passed as a dismissal, the female Decepticon turned as if to go, flashing an expectant look at the nervous Whisper.
"All right!" cheered Stinger. "Let's HIT! THE! ROAD!" She transformed back into her supercar mode and performed a smoky burnout before launching down the corridors towards the escape pods. Whisper shuddered in place. "S-sorry, I'm just- well, you're... new. New to me. That's all."
".....And this situation is new to all of us." Remarked Delphi as she exited the bridge, leaving Whisper to catch up or fall behind. "Aqquaintances will have to be made through action and not word. We have a mission..." "I only hope our commander acted in the best interest of that mission when she made you my C.O. in the sensitive context of this op" She added much more quietly, as the doors behind her hissed shut. ..................................... "Fellow Autobots!" Elita-1 had the sort of voice that carried. It was, very much like the woman herself, big and flashy. "The Decepticons have made a mess! Not that that's a new state of affairs or anything. Being that they themselves are, collectively a mess, what the fuck else can they really make beyond more messes?" She turned, the golden, double-ended, tri-point culling-rod she used symultaneously as a weapon and staff of command clacking against the ship's freshly-polished deck. "The answer to that," She gestured, and the fore viewport was overlayed with a projection. "Is a mess of their own psycho rejects on an inhabitted alien planet. Their prison ship crashed here less than one standard megacycle ago, and our data tells us nearly a dozen Decepticon war-criminals are now loose on firm-terra, preppin to make Primus knows what kind of fuckin mess with millions of this world's squishy, excitable indigenies to bear witness." The projection zoomed in on the city of Detroit. "There is probable reason to believe the majority of them have gone to ground here, which on this planet apparently passes for some kind of uninhabitted industrial district. Low population concentration. But who knows how long they stay there. Your mission? Very simple. Form a perimeter. Stop them from making a mess, escaping, or holing up any deeper than they already have." Her blazing fuschia optics narrowed. "This is a kill on sight op, Autobots. That means lascerate to eviscerate. Shoot to cold-boot. S'not likely any of these vermin will give you any higher courtesy, and elimination of these targets within a short time-frame is vital. Paramount, as our glorious and loquacious supreme commander n' Prime would put it."
"Uh, ma'am, I doubt it's my place to say..." a tall red-and-white truck-bot spoke up, "But do we HAVE to kill them? Can't we just incapacitate them and then take them to Cybertron for further judgement when we get this flying again?"
"It's kill or be killed out there, boy. The Decepticons are ruthless, they are a real wild force, like animals and for that reason they need to be put down just as animals." a yellow Autobot corrected his fellow comrade. "Don't be like that, Hot Shot. Not all of them are 'savages'." A colorful bot noted. "Like you know, Flame. You were banned from Cybertron, for Primus' sake. I don't know how or why you are on this mission." Hot Shot rudely replied.
"If you doubted it was your place to say, maybe you shouldn't have said it," She narrowed her eyes. "....Medical officer Ratchet. But now that you have, I suppose I'm obliged to answer. And the answer is "no". These are enemies of the state. What's more, they're enemies of the state who have proven they cannot even function within the rules which the Decepticon rebellion has set up. They are murdurers of noncombatants, traitors to their own cause, and too dangerous to risk trying to subdue in this kind of environment anyway." She grinned, letting out a throaty chuckle. "If you want to make nice, I doubt I'll even have to sanction you and file the paperwork for a military court hearing. Looking at these rapsheets, I think you'll just end up with a new ventilation port."
"If you say so... But I'm not the one who brought on those two." Ratchet cast a glance at Hot Shot and Flame.
Hot Shot stared at Ratchet without saying a thing. Something about him was very familiar. "I've got a call saying that you needed more men for this operation and that's why I came." Flame replied.
Whisper followed, but not too closely. She bit her lip and cursed herself under her breath. Why is it so hard to do this? she thought. "Ryoukai, commander," said Crossblades with an overzealous salute. He wasn't too concerned about what the mission was, only that it would be a challenge. That's what he lived for. "Old-timers being suspicious... what else is new?" snickered Cross-Fade, walking into their midst. He turned to Ratchet. "C'mon, gramps. Be yourself, by yourself. This is war, not a charity case." He glanced over at Hot Shot. "Now that's a slick whip," he said, admiring the yellow mech's altmode parts. "Is that one of those Hellcats?"
"Yes ma'am!" salutes Stockade. "We'll head out and wait for Calcar to alert us to the first signal that appears!" Stockade would proceed to exit out and await his team at the nearest escape pod. He would then activate his commlink to all members of his ground crew. "All units, meet me at pod B-3." At this point, Bluestreak and Smokejumper entered the room. "Sorry we're late, we were moving some of the crates around" said Bluestreak. "Vhat did we miss, mademoiselle?" asked Smokejumper.
"A briefing, nothing special." Hot Shot replied while scratching his nose. ------- In an abandoned warehouse in Detroit a silver cybertronian is tinkering with something. "That's not gonna work, you hear!" He shouted but no one was in the room "Yes, I know that this is just a dishwasher but I may turn it into a photon bomb." He picked the human dishwasher and turned it upside down. "What? It'll work, you'll see!"
Smokejumper groans, before adjusting his scarf and looking at the elderly Autobot. "Monsieur!" yelled Smokejumper. "Please speak een le tongue zat ve can all understand! Eet eez, how we say, very annoying. Zis irritates us all to ze very core!"
