With a Thousand Lies (revised)

Discussion in 'Transformers Fan Fiction' started by HeroicC300, May 7, 2012.

  1. HeroicC300

    HeroicC300 Chats with Artists

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    Chapter 1: Kids With Guns

    The plane was a small one, but comfy. He had to hand it to his allies; they knew how to keep comfort up. Looking at the other passengers and staff, he smiled. They knew where the flight was going, that he was to speak to an important archeological site, but they didn’t know why. He made a silent prayer to the Thirteen for a safe flight. They were over the Pacific, and nearing their destination. He relaxed and prepared to take a nap, happy to be of use and well-known, even if it was in certain circles and not publicly.

    Upon waking, he found that they were over some Japanese mountains. How long was I out? He wondered. He was enjoying the view, when he saw a distinct flash. That couldn’t be good. Thank Solus the plane be short. He made it to the pilot’s cabin.
    “What in the name of Solus and the Thirteen is going on here?!”
    Directing them down, just as the flak round burst where their plane should have been, not where is actually was. He decided to drop the mission and give them new orders.

    “Okay, I’m getting my Parachute and some weapons, then jumping out. After that, have one o’dem Stewardesses close the door, and land in the nearest airport. I’ll keep in contact with my headset. Get going!”

    Walking back, he felt, rather than saw, the plane dodge more gunfire. He got out of his briefcases (a gift from his allies), and popped it open. He took out a pistol, and holstered it in his right pocket. He closed the briefcase and put on his parachute.

    Just then, a shot almost hit, and one of the stewardesses grabbed a hold of him, almost like he was her sanity filter.
    “Ishmael, what is going on?”
    “Nothing much Arcee, but the plane’s getting shot at. Nothing serious.”
    “Brother, you better not be planning on jumping out. Not at this height!”
    Life can be funny like that sometimes. He briefly tightened the hold, and reassured her things would work out. Stepping out of the oddly uncomfortable (awkward/unpleasant) embrace, he prepared to open a door, but looked down. He was still too high! He activated his headset (he had been wearing it and listening to music, but he stopped once he saw the flak round).

    “Pilots, get us lower, if I jump now, I die.” He said in a somewhat calm voice. The plane dipped, and started to turn, bleeding speed and altitude. He glanced at the door, briefcase in one hand, walking stick in the other. He looked down; the walking stick would fit in the briefcase, and that would open up a hand for the jump.
    “Brother… you’d better not ditch that plane!”
    “Sorry, what? I can’t hear you!”
    “Brother, don’t you dare!”
    “Okay, we are low enough that you can jump. Go, go, go!”
    He needed no more reason. Opening the door, he swung around it, let go, and swung it shut just before falling under the plane.

    1… A flak round burst beside him, the smoke a stain against the world
    2… The plane rose and gained speed, flying off, dodging smoke and shrapnel
    3… He saw the snowstorm below, not knowing what lay inside
    4… The plane had gotten shot, but now he was the target.
    5… He opened the chute, and began a somewhat gentle descent, the white canvas blending in well.

    His suit? Not so much. I could really use a jacket. He thought. It was cold, but his suit kept him from freezing, his gloves and shoes kept his limbs from bleeding heat, but he had no facial protection.

    In the freezing cold of the storm, he found that his consciousness was fading fast. As he blacked out, he thought he saw a city below, a city made of ice…
    ~~~
    “Ishmael. Come in Ishmael!”
    He stirred. Who was calling him?
    “Ishmael, come in NOW! What’s the status of the plane?”
    Oh, it was Arcee.
    “Ohai Arcee. Plane’s fine. Got shot down via flak cannon. I jumped. Now, I’m in a city of ice. Good looking city, want a vacation home here.”
    He heard her sigh (odd, for a mechanical being, but she could disguise as either a human or motorbike, so she had more human mannerisms than normal.)
    “Okay, you’re fine. Jolt’s in the area, do you want me to send him to your position? And you’re NOT going to be doing that again, capische?”
    “No, not yet. I need to do some exploring first. I’ll put on my HUD Glasses, so you can see what I’m doing. Even if you decide to berate me, you’ve always said that I act more like a Wrecker than an Autobot sometimes.”
    “Brother… don’t make me hurt you.”

    He felt around his suit, looking for the parachute’s clasps. Finding them, he opened it and got up. The briefcase had been next to him, by pure luck. Opening it, he got out his glasses, and put them on. As they merged with his headset (thank Wheeljack that it worked for once), he contacted Arcee again.
    “Okay, sync with the HUD, and we can get exploring, find anyone else. If I need Jolt’s help, I’ll tell you.”
    “Roger that, syncing now… Odd, it appears that the city you’re in doesn’t appear in any Japanese databases, though their mythology references it a few times. Also, our satellites can’t see it, only a snowstorm. Okay, get moving, as I’m detecting biosigns near your position. Use the subspace pocket in your briefcase and get out your FAL, as well as a few grenades. You might need them.”
    He set down the briefcase, getting out his burst rifle, and got ready to enter the spired building he landed next to.

    Upon entering the spire building, he found that it was almost a ceremonial place. Feeling guilty, he tried to sneak out as quietly as he could, not wanting to disturb the mystic feel. Making it to a corridor, he saw a few guards approaching. Ducking into a niche, the guards walked past, oblivious.
    “The conquest of the village goes well, and now all we have to do is begin processing of the villagers.” This piqued his interest. He wasn’t one for conquest, so he figured he’d shadow these goons. They had on light body armor, and he swore one was an elf.
    “Excellent. I can’t wait to have my pick of the women.”
    They laughed, and his gut ran cold. He checked to make sure the channel was still open.
    “Arcee, are you getting this?”
    “Yes. Hold on… Okay, take them out, and try to find some of the villagers. No wonder this place was deserted.”
    He got up, and snuck behind the elf. Taking out his pistol, he turned off the safety, and put it behind the bishie’s head. Fire. The other whipped around, preparing to strike; he ducked it, and retaliated with a gut punch. As the guard keeled over, he stuck his pistol under the guard’s chin and fired. Two down.
    “Arcee, is there any way to the roof of this building? I figure that I’ll be able to see more that way.”
    “Hmm, I can’t tell. However, by modifying the specs of our satellites, I have pinpointed a few Biosigns nearby, I’ve sent Jolt to hover, but you’ll need to meet up with him and form a plan.”
    “Roger I’m flowing on over. What do I do about these mercs? I can’t just leave then here.”
    She had no comment, so he left the dead bodies behind.

    Back through the ceremonial room (he had tears in his eyes, as he knew he was defiling the room, and this place filled him with awe in its beauty), and out into that hallway. He found stairs, and made it to some streets. He saw a house with an open door, and went into it to place his box. Along the way, he saw a snowmobile. Looked to be an Oztsu Yuki, but at the same time looked a bit off. He paid it no heed.
    ~~~
    Once in the house, he quickly put his briefcase in a safe and hidden (so he hoped, if not the protective measures would keep it safe) place, he sat down in a chair and opened his comm. channel.
    “Arcee come in, this is Ishmael.”
    He waited for a bit, and then got a response.
    “Ishmael this is Arcee, what’s your situation? Have you met up with Jolt yet?”
    He gave some thought for how to respond for a moment.
    “No, stashed the briefcase in a house, but I’ll meet up soon. Can you round up the mechs and prepare for a combat drop? I don’t know the situation, but this could be serious. If you can’t get everyone, I’ll take Ironfist and Pyro.”
    He waited for her to process this information. When she had, she gave a terse reply.
    “This must be serious if you want all eight of us. I’ll make the call, but I want updates every chance you get. Arcee out.”
    He nodded, even if she couldn’t see it. The chick knew her tactics, so he knew that sitreps were a must if he wanted their help. He went upstairs to get a better look around. Being a two-story house, there wasn’t actually that much of a vantage point. He got onto a balcony, and looked for the Blue Ampera that was Jolt. While there weren’t many automobiles to begin with (mostly snowmobiles), the few that were here were varied. Finding him was easy enough, so he left the house to meet up with him.
    ~~~
    Jolt was quiet as Ishmael walked up, and this disturbed him; Jolt was hyperactive on the best of days, so his being quiet was very bad news. He patted his hood, code for transformation. Jolt proceeded to stand up, with his door windows and lower bumper becoming an X-shaped set of wings. The rest of him was fairly Turian-like, but his face also had some communication arrays on it. He crouched and looked at Ishmael.
    “What do you need, bro?” He said, for some reason he decided to download a Jamaican accent upon arriving on earth.
    “Any new data? I need to find some biosigns and see if they’re friend or foe.” Ben said; all business when lives were at stake. Whimsy could come later.
    “No, but the biosigns are in the building right next to us. If you go up to that building there-” he pointed at a building across the street with a zipline into the one they were next to “-you should be able to see them, and take out any enemies.”
    “Thanks, I’ll check it out and se what I can do.”

    Walking away, Ishmael couldn’t help but shiver; whatever spooked Jolt was serious, so he had to potentially go cold-blooded. That always grated fiercely on his conscience. Now, he had to find a way up.

    “Perfect.”
    ~~~
    Back to the house, up some stairs and onto a balcony. Now what to do… He looked for a way up, and saw only a table, and perhaps a place to grab onto the roof itself. Time he got moving. Now on the roof, he looked for a way up into the zipline building. It wasn’t that far away, being only two buildings away. The first one, another house, presented no trouble in getting across. Now, to climb the zipline building (more of an apartment, but since it had a Zipline or power line of some sort, he was referring to it as such). But it had windows, and balconies, and ways for him to climb it, including the inevitable fire escape. Yay fire escapes? Anyways, that was a great starting point. It was a five-story fire escape, landing on the house he was on. WTF? That was too convenient. Clambering up it was stupidly easy (ever run a flight of stairs? same thing), but fast. It led to a blank window on the same floor as the zipline(power cable[wire-thingy]). WTF?! Going through some doors, around halls, and generally being a creeper, he found the Zipline window. He looked through with a scope. He didn’t like what he saw.
    ~~~
    The women were all lined up in the middle of the floor, with one guard per woman, and each had either a rifle or a pistol aimed at them. They were clearly prisoners, but each guard had a lecherous grin on his face. Ishmael’s stomached got nauseous at the sight. He knew what he had to do. Taking aim with his FAL, he shot at one of the guards and was rewarded with a gush of red and his head exploded. He watched them panic, unaware that they had been seen. They regrouped around their prisoners. He took aim again, and shot another one. This time the three-round burst hit him in the neck, then the jaw, and then his skull. Ishmael smiled grimly, but sighed once he saw them shouting at him (well, more of just shouting, but still it was meant to be shouted at him).
    “Sniper! Check the area, and FIND HIM.”
    They were unnerved, but he deemed irreverent. He found a way to the zipline. He looked at the guards from the window. Of the ten that were there, now there were four. All looked frightened, as did the prisoners. For the briefest moment, he thought he saw a mother-daughter duo. He shook the thought.
    “Oh, saw some hostages, gonna free ‘em.”
    “Take care brother, and try not to blow up the building.”
    “Put emphasis on the ‘try’ sis; this is me we’re talking about.”
    Making sure his pistol was secure; he put his rifle on the zipline and jumped. He was ready. They would fall. Time to fight, he thought, these men deserved to die.
    ~~~
    The Guards were happy; beautiful women under their thumb, good pay, and an easy job. This was ruined when their superior got his head blown open in a hail of gunfire. They immediately went and put their guard up, each standing away from the window, to avoid being killed. One was oblivious, busy ‘flirting’ with his captive. They heard someone coming on the line, and aimed their guns at the incoming hostile. They weren’t expecting some kid in a suit. The kid then took down two of them with a pistol. The others (minus one) all pointed their guns at him.
    “Alright kid, drop the weapons and slide them over. Now.”
    He did so, grudgingly. He put his arm up to his head, and a navy holographic display popped up around it.
    “Hey, Jolt, my man, you at the base o’ this building?”
    “Uh, yeah? Why, are you in trouble?”
    “Li’l bit. Can you blow the supports?”
    Everyone paled
    “Yeah I ca-wait, WHAT?! I read at least seventeen other biosigns in there! Are you mad?”
    “Rhetorical question pal. Do it. Several of these dogs need to be put down. But they got me in a bad place. Now do it.”
    He smirked, and felt the building shake. As the guards stepped away from the edge, looking around, he lunged. Picking up his pistol he fired off several shots, getting three of the mercs. The building shook again, as Jolt took out yet another support. The building started to lean, and he felt a bullet hit his arm. Thankfully, it was the one not holding the pistol. He lunged, and punched another guard. His arm hurt, hurt so bad, but he refused to fall. The building then partially collapsed, and they all tumbled, and he managed to get another guard, as well as the one who was ‘flirting’. That left five, and everyone was getting up.
    “Ishmael, you okay?”
    “Hghh, got shot in the arm, but otherwise I’m good. Can you stomp on the mercs? I need to lie down… for a bit.” He grunted in pain.
    The mercs pointed their rifles at him.
    “Okay kid, look here, wait for the flash, and smile.”
    He closed his eyes, and did smile. It was an evil grin.
    “Hey, kid, I said to look! LOOK AT ME WHEN I’M TAL-hurk”
    That last bit was Jolt grabbing him and throwing him at a wall. As mercs went to shoot at Jolt-“Hey idiots! It’ll take more than a few crummy rifles to take him down!”- Ishmael went and shot at them, causing crossfire. The hostages were all hiding on the other side of the room, forcing him to be careful. Two mercs were left, with Jolt having killed another and Ishmael capping one. The remaining two turn to kill him.
    “Sorry kid, it’s nothing personal, just the ways things are.”
    As they aimed their rifles, they both got impaled, and electrocuted to death. Jolt retracted his whips, And Ishmael walked over to the hostages.
    “Ladies, I’m here to help, as is big blue over there. Now, any of you a doctor? I kinda need this bullet removed…”

    Back at the Autobot Moon Base:
    Arcee sighed, Ishmael and Jolt had managed to free the hostages, but now they were being dragged into a conflict she didn’t want. She felt, rather than heard, Pyro clomping up behind her. She turned, and looked at her subordinates.
    “Okay, so we’ve got a situation. I’ve put in the call for Hound to arrive, but it’ll take a month or two. Now, we’re going to liberate this village, since our friend and ally Ishmael got shot down in it. Hardhead-”
    The green, grey, and gold tank looked at her
    “-your job is to take out their armor. As they’re bound to gear up to fight us, you need to use that cannon and those skills to make it worthless. Landmine, Hoist!”
    The yellow and grey loader stiffened. The tow truck simply nodded
    “Your role will be to construct defenses. Also, Hoist, you’re pulling double duty as our medic! Pyro, Ironfist, and Wheeljack!”
    The three looked at her.
    “Your roles will be simple; you’re the front-line troops. Follow my orders and Hardhead’s orders. With luck, we can smash this incursion.”
    “Arcee.”
    “Yes, Hardhead?”
    “What is your role?”
    “I will be organizing the resistance and work with Ishmael. With luck, he’ll have data we need. You have your roles, now let’s contact him and roll out!”
    The seven vehicles rolled to the dock, waiting for the signal to arrive.

    Comments and criticisms, please. The human will be phased out in favor of the robots, but first he has to get them there.
     
  2. optimegatron

    optimegatron Not over, not finished.

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    Phew. Nice conclusion there.
     
  3. HeroicC300

    HeroicC300 Chats with Artists

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    Thanks. There are nine more chapters in the making, with one more Transformer to appear.

    Lemme fix a few things as well; I lost some italics.
     
  4. kaijuguy19

    kaijuguy19 Keyblade Wielder

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    Pretty sweet start! :thumb  Hoping to see what happens next soon!
     
  5. Jazzfan0217

    Jazzfan0217 Just chillin'

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    Good start :thumb  can't wait for the next part :popcorn  !!!
     
  6. HeroicC300

    HeroicC300 Chats with Artists

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    Thanks. The scene at the moonbase wasn't scripted; it just happened. I figure I can use some more moonbase scenes to help set up the dynamics with the Autobots.
     
  7. HeroicC300

    HeroicC300 Chats with Artists

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    Chapter two: Under the Radar

    I'll start adding some notes at the end of each chapter, usually bios.


    15 minutes later…
    He took in his refugees. This was going to be tricky(interesting[difficult]) to pull off. He decided some questions were in order. Pointing a hand at the mother-daughter duo, he decided to make them pointwomen.
    “You lot, you’re going to take point and scout ahead. There’s a house not far from here (might be one one of you guys own) that we’re going to. From there, we’ll make a plan. Let’s move people.”
    His comm. chose to go off before he got to give Jolt orders.
    “Hello?”
    “Ishmael, what were you thinking? You know we don’t take risks that could kill hostages! And yet you had Jolt blow the building!”
    “Easy Arcee, it worked, and you can chew me out AFTER we’ve saved the village.”
    “‘Bust me on the surface, eh?’ Fine, but I WILL bust you.”
    He gave Jolt some orders with hand signs. As they moved towards the house, he resumed talking with Arcee.
    “Okay, what in the name of Solus Prime has gotten into you? I’ve never heard you so angry before. Mien Gott, if I know you were this peeved, I’d have just avoided this joint altogether. I saw a chance, I took it, and it turned out well.”
    “Ishmael, I know your heart’s in the right place, but just, warn me next time, okay brother?”
    She sounded weary, which he could understand very well.
    “Yes sister. I understand. Still, I’ll work out a plan, then see if we can use you and the crew as a surprise. Ishmael out.”
    He cut the comm., and went to scout out ahead of the others.
    “Hey Jolt, go and turn into vehicle mode, and carry the Mother-Daughter duo, and two others.”
    His arm still hurt; the bullet hadn’t been removed yet. He waved over one of the women.
    “Hey ma’am, can you remove the bullet? It’s really throwing off my groove.”
    She sighed, and waved over another.
    “She’s a doctor. We’re not used to bullet wounds, but we’ll have to, yeah?”
    He smiled and nodded.
    “Preach it, sister.”
    The doctor went and grabbed his arm. Her hands were surprisingly cold, and it took him some control to not flinch.
    “You guys okay? No one should be that sub-zero and still be alive.”
    She lowered her head, and he saw her hiding giggles. She squeezed his arm, and it was rather painful(numbing[creepy]) to feel his arm go numb even as she made the bullet rise a bit. She got some tweezers, and slowly pulled it out.
    “Ouch, remind me to avoid getting shot madam. But, I guess you’re our medic now. Ah, that hurts. Just a moment, I want to do something.”
    He got out his omni-tool, and gestured for everyone to resume walking. As they did, he covertly scanned several of the women. He was disturbed by what he found.

    Back at the moonbase:
    Ironfist was worried; he was a weapons designer (and Wreckers fan, but so far there wasn’t a reason for the others to know), but his new weapon had some input from Wheeljack.
    “Ironfist, how’s the lightformer cannon coming?”
    He perked up; Pyro always knew how to calm his nerves. The big Autobot just stood there, watching him put the finishing touches on his cannon.
    “It’s done. Your rifles and micro missile launcher are over there. Help me put on the cannon?”
    Pyro nodded, and grabbed the power pack.

    Arcee sighed. Though Ishmael was an Autobot in spirit, he sometimes acted like a Wrecker. Oh well. She rifled through some of his reports, and memories came back of their first meeting.

    Flashback (somewhere in Georgia):
    Arcee sighed. This expedition was fruitless. While her wingman, Ironfist, was being helpful, he was beside some sort of sporty sedan. They weren’t near any towns, but she didn’t want to take a risk. She signaled for Ironfist to pass the sedan, only to swerve when she saw a tree crash. Transforming on reflex, she hit the tree and bounced. Her body hurt, and she felt like part of her was broken inside. Ironfist skidded to a stop, only to have the sedan hit him. Not at a fast speed, but still.

    The driver got out.
    “Hey lady, are you okay? Lady?”
    It turned out to be some kid. She sighed, the day wasn’t going well.

    Moonbase:
    Hardhead was in the communications center, chatting with Cliffjumper. Hound’s team was busy trying to avoid the Flotilla, and since the Autobots wanted to avoid that race out of respect, their trip to earth would take longer than expected.
    “…so then Sideswipe spins out and has to blow his cover, can you believe it? After that, the guys started firing on the vehicons, and I was able to frag the commander!”
    “Good job Cliffjumper. I believe that Hound shouldn’t punish you as severely as he is, but it was still reckless to engage them like that! Any good news?”
    “Yeah, we may have planted seeds for Skyquake to change sides. It’ll take some doing, but it might be worth it.”
    Hardhead nodded. So far, the Autobots were working on getting Skyquake, Bludgeon, Thundercracker and the Predacons to change sides.
    “Alright, we’ve been scouring the databases of Earth for appropriate vehicles. I’ve found two that you and Sideswipe will like.”

    Wheeljack was in his lab with Hoist. While his new creation worked, it was better to have Hoist on hand for final testing. He shifted into his earth form, and then triggered the change. He now had several guns and cannons sticking out of his vehicle mode. Now, to change back… He felt odd as he shifted into robot mode. So far, so good.
    “Very nice Wheeljack, we should be able to retrofit ourselves with this soon.”
    Clunk
    “Or not. Hmm, let me help you with that…”
    And so Wheeljack and Hoist went to ironing the kinks out of Stealth Force.

    Arcee looked up. Ishmael had sent her some readings. They were of the hostages, but it was organic biosigns mixed in with a familiar substance. This would interest Wheeljack.
    “But why do they have Energon mixed into their bodies?”
    She sighed, and then remembered something Ishmael had said to her once.
    I don’t call you sister because I like the way it sounds. To me, you are a surrogate sister. Your species won’t change that.
    She straightened up, and wrote some protocols for when Hound arrived. Now, to check up on Ishmael and the hostages.

    The village:
    Ishmael was still cradling his arm, but he was also talking with Tsurura and Mizore (the mother-daughter duo), the doctor, and Jolt’s holomatter avatar.
    “So, with these maps and Jolt’s skill at receiving and tracking Radio transmissions, we’ve located the nearest mercenary compound. Tsurura, we have enough weapons between us to arm all of the girls, and Jolt can help. But first, we need some more people. Do you know where a prison is around here?”
    She nodded, and pointed out that a medical office and a police area were nearby.
    “Excellent. We’ll take over that area, and that’ll become our base of operations. With the armory no doubt in the police stations and the medical supplies, we’ll be able to hold our own. I need some of you to take the snowmobile, and cause a distraction with Jolt. Tsurura, Mizore, Doctor, you’re with me.”
    Whipping up plans wasn’t his best skill(ability[trait]), and he was actually drawing upon skills learned from gaming. Hopefully, it would pay off. He looked around at the women he had rescued. Sometimes, he wished to damn the personal code he lived by. It often got him into hot water.
    “Okay, so we need to consult the maps and do some recon. Jolt, I want you to stay here in vehicle mode. Tsurura, you seem like you know the city. You’re with me. We’re hoofing this, since that snowmobile will be noisy.”

    Tsurura nodded, and got her sniper rifle. Recon was important, but so was making sure that stealth remained absolute.

    Police Station and Doctor’s Office:
    The mercenaries were on guard. After the stunt that took out a group of critical hostages, the ones they had were deemed sacrificial if the need arose. Whoever that punk was, he wasn’t freeing these people.

    Ishmael and Tsurura were busy scoping out the area.
    “Okay, so that’s about thirty mercs, of which I think the distraction can lure away ten. You and me, we’ll need to stealth the rest, long enough to arm the prisoners and pincer the remaining mercenaries.”
    “Right. Though the prison cells won’t be the most pleasant of sleeping arrangements, it would work better than houses.”
    Ishmael contacted Jolt.

    Jolt was keeping an eye on the other women, and the snowmobile. It seemed familiar somehow. Maybe it was his impulsiveness, or maybe it was the tense situation. But that snowmobile had to be important somehow.
    “Jolt m’man, do ya read me?”
    “Yeah Ishmael, I hear you. Got a plan?”
    “Yeah. Grab two of the women and get them on the snowmobile for a distraction. Then, set Mizore, the Doctor and the other one or two, however many there are, armed and ready. Me and Tsurura have a plan. Just, be prepared, and inform me if you ever find out who these guys are. They seem well-armed, and probably are hiding something.”
    Jolt shrugged; Ishmael was a bit of a screwball, but he knew what he was doing… most of the time. He went to go prepare and execute the plan.

    Ishmael and Tsurura were sneaking to the back of prison complex. Ishmael knew of these kinds of operations: Arcee used to do them all the time. He hoped that she’d guide him spiritually. His sister was his counterpart in skills, but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t duet.
    “Okay distraction team, you’re a go.”
    “Noted. We’re moving out.”
    He didn’t recognize the voice. He thought he knew the voices of the hostages. Probably an oversight on his part.

    Moonbase:
    Arcee studied the village; it took some recalibrations on her part to get things working. The others had done their parts, and now, she could watch and wait. Then she saw what Ishmael was doing.
    “Brother, what are you thinking?”
    She hoped that his plan would work. She honestly did. Then she saw the snowmobile.
    “What is she doing there?”

    Ishmael was almost in the main center of the Prison. Why the village even had such a good prison was beyond him. As he got to a railing to look, he saw eighty hostages. With four lined up gangsta style, the others all huddled. One got up and tried to bolt.
    “My best friend got away. I can join her!”
    She got shot in the leg, falling down. One of the mercenaries went and slammed his rifle into her jaw. Ishmael heard the crack from his location a few floors up.
    “Alright bitch, even if your friend got away, that doesn’t mean you will. What makes you think you can get away?”
    She looked up at him, eyes fearful, but full of determination.
    “It’s so easy. So easy when everyone’s trying to please you.”
    She headbutted him and tried to crawl away.
    She didn’t get far. The mercenaries aimed their rifles and shot her to pieces. Ishmael saw at least one limb get shot off, in addition to having her head blown open.
    “That bitch, that hurt! Serves her right for thinking she can try to resist.”
    Tsurura walked up to him.
    “Damn them. That was my daughter’s best friend.”
    She took aim, but Ishmael managed to get the rifle down in time.
    “Lady, if we shoot now, they could kill all of them before we even hit ground level. We have to wait.”

    The mercenaries had gotten them lined up against the wall. Smirking, the leader gestured at some of his underlings.
    “Ready… aim… FIRE!”
    And then there were seventy-five hostages. They saw the blood coating the wall; this had been done before. And likely would be done again. What appeared to be the leader of the hostages was visibly shaking; clearly horrified at what these things had done.
    “B-but were surrendered! We’re your prisoners, why can’t you just let us live?”

    The leader looked around, checking for a good area to demonstrate why. He grabbed her, and started pushing her around.
    “Because you’re not our prisoners; you’re our slaves.”
    He raised his rifle, but before he could shoot, an explosion was heard. Muffled, but it must’ve been quite loud. The leader went and pointed to the majority of his forces.
    “You lot! Go and check that out and execute anyone you find. NOW!”
    He turned back to the hostage leader.
    “Now then, look here, wait for the flash, and smile…”
    The leader was crying. She was high priestess of these people. Now she would be their martyr.

    Ishmael let Tsurura line up her shot, and jumped to a lower level. The leader must’ve noticed them, since he grabbed a different hostage, and the remaining guards went and took four more with guns to their heads. Tsurura fired, and the leader managed to twist his so the shot went into her, not him. Ishmael, on a lower level, simply started dragging his rifle’s stock against bars, placing explosives.
    “What the hell are you doing!?”
    “Saving lives ma’am, just as an Autobot should.”
    They mercenaries didn’t get that nervous though.
    “Come on out kid! We promise not to hurt you!”
    “Doubt it jackass, now then, why don’t you just listen to good ol’ EP here.”
    Plant an explosive here. Walk around, plant one there.
    “I’m waiting!”
    “Okay, so you got hostages and a VIP. Then what after you’ve killed ‘em? What would you superior think? Big man here thinks he’s in control…”
    Line up a shot, snipe a merc, dash to another area to dodge gunfire.
    “…but he’s not, is he? He’s just a power-hungry idiot who is drunk with his perceived power, isn’t he?”
    “DO NOT MOCK ME, BOY!”
    Ishmael chuckled; he had most of his explosives planted.
    “‘Boy’ is it? This ‘Boy’ is more than capable of killing you.”
    “Ha! Then we’ll ju-“
    “Kill the hostages? Go ahead, I’ll mourn their deaths, but I won’t mourn yours. Now then, if you’re such a badass, try to stop my gambit.”
    Calmly walking down stairs to the next floor, he made sure not to be within range of his bombs.
    “Okay, I can easily stop a little gunplay.”
    Ishmael smirked; he wasn’t a gunman or sniper.
    “Who said it was related to guns?”
    He gestured to Tsurura; she was to take shots as he blew parts of the prison. He grabbed his favorite detonator switch.
    “Now then, I offer you a chance; stop me from pushing this button-” he squeezed the device and popped open the cap, hovering his thumb over the button “-and prevent some demo work, eh?”
    “Boy, you’re an idiot! Men, FIRE!”
    Ishmael smirked, and dodged the gunfire.
    3… The mercs were missing, and some stopped to put guns to the heads of hostages
    2… Tsurura took out two, leaving seven little men left
    1… The leader gestured for a stop, since he seemed overconfident
    0… BOOM
    As concrete fell, Ishmael leaped over a railing, ditching his pressure detonator. As he landed in front of the mercs, the leader looked at him. Was that fear that was showing in his eyes?


    “Who are you?”
    “A visionary; vision is scary!”
    He lunged, dodging the rifle swung at him. Tsurura sniped one of the other mercs, causing him to fall, while the others got nervous. The leader just shook his head.
    “So boy, what are you going to do with this vision of yours?”
    “Simple bro; it ends with a sock and explosions.”
    Laughing, the leader went and shot at Ishmael. However, the freerunning loon dodged, danced, and otherwise avoided the shots. Rolling on the floor, he sent a sweeping kick meant to dislodge the leader from his stance. It didn’t work, but did cause him to stumble. Ishmael felt a rifle get pointed at his chest. This wasn’t good. Then he knew pain.

    Moonbase:
    “Brother, what were you thinking!? Jolt! Ishmael is in hot water. Go help him. NOW!”
    “Uh, Arcee, we have a problem. Icepick is here. I’ll ask her if she wants to help, but-No Icepick! Don’t kill him! Gah, okay. I’ll go assist.”
    Arcee slammed her head on the panel. This wasn’t good. If Icepick was in the area, they had more to worry about than just a bunch of mercenaries.

    Hardhead clomped up behind her.
    “Are you okay? I heard you screaming.”
    “It’s Ishmael. He pulled a Leeroy and now is possibly going to pay the price.”
    “What can we do about it?”
    Arcee thought for a moment, cradling her head in her hands.
    “I don’t know… I don’t know…”

    Prison outside:
    Jolt was worried. Icepick had agreed to help, but she was still a psycho mass-murderer who was wanted by both sides.
    “Alright, I’m new at this. You two-” he gestured at the women “-you go and take point. Icepick, you’re with me. Our goal is simple; rescue Ishmael and the hostages. Understand? You can kill any mercenary, but not the hostages, okay?”
    Icepick nodded, smiling in a most disturbing manner.
    “Kill the mercs, leave my friends alive.”
    Jolt didn’t expect such a psycho cybertronian to have such a ladylike voice. He nodded.
    “Okay, let’s move!”
    As the quartet went out, Jolt sent a ping for the others; they were to join back up with him. Ishmael would need medical attention. Again.

    Inside:
    Ishmael got lucky. Before the gun could fully fire, Tsurura had sniped it. Instead of a chest wound, it was his other arm.
    “Great, I’ll start a collection of bullet wounds, y’know?”
    “Oh shut up boy, that was a lucky shot.”
    The leader had put his rifle back to Ishmael’s chest.
    “Now boy, you-”
    He never finished the sentence. Icepick had one of her weapons lodged in his head.
    “So, you’re the little kid who’s decided to man up and face these guys? You’re braver than I thought.”
    And Ishmael attempted to get up, Icepick simply put one of her feet on him.
    “Now, next time you wish to use me in an assault, get my permission FIRST.”
    Ishmael nodded. This lady was creepy, and that wasn’t because she was a cybertronian. Icepick took her foot off him, and helped him up. Crazy lady was bigger than Arcee! She was still smaller than the other Autobots.
    “Okay, now then…”
    Ishmael looked around. The mercs were dead. However, one of the hostages was dying. He walked over and cradled her.
    “Brave soul, may Prima watch over your soul and guide it to the well. Nexus, may he spread your spirit to the places you love. Vector Prime, may you set her in the times she’s loved and lived to the fullest. And Solus, should she be worthy, forge her into a new life.”
    The Snow Priestess was looking at him. She was awed, in a way. Here was a kid, who couldn’t be older than 16, and yet he was treating someone he didn’t know with more respect than she’d seen friends treat their dearly departed.
    “Who were you praying to, young one?”
    “The Thirteen. I’ve never been invested in earthly religions. But when Arcee gave me an explanation of them, I found that they felt more real than anything else I’ve heard of.”
    Icepick snorted behind him.
    “Figures, us ‘cons reject them, only for a brat to accept them and show signs of being a true believer.”
    Ishmael glared and walked over to her.
    “Lady, I’ve been checking and correlating data about the thirteen and the religions of earth. I have one thing to say; check the data yourself. If they’re not real, then earth has one too many parallels for my taste. Now, please, look me in the eye and say that again.”
    Icepick may have been smirking behind that mask, he couldn’t tell. But she did crouch in front of him.
    SMACK!
    Icepick stumbled back, amazed at Ishmael’s audacity.
    “Boy, you’re a brave one, try to keep it up.”

    He heard Jolt clomping up with the rest of the first six. He gave a cursory nod, only to see Mizore run over to the girl who had been shot to pieces earlier. She was sobbing.
    “Daughter, we couldn’t save her if we had tried. Make sure her death wasn’t in vain.”
    Tsurura’s words of comfort didn’t go over well.
    “Mother, first, the boy I loved ran! Then, we get captured and almost ruined, and now she’s dead! So forgive me if I don’t feel any sympathy from you!”
    Ishmael walked over. He looked over the dead girl’s corpse.
    “What a poor way to die. At the least she should have had some dignity. Mizore, I know this is hard, but from now on, I know that Icepick, Jolt, all of us, won’t desert you in your hour of need. None of us are getting out of this without scars, but don’t let them bring you down.”
    Mizore glared at him, but he was walking off, speaking into the orange device in his wrist. He held his other arm rigidly, and walked over to the doctor.

    Moonbase:
    Arcee sighed in relief. Ishmael was fine, but now they had another issue to deal with.
    “Now this looks like a job for me, so everybody, follow me, ‘cause we need a little-controversy, ‘cause it feels so empty without me~”
    “Ishmael, what is it?”
    “Don’t give me that tone. I liberated seventy-five more, including a VIP. Get your crew ready and get a beacon to Hound; I need you here now sister. I don’t know how much more I can take.”
    “Brother, if you stopped taking risks, you’d be in better mental health.”
    She smiled, trust him to be hardcore when it came to it, and wait until the coast was clear before breaking.
    “Anyway, I’ll see what I can do. Anything else to report?”
    “Yeah. These ladies ain’t human, but for now, they’re all we got. Seen no signs of a guy who wasn’t a mercenary. I hope that they haven’t been executed. Also, I think I may have become a follower of the Thirteen.”
    “Come again? Anyway, while lamentable, the deal with the men is an unfortunate truth. However, when I arrive, you WILL explain to me why you follow our gods but not yours, brother.”

    Arcee looked around, and began issuing orders. Things were getting heated, and in times like this, the Tempest of Iacon was needed.

    Notes and Bios:
    Ishmael Rappaport:
    Ishmael is perhaps a mixed blessing on the Autobots. Normally, he avoids trouble and prefers to assist in more subtle ways such as picking vehicles and assimilating their culture. While this has made him an agent for the U.N., something he didn't want, he tends to stay professional on the job, or silly if things are tense. After learning of the Thirteen, he has spent his spare time cross-referencing them with the various religions of earth. He considers Arcee his surrogate sister, and tends to treat the subject of friendship and camaraderie with more seriousness than a kooky kid like him would appear to.
    Weapon of Choice: Explosives. pressure-triggered

    Arcee:
    Arcee is one of the top commandos and lieutenants in the Autobot ranks. She got her squad assigned as the backup for Autobot high command. while the final member hasn't arrived, she makes do and keeps things running smoothly. After an awkward first meeting with Ishmael and Ironfist, she's found the boy to be a surrogate brother, something she finds odd, since cybertronians aren't usually bound by organic family logic. Smooth and resourceful, she gets frustrated and worried when things are beyond her control regarding her subordinates

    I'll write up bios for Icepick, Jolt and Mizore&Tsurura next chapter.
     
  8. kaijuguy19

    kaijuguy19 Keyblade Wielder

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    Awesome! :thumb 

    Looking forward to seeing how the 13 will play a role in this. :lol  at Arcee and Ishmel's little sibling moments.
     
  9. HeroicC300

    HeroicC300 Chats with Artists

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    Glad you like it.

    They're mostly posthumous or otherwise characters that aren't there. The prayer wasn't intended, but seemed right.
     
  10. HeroicC300

    HeroicC300 Chats with Artists

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    Based on some advice from my primary Beta (and to all y'all here, y'all are beta reading this too), I'm going to do some retooling, partially to give Jolt and Arcee some more character, and to make Ishmael's prayer seem less spur-of-the-moment.
     
  11. LCDR Blindside

    LCDR Blindside Banned

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    From a preliminary read, you're good at descriptiveness, and I know what you're aiming for (at least I think I do), but you get redundant at many points. Some sentences could be cut, others restructured.
     
  12. HeroicC300

    HeroicC300 Chats with Artists

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    It's meant to read similar to Uncharted.

    Care to offer advice for where cutting would work well?
     
  13. LCDR Blindside

    LCDR Blindside Banned

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    Well, parenthetical statements are always awkward. The sentence about Arcee could work in context with the paragraph already there, but as-is, it disrupts the reading process. I'll edit when I see more. Aside from that, good work.
     
  14. LCDR Blindside

    LCDR Blindside Banned

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    What's a sanity filter? There's a bit of language that could use de-obfuscation in here.
     
  15. HeroicC300

    HeroicC300 Chats with Artists

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    Sanity Filter? Just Ishmael pointing out that it seems like he's the only thing letting the stewardess keep her sanity.
     
  16. HeroicC300

    HeroicC300 Chats with Artists

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    Chapter 3: You Don't Know How It Feels

    Two Days Later

    Ishmael sighed and reviewed the maps of the city again. This was frustrating; finding several armed mercenary compounds didn’t seem difficult, ya? Well, it was. Parks are checked; tactically sound areas (such as the prison and medical area that they currently held) are checked; but still no luck. Maybe he was doing things wrong?
    “Stuck?”
    “Oh joy of joys, the psycho lady is here to grace us with her presence. Whatever can we do for you?”
    Icepick laughed at him, before smacking him upside the head.
    “You’ve been doing this wrong; I did some scouting with that hyperactive Jolt and found one of the camps. You better be ready to come up with a game plan.”
    Slamming his head against the table, he glared at her.
    “Sure, but I’m going to call in the rest of Arcee’s team.”
    Icepick appeared to lock up
    “Arcee? That crazy bitch is why I’m on the run from the Autobots!”
    “srsly? That’s why you don’t like working with Jolt? Anyway, help me with planning this stupid assault and I’ll force my sister to pardon you.”
    “Sister!? You two aren’t even the same species!”
    “Siblings know no such things. Anyways, it seems like Jolt looks best suited to go here, alongside us, Tsurura and Mizore. Now, for the others, how about over here….”

    Countdown: 2hr before arrival
    Moonbase Armory:
    Arcee paced back and forth. She had equipped her customary Nucleon Charge Rifles and Acid Shotguns (which while lethal, were very effective at terrorizing others). She began barking orders at the others for their arms
    “Pyro! Put down the A4s! Grab the Thermo Rocket Cannon and your subsonic repeaters and let’s GO! Ironfist, grab a pathblaster; while your lightformer cannon is powerful, it’s still a good idea to have a backup gun. Wheeljack, load whatever shells you need into the Riot Cannon of yours and grab an A4 and a photon! Hoist, you grab an Energon Repair Ray and a gear shredder. Hardhead! Grab an A4, a Scrapmaker, and reconfigure your tank cannon to fire the pulsar grenades. Landmine, grab Scatter Blasters and Scrapmakers; you’ll be our heavy weapons behemoth on this one. Everyone get your preferred grenades and whatever ammo you need. We roll when Ishmael gives the signal!”
    As the seven Autobots geared up, they had no idea just how hellish the upcoming battle was going to be.

    Countdown: 2hr before arrival
    Prison Corridors:
    “Hello, boy.”
    “Ah Icepick, so nice for you to grace me with your presence.”
    “So, you actually expect us to go along with that stupid plan of yours? Who put you, a little snot-leaking sparkling, in control of armed forces?”
    “Crazy gal; her name’s Arcee.”
    “Well then don’t count on my help.”
    “Whatever, hockey goalie.”
    Ishmael walked off; no point in sticking with such an aggravating femme. It was the voice; it had to be.

    “Oh, and boy, I hope that you all die and burn in the pit for this!”
    Ignore her; you’re better than this.
    “High and mighty do-gooder type too? Well, then you must not have the guts to make the hard choices. Enjoy what little life you have left. I’ll enjoy adding your pathetic corpses to my collection.”
    He didn’t around to hear her sniping at him, but she had gotten under his skin; he vowed to show no quarter with the mercs.

    Countdown: 1hr45min before arrival
    Prison gym:
    Ishmael was busy working through stress, mainly by exercising. Icepick had lived up to her name. Now he found he had loose cannon to corral, and judging by the femme’s actions, he knew why she was so cold, so very much like a frozen desert.
    Bitch probably killed the squad she was on, and tries to kill everyone else she meets. Well, she’s not killing these ladies.
    Feeling that sense of rage come over him, he swung the barbell he was using into a pillar. To his surprise the pillar had a large, broken section it in now. He heard clapping behind him.
    “Icepick, if you’re here to mock me, you can go f-”
    “What’d she do? I was just watching you work out. For a human, you’re not bad-looking.”
    Oh. It was Mizore.
    “’For a human’? Care to explain that one?”
    She smiled and shook her head. Why was she wearing a black tank top under that sleeveless hoodie?
    “Yes. For a human; you might not have noticed, but no one here’s exactly human, other than you. You’re an oddity. But for now, we’re willing to accept you, since the alternative is those idiots.”
    “Noted. You can tell me what mythical entities you lot are later. Right now we have other concerns.”
    He grabbed the barbell, but it was wedged in the pillar. Mizore walked over and motioned him to move aside.
    “Yeah. It’s odd; you come out of nowhere when we’re at the darkest hour yet, almost as if you’re sent by a higher power.”
    She grabbed the barbell and gave it a yank; it came right out.
    “Huh. Just crap luck and a sense of duty.”
    She looked at him like he was crazy.
    “’Sense of duty’? What kind of ‘sense of duty’ means ‘liberate a town you know nothing about’? Explain that one to me little boy.”
    He bristled.
    “Don’t call me that.” Snatch the barbell and put it back. “A sense of duty because I took the Autobot oath. I’m bound by duty to assist those in need regardless of personal risk. However, I was meant to be investigating some ruins in China or Tibet rather than being stuck in this crystal city. Lovely place tho.”
    “What ruins?”
    “Oh, some place that had info Arcee was interested in. Supposedly it has info on why the hell Solus was here on Terra before the Fallen killed her. I have a theory. It’s a silly theory tho.”
    Sitting on a bench, he began to move his arms about, testing the muscles.
    “I’m all ears.”
    “Okay, so Terra has a LOT of myths, some true, some humorously false-I checked with the Hermit A3 myself-and honestly, I find ‘em interesting. So, why is it that there are many parallels in history? Both in myth and fact, it seems that there’s been more going on than some grey peoples can handle. What I think happened is that Solus was seeding the planet. With what I have no clue, but with something. I have a theory that I’m going to have Wheeljack and Hoist corroborate with me.”
    “And that is?”
    “She was seeding beings like you. Why I have no flippin’ clue.”
    He began walking elsewhere, needing to burn energy; excitement over being able to explain. Now he was heading to the Courtyard where Jolt was located. Mizore kept up, asking questions.
    “Okay, so you’ve mentioned Wheeljack, Arcee, Hoist, Ironfist, and so on, who are they?”
    “Okay, I’ll explain Arcee’s team for ya; First off, there are eight members; Arcee, Wheeljack, Hardhead, Hoist, Pyro, Ironfist, Landmine, and Jolt.”
    “Right. What roles do they serve?”
    “Arcee’s Ranking officer in theory; Wheeljack technically outranks her but in the field she’s top dog. Wheeljack is the science and tech officer, and his job is to be Arcee’s 2IC and on occasion making a new gadget. Following so far?”
    “Yes. What about the other six?”
    “Well, Hoist is the medical officer; his roles is keeping everyone ship-shape. He’s a friendly guy, but Solus help you if you miss even one appointment. Hardhead is Arcee’s field lieutenant; his job is running the second four-man sub-team when they split up. He’s also the team tank both figuratively and literally; he hits hardest and can soak up damage, but also turns into a tank. Anyway, that’s all the officers and the backup leader. The four soldiers are Pyro, Ironfist, Landmine and Jolt. Ironfist is also munitioner and quartermaster. He manages the armory when not in the field. Pyro is heavy weapons guy. He can handle up to eight weapons at once due to hardpoints; two on his arms, two shoulder cannons, two stomach-mounted missile launchers, and in his legs have some awkwardly mounted in theory thermo mine droppers. Landmine is the team’s shield; his earthmover form can hold off ludicrous firepower and his mêlée skills are superb. Jolt’s recon, a role shared with Landmine’s non-combat role. Jolt’s also the team wildcard; he has great combat support abilities and also has a knack for field repairs. Overall, the team is balanced, but if you take one out, the others may have trouble.”
    “Sounds complicated but is easy in actuality isn’t it?”
    “Bingo. Hold on, we need to take an alternate route; Icepick’s that way. Anyway, to tell them apart, Arcee’s the size of you or me, but has a tan and black/blue/red/purple hair, Ironfist is Tan with blue accents, Pyro is safety yellow and massive, while Landmine, the other yellow one is a more orange-yellow, with black highlights. Wheeljack is white with red and green highlights. Hoist and Hardhead are both green, but Hoist looks jovial but overweight. Hardhead looks like a trooper with a communications pack. Jolt’s the one I don’t need to explain visuals for.”
    “You’ve yet to explain vehicles, but in a way you don’t have to. Anyway, why are you telling me? My mother’s the one who-”
    We had reached the armory, where said mother was busy cleaning a sniper rifle.
    “What about me daughter?”
    “Ishmael, you up for explaining again?”
    “No. Hey Tsurura, lemme know if you see Icepick; I need to knock her down a peg or two.”
    Ishmael left the two, heading for the courtyard. Dodging Icepick would be difficult, but necessary. It had to be; he couldn’t let her destroy the brittle peace between him and the snow women.

    Countdown: 1hr 40min before Arrival
    Prison Courtyard:
    Ishmael was officially angry. Icepick appeared to decide that he was the only thing in the world worth following. Her comments were getting more and more irritating and visceral.
    “-Oh! I know! How about I put my picks in your pretty little girl’s head and rip her spine out? You’d like that, right?”
    “Icepick, shut up before I snap. You can heckle me after the plan.”
    “Boy, I’m going to ensure you fail, these girls die, and I’m safe from the D.J.D. and A.C.E.D., even if I have to kill everyone here to do it. After all, a higher being’s purpose is to use the lower beings to their whims.”
    Ishmael tried to ignore her, but got out a sticky bomb just in case.
    “Icepick, I’ve tried to be nice, I’ve tried to be reasonable, and I honestly have. But you? You’re one rude comment away from stasis lock…”
    “Oh like that scares me!”
    “…with all your joints blown out, your picks embedded in your processor and spark chamber, your head nearly severed, and with so little Energon left that you’ll need to be put in a CR chamber for a month!”
    Icepick smiled politely; it was at odds with her irritating attitude and arrogant noblewoman’s voice.
    “Finally, someone who understands pain management. Mind if I grab one of the wonderful ladies for you to use?”
    Something inside Ishmael snapped, and he threw a fist at her, snarling.
    “For that last comment, you sickening wannabe noble, ya die!”
    She caught the fist easily, still smiling, until Ishmael planted the sticky bomb on her hand.
    He rolled back, crouched, and smiled.
    “Endure that, and see if you’re still smiling.”
    The smile turned into a smirk, and she crushed the bomb.

    He had planned on it; like most of his devices, it was pressure-activated, meaning that she just blew her hand off.
    No smirk, no smile, just an epic rageface.
    “For that you arrogant sparkling with delusions of knowledge, you will join your idiotic ancestors, who obviously knew nothing of raising a sparkling, in the pit with the rest of the inbred ingrates!”
    Dodge, and leap back when one of her icepicks tried to impale him. Now then, time to see if his combat Zen zone would kick in. Or Kick-Off, he didn’t care.

    She swings a pick at him; he dodges in the direction it’s coming from, slapping a timed bomb on her knee. As he reaches behind her, grab a pistol and jump onto her back.

    “Get off me peasant! Before you were even a twinkle in your caretaker’s eyes I was a noble on Cybertron!”

    That explained a bit. Shoot her in the head, not for damage, but just to make her mad. She turns to shake him off, only for the bomb to go off. As it does, he leaps off. Now, for clockwork/homework.

    She uses one pick to keep herself propped up and limp around; the leg’s ruined for now. He lunges and slides under her, making sure to be touchy-feely; if she calls him an idiotic hormones-driven loon, might as well use it to annoy her.
    “Say, girl, ever been mudding?”
    She shrieked, a hilarious sound, and swung at him again.

    He needed one of those picks.

    “Ingrate! You dare attempt to defile a noble!?”
    “If it makes ya angry, uh, yeah.”

    Now that she was angry, she’d start fighting stupid. It was Ishmael’s fault he didn’t realize what he’d sound like to the Yuki-onna. Somewhere in the gathering crowd, Mizore facepalmed; he explained why Icepick bothered him, so she’d support him.

    Meanwhile, Ishmael was running out of ideas to grab one of the picks. Ah well, a few explosives could solve the problems. He wanted to maim and horribly injure, not kill.

    Plan formed, he moved. Rushing Icepick wasn’t the best step one, but it’d have to do. As he rushed her, he sidestepped so he was running beside her. Plant three bombs; one on the thigh, one on pelvis, one on the hip. Gotta run, to avoid the blowback.

    “IF you were such a good combatant, wouldn’t you be able to stop me from touching you or are you just all talk and no bite, you stupid excuse for a woman?!”

    Again with her getting incomprehensible in her rage. She hadn’t noticed that she was near a decorative concrete wall. It held a garden, but would do the job.

    He had the bombs set to blow on a timer, and it was running low. He ran to the wall and stood on it. Defiant.
    “Now then, try and hit me; I won’t even move off this wall.”
    She ran as fast as she could, which was impressive given the broken leg. Also, watching her tread-hair flow was humorous. She swung her pick down at him, and he leapt to the side.
    “LIAR! You said you wouldn’t leave the wall!”
    “Punk, I’m still on the wall.”
    “Punk!?”
    “See what it originally meant.”
    And…
    3… she looked contemplative for a moment
    2… The bombs’ fuses went off
    1… She got another epic rageface
    0… “You’re calling me a-”
    Boom. Directional charges meant to make all the damage internal. Icepick keeled, Ishmael moved for the endgame.

    As Icepick was leaning back trying to get her pick, he used his subspace pocket to get out his shotgun. Aiming it, he blew off her right arm at the elbow. As the limb fell, useless, her upper arm leaked Energon. Lots of Energon; odds were that she’d be standing in a puddle of it soon. Still, Mission accomplished. He had one of her picks.

    “Now then, punk, I promised stasis and pain. So, shut up, an’fall!”
    Jump, and as doing so, swing at her head. The sickening crunching noise and screams or pain as one of her optics was crushed; a good chunk of her face was torn open or apart, and finally, it managed to sever some neural clusters that controlled her body. That was his guess; after all, why else would she drop the other pick?

    “Now then, since evidently, you want to kill everyone, I’m going to leave you at their mercy. After all…”
    He yanked the pick and ripped her head out of the neck joint, a cluster of wires coming with it.
    “…Sabotage of vital strategies for liberation of this Crystal Paradise will not be tolerated.”
    Grabbing her other pick, he drove it as hard as he could into her chest. Given the amount of armor, this was rather difficult. But he succeeded and she was down.

    “Now. Who’s ready to storm their base?”
    Looking around, all he saw were glares.
    Tsurura walked up and slapped him.
    “I thought you were better than them! Are you just another piggish brute who would rather kill those who oppose than work with them?”
    Bristling, Ishmael didn’t glare back or even dignify her with a response.

    “Jolt. Car mode; we need to leave.”
    The blue Autobot gave him an odd look.
    “Why? I mean sure you took down Icepick, but she’s wanted by the Autobot Criminal Enforcement Division and the Decepticon Justice Division, so why are they hating on you for doing Cybertronians a favor?”
    “Well, upon reflection, I think I lost control. Car Mode. Help or no, we’re saving this town or we’re not fit to be called Autobots.”
    Folding up, Jolt wondered what got under his skin so bad to have him willing to desert his allies in their time of need. Or was he? He said that he’d keep fighting, just not…

    …Not when he was wanted. Just like Ironhide’s team when pinned on Gigantion, just like Turbocharger and the others who stayed at Velocitron when the Decepticons attacked. Just like the countless teams before, he stuck to doing right over being welcome.

    His train of thought complete before finishing Transformation, he popped open his passenger-side door for Ishmael.
    “Come on, let’s go finish these so-called ‘Mercenaries’ pal.”
    As he walked over, he found himself being cut off by Mizore.

    “I’m coming with.”
    “You sure? This isn’t going to be pretty, and you’re safer with your mother and the others.”
    “Yes.” Gasps were heard, since she was sticking with ‘the sexist’ over her own kind.
    “I have nothing to lose. And besides, this is the first time I’ll be able to fight against those who would do me emotional harm.”

    Nodding, Ishmael walked around her, rolled over Jolt’s hood (to his annoyance) and got in the Driver’s seat.
    “Lead the way man. We’ve got a job to do.”

    As Jolt drove off, Tsurura started shedding tears.
    “My daughter prefers death to staying safe? Why?”
    Icepick’s comatose body offered no answers.
     
  17. HeroicC300

    HeroicC300 Chats with Artists

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    If someone finds an error, please tell me
     
  18. kaijuguy19

    kaijuguy19 Keyblade Wielder

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    Ishmael sure knows how to use taunts. :lol 
     
  19. LCDR Blindside

    LCDR Blindside Banned

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    Okay, right off the bat, some general criticisms:

    Though I know you're gunning for a warfare scenario, Arcee barking off what the various Transformers should equip themselves with doesn't really add to the story. It reads like filler, because it's dry and repetitive. One could skip the paragraph and the story wouldn't be affected. This also applies to the rest of the story. Little details like weapons should be just that—little. If I may make a suggestion? Put these little details into the flow of the scene. Instead of saying "Arcee packed both her Acid Shotgun and Nucleon Charge Rifle (which though lethal could scare people", integrate it into the scene. "Arcee cocked her shotgun as she rounded the corner. Not a Decepticon in sight, and good for them. She reminisced to herself about the many times she'd melted half a Decepticon patrol, and sent the other half running." Not exact, that's by no means perfect, but you get the idea. It'd really help the flow.

    I know you're trying to include humor in the story, but timing in writing doesn't work like timing in television. Words like "epic rageface," though funny in its own context, really do not belong in a story. Instead, descriptive language is your friend. Instead of enumerating the steps of Icepick's building rage in a clunky fashion, try describing things in a paragraph that will grip the reader:
    "Icepick's face contorted as her rage broke through. In a matter of moments, the bombs reached the ends of their fuses, and she spoke.
    "Are you callin' me a—"
    and the bombs detonated, their energy focused into her body. Ishmael moved in for the kill."

    Again, not perfect by a stretch. It's another matter of streamlining your ideas into the text format. I can see how this could play out in your head, and it's a fantastic story, but one of writing's greatest challenges is figuring out how to effectively translate thoughts into text.

    There's a few more, but I don't want to be a burden. Basically streamlining your work, making it flow, will make it possible for you to show your thoughts more effectively.

    The positive is that your dialogue is witty, and your characters are solid. The personal relationships are something I'd like to see expanded upon.

    Also, "comatose" is, haha, not a word that works there.
     
  20. HeroicC300

    HeroicC300 Chats with Artists

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    Chapter Four: Saving Grace

    Jolt was slowly being unnerved by the deserted city. While Ishmael’s fight with Icepick did have its reasons for happening, he couldn’t help but feel the teenage demolitions expert was hiding something.

    In a way, Ishmael reminded Jolt of how some of the Warborn Autobots acted. Very skilled, very possessive and obsessive, and most importantly, they were all universally paranoid about emotional pain. He remembered meeting one of them once…

    Autobot Flight Academy, Mid-War:
    Whirl looked around at his students. That upstart Rotorstorm was proving to be in need of breaking before he got cocky. If it weren’t for the orders of Magnus and Prime together, he wouldn’t even be in this job.

    As the recruits were returning from a drill, Rotorstorm had proven that the time had come to knock him down.
    “Rookie, come here.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    As they walked off, the other recruits wondered what their mentor “Funnel” had planned. It wasn’t much of a secret that he loathed the recruits, and wanted nothing more than to grind them into soulless soldiers.
    “Rotorstorm, you need to know something important.”
    Rotorstorm himself was happy; he knew he was good, but at the same time he knew that others wouldn’t want him usurping their positions.
    “And what is that Sir?”
    Whirl opened a claw and turned to face him.
    “Sir?”
    Digging the claw into Rotorstorm’s torso, he made sure the upstart keeled in pain as Energon leaked from the wound as he removed his claw.
    “You need to know this; this isn’t the place for you to prove how good you are; there were places like that before the war, but as of now, there isn’t a single place to prove yourself. Understand?”
    Rotorstorm shook his head, only to earn a claw across it.
    “You will not defy me. Just because you act high and mighty doesn’t meant that you can afford this attitude on the field! Are you trying to get all the recruits here killed in your first field mission?”
    Rotorstorm, look up from his crouch, simply had a sneer for the teacher.
    “No. I’m trying to save them so people like you can’t harm them, sir.”
    Snarling, Whirl prepared to slice his face again, only to find a clawed hand gripping his arm. Upon readying the other, it, too, was held back. He struggled only to get electrocuted.
    “What in the name of the pit are you doing!?”
    “Shut up Jolt, I’m putting this insolent in his place.”
    Jolt simply turned, dragging Whirl with him, and slamming him down onto the floor.
    “I’m going to report this. After that, we’ll see who the true insolent is.”
    Whirl, being a Wrecker reassigned to training duty, had a lot more fight in him. Despite Jolt’s shocks, Whirl only had lower than normal limb control.

    Lower than normal for a Wrecker was still enough to fight with.

    Whirl lashed out with a claw, turning to stand up. Jolt dodged on both reflex and due to his hyperactive awareness. He made an attempt to grab Whirl’s arm to shock him again, only to get his face sliced open by Whirl’s other claw. Jolt stumbled back, making sure that he didn’t harm Rotorstorm. Thankfully, the warborn had the sense to back out of the scuffle.

    “Why is it, that every time I find someone who needs a negative trait beaten out of them, one of you ‘Free Spirits’ is there to stop me?”
    Jolt shrugged.
    “Beats me; you’re the one who has somehow managed to keep recruitment down. So maybe the spirits don’t show mercy on you.”
    Whirl bristled at the insult. Wreckers normally commanded respect; Whirl was unique. Not unique to his squad (though that was true as well) but unique to the entire Autobot army. No one else was as demented as he was. While this made him a good instructor, it made him intolerable everywhere else. Even some of his squadmates hated him.

    Whirl threw one of his claws out to decapitate Jolt, only to be stopped by a different clawed hand.
    “Well, what do we got here? The Wrecker who thinks he has the right to abuse his comrades-in-arms? Humorous. However, since I have a few links with your team, not to mention Magnus himself as a friend, you’re scrapped now Whirl.”
    Jolt smiled under his battered face.
    “Turbocharger, took you long enough, um, sir.”
    Said navy Autobot gave Jolt a quizzical look.
    “Jolt, who that behind you?”
    “It’s a recruit who has negative traits that need to be remedied with disciplinary action! You ‘Free Spirits’ just make me want to offline myself to avoid your stupidity!”
    Turbocharger, who had grabbed both Whirl’s arms to stop him, just stared at him, eyes dull and seemingly elsewhere.
    “Yes… I see, can you spare either of them or both? Yes, I can send some Spirits in, though I’ll need to convince them. Yes, I’ll run it by Hot Rod sir. Thank you sir. Jolt and I will take him to Fortress Maximus now. You want to meet us on the way? Understood sir.”
    Turbocharger’s eyes refocused, only now they were edging into a shade more like his matte paint. Jolt took a step back and crouched protectively over the stasis bound Rotorstorm.
    “Sir, why are you shifting into combat mode?”
    “Jolt, Please stay with Rotorstorm until Springer, Sandstorm, Roadbuster and Railspike arrive. See to the New Spirit. I have to take this walking pile of parts and insults to Maximus and Magnus for insubordination.”
    Jolt stiffened and saluted his superior.
    “Yes sir! But, why not send Pyro and Wheeljack? They’re spirits too.”
    Turbocharger nodded, since the Free Spirits had sent several of their own to Magnus’ squad, the Wreckers. Most never came back, but several thrived there.
    “I’ll be taking him away. See if you can juice Rotorstorm down there and get some repairs done. Those four will be here shortly. Come along, prisoner.”
    Walking off, Turbocharger’s cold tone reminded Jolt that even though he was empathic, Turbocharger was still neurotic at times.
    “Jolt?”
    “Yes Rotorstorm? What’s with your voice?”
    “Who’s Rotorstorm?”

    The City, Now:
    Mizore had been trying to get Jolt’s attention after he spaced out.
    “Jolt, we’re nearing a checkpoint, you might want to go elsewhere.”
    “Hmm? Oh, right. Sorry. Your behavior reminded me of an old comrade. Not that it’s a bad thing, but sometimes those inducted into the Free Spirits and the Wreckers had issues. Whether they were with authority, emotional troubles, or a list of other things, we had a diverse group who had an odd sense of camaraderie while also a need to outdo each other.”
    Mizore sighed, and stretched in her seat. Ishmael, busy scanning a datapad, was using one of the Autobot’s satellites to locate a good landing point for the rest of Arcee’s team.
    “Mizore? You stiff in the shoulder blades or just trying to be distracting?”
    Mizore gave him a confused look, then a glare.
    “Excuse me?”
    “Look, while you chose to come with, unless you know where everything is, you need to stay still so I can use one of their satellites to find a good landing spot.”
    “Oh. That’s easy. Give me that; you need to direct them to land here. The area used to be a rec center before the mercs arrived. Me, my friends, we used to hang here. As did someone I loved, but he ran.”
    Ishmael snorted, before examining the datapad again.
    “He ran? From you? I don’t see you being the mean type in a relationship. Quiet and strong, but not mean.”
    Mizore seemed depressed. Ishmael wondered if it was because of her former love or just knowledge of defiled childhood locations.
    “I sense a story. Spill.”
    “Not much. He just couldn’t take what I was, but loved who I am. When I told him the truth, he ran. I hope the blizzard didn’t kill him.”
    “What’s with that blizzard anyway? It’s theoretically impossible to maintain a blizzard that strength, even with a weather machine-ask Arcee when she’s here, don’t give me that look you’re supposed to be a myth-you’d need lots of water to keep it giving snow and ice.”
    Mizore looked incredulous.
    “A weather machine? You’re nonplussed about being in a village of monsters and now you’re saying your allies can build a freaking weather machine!?
    “Comrades, not allies. I have a pair of nanite laced badges. And yes, it’s entirely possible to build a weather machine using cybertronian technology. Among other oddities anyway. You know that one on our team has more weapons, ammunition and items banned than all the other weapons engineers combined?”
    “Seriously? Anyway, I spilled my big shame, what’s yours?”
    Ishmael sighed. He hated these games.
    “Honestly? I’ve never been able to be a good person or a good friend. In a way, I live my life with pure deception and disguises at times. It’s horrifying, to look in a mirror and see who I want to be, but not who I am on the surface or in my thoughts.”
    “Are you being dramatic or not?”
    “Well, I’ve never been able to give half the time, even the other half I’ve something to gain. I can be nice but I can never seem to be nice enough. I’ve pushed away friends and sometimes just use them without ever asking if they’re fine with it.”
    Mizore nodded, still not understanding.
    “My own family has compared me to a drug; even if it’s beneficial you want to overdose even though it’s harmful. Even though the taste is terrible, you have to use it. Honestly, I can’t change things like that.”
    Ishmael seemed near tears.
    “I lie pathologically. To Arcee, to my family, to my friends, even to myself. No matter how hard I try, I never make the cut. At best I’m a lunatic demolitions expert who can be relied upon to talk up a good game and never deliver.”
    Jolt piped in, after pulling into an alley.
    “Ishmael, you hurt yourself with these thoughts. So what if you use your friends? In the Spirits we’ve had other like you. We do what we do best; support and release your chains. That’s always been the way of the Free Spirits. No chains, no weight, just a desire to be free and fight for others to share that freedom.”
    Ishmael barked out what could have been a laugh.
    “Oh really? Then why is it that the main tactician drove several spirits to darkness and others to the beyond? Tell me why.”
    Jolt popped open his doors. Taking the hint, both Mizore and Ishmael got out. Jolt rapidly reverted to his avian robot form. He crouched a looked at Mizore and Ishmael with understanding.
    “Ishmael, Turbocharger has never forgiven himself for each member of the Free Spirits he’s driven off. You must understand; though you see yourself as a liar and a conman, Arcee, Ironfist, and the rest of us never have. You’ve grown past that, but at the same time have an uncanny ability to bring out the worst in people. Do not mistake the two.”
    Ishmael nodded while Mizore looked on questioningly. Jolt turned to face her.
    “And Mizore, you must know this; even if you doubt yourself, and doubt those around you, encasing your heart in ice will only hurt you. It took several members of the Elite Guard years before they could ever trust after some of the events I’ve lived through. You two are young, but are being dragged into events beyond your control. To survive, don’t resist change, but instead ensure that your actions change those around you. That is your saving grace.” He gestured at the area beyond the alley. “There is the base. We’ve got little time left, so Ishmael, you and Mizore need to sneak in a cause some mayhem. Then, when I give the signal, you need to use the targeting laser to cause Arcee and the others to hit key targets. Understand?”
    Ishmael gave a shark-like smile.
    “Yes, and while they’re hitting key targets, me and Mizore can take out leaders and leave the ground forces in disarray. I like it. Mizzes, what about you?”
    Mizore whipped to look at him.
    “Okay, ‘Mizzes’? And yeah, the plan’s fine. Let’s do it.”
    “Alright, let’s give these guys some sunset snake-eyes!”

    Prison Base, Tsurara’s quarters:
    Icepick; she was the source of the discord an hour ago. Ishmael was a nice kid, if a bit deluded (thinking about Jolt, she figured he had a right to be) and full of childlike wonder. Looking at the fight, she saw not a boy attempting to annoy everyone, but someone who was fighting because of a sociopath bent on dragging everyone down. She wouldn’t forgive Ishmael for his remarks, but she wouldn’t bear ill will for what he did to Icepick.

    Walking out and about, Tsurara decided to organize an attack group. Not for him, but for her daughter.
    “Always wanted to be a spy. Now to see if our species is good enough for the job.”
    Walking off, Tsurara began to organize a raiding party, making sure to find that Mizuno lady since her daughter had been Mizore’s friend.

    Outskirts of Base, 30min before Arrival:
    “Okay, Jolt, you need to shut down their main power grid. They’ll have backups, but that also creates inferior lighting a security, and more guards patrolling. Mizzie, you’re with me. We’ll be headed for the database; see what the hell these guys are here for. After that, it’s to a sniper nest to call down Arcee and her team. Everyone got it?”
    “Affirmative, but this is risky.”
    “Yes, but don’t call me Mizzie or Mizzes!”
    “Ja ja, let’s go.”
    Jolt watched his friend walk off with the possible new recruit in tow. Those two could be almost as bad as Ishmael with Arcee, but for now, he had to watch. Rolling off, he used his affinity with power grids to find the local power plant. It turned out to be a short trip, but due to heavy lighting, this was going to be a bit difficult. Even with his armor, anti-tank weapons could pose a minor threat. Jolt simply rolled to a section of fence near another alley, and prepared to gun it.

    Power Plant:
    Guard duty; demeaning at times, nowhere near as fun as prisoner handling, but it had its merits. Still, at least this post was warm and well-lit. However, some areas the fog-and-spotlights couldn’t reach, such as some of the alleys. Like the one I was walking by. I never knew what hit me.

    Jolt finished driving over the careless guard. The lines had been cut so that the plant solely powered the base. Thankfully their lights couldn’t see the alleys well. Gunning for a checkpoint with what appeared to be the main maintenance entrance behind it, Jolt aimed for the building, not the gate; Cybertronian Armor was meant to survive basic materials like this. The guards, even if they gave off Energon signatures, weren’t. After pulping the guard and smashing the gatehouse, Jolt slowed to a stop, waiting for the Mercenaries to surround him. Cueing up the holo-avatar Ishmael helped him create, Jolt decided to screw with these guys.

    Surrounding the hybrid, we prepared to execute the driver and then destroy it. Aiming my rifle at the window, I ordered the driver to lower it. As she did, I was shocked to see a black male. Clearly we weren’t thorough enough. Rapidly shooting him in the head, I was surprised to see the bullet just go through and embed itself into the seat beside him.
    “Now that wasn’t nice. Guess you need a lesson.”

    Jolt ditched his alternate mode; flaring his doors, he decapitated the guard who shot his seat, and bisected a few others. The guards took steps back before attacking him with rifles. The bullets just bounced off his armored skin, and as he finished his conversion, he fired off lightning bolts at anyone who had weapons capable of harming him. Flexing his arms and wings, he roared to the sky, firing bolt after bolt at the power plant…

    Mercenary Base, Corridors:
    Ishmael ducked under yet more gunfire, tossing one of his grease grenades as he did so. Mizore was hiding in a cubby nearby, waiting for guards stupid enough to get near and slice open their necks. The mercenaries, however, had them both pinned.
    “Ishmael! I thought you said Jolt would take care of these guys!”
    “No! I said he’d cut the power! It’ll be happening soon; right now, he’s pissed!”
    The grease grenade went up, flaming oil soaking several mercenaries and lighting them aflame. After it finished clearing them out, the lights died and the emergency generators kicked in.
    “See? Jolt gets to job done. Since he’s livid, odds are most of the mercs will be busy dealing with him and not us. Come on, the Database is this way.”
    Mizore questioned Ishmael’s apparent building navigational skills, but he quickly led her to a door that was heavily armored.
    “Well, this must be the joint. Stand back; an Energon Detpak will deal with it. Then we can figure out what the Database holds.”
    Mizore, incredulous at Ishmael’s lack of survival instinct, fruitlessly pointed at the door, the hallway, and the walls.
    “Ya, but this is a directional charge; it’ll focus inwards and leave use unharmed. Now where is it…”
    He spent some time rifling through his subspace pocket looking for something.
    “No, no, ah, was looking for that, no, no, that was food at one point, no, no, YES!”
    Pulling out an oddly-shaped explosive device, he slammed it against the door.
    “Okay, so this’ll blow soon, but right now, we have to get out of here; Arcee’s and her team is about to hit atmo, and without my targeting laser, they’ll be wildly off the mark.”
    Mizore nodded; he had explained this part of his plan, but not the after.
    “But why do I need to come with you? Wouldn’t it be better for me to, oh, I don’t know, fight mercs in a different area?”
    Ishmael whipped around to look at her.
    “Because someone needs to protect my back. Not to mention that bomb will trigger the second one of the mercs gets near it!”
    “I thought it was a directional charge!”
    “I lied. Let’s move!”
    Ishmael then bolted, sliding the targeting laser over one hand and his navy omni-tool appearing on the other with a hard-light scimitar materializing on it. Mizore shook her head, and followed him.

    Orbit: Arcee’s Team
    Arcee pinged her team; so far, the collected Autobots were just as determined as they were during some of the scrapes during the War for Cybertron.
    :Okay, Ishmael’s going to use his targeting laser to bring us down as close as he can get to our targets. Knowing him, this’ll mean that we’ll likely land on or next to them. Hardhead, you and Wheeljack go first. I’ll follow with Pyro and Ironfist. Hoist, you’re last with Landmine.:
    :Noted: -Hardhead
    :Cool. Maybe we’ll see some of my explosives in action: -Wheeljack
    :We’ll smash them easy: -Pyro and Ironfist
    :Why last? I’m the most heavily armored; I should be first: -Landmine
    :Landmine, your alternate mode needs some revisions to match the area. Once done, you and Hoist land:

    Feeling the signal, the first of the seven went into freefall, rocketing back towards the planet and the nonsense inside.

    Base: Outskirts
    Checkpoint: Time to Arrival: 0Hrs0Min0Sec
    Jolt didn’t bother hiding anymore. That power plant was nothing but electrified rubble, and with it, any automated defenses the mercenaries had. Upon reaching the checkpoint for the base, he just blew it open with a lightning bolt.
    “Jolt?”
    He stiffened. That voice was of someone who wasn’t on his side.
    “Tsurara. Get out; if you stay here, you’ll die. I’m not protecting you or anyone you brought with you. Arcee can sort you out. I won’t.”
    She nodded, oddly enough. Gesturing towards the war party she had, she explained everything to Jolt.

    Sonics booms were heard ahead.
    “What was that!?”
    The commander of the base was extremely annoyed; first the power was cut, and the teams sent in responded only about some sort of giant, mechanical avian who then slaughtered them. Apparently there was some sort of Mecha in the area.
    Second, there were the two who were inside the base. They were busy making damn sure the mercs were blind to any plans.
    Two could play at that game then. Yes, two could, and he’d be rid of these idiots.

    Ishmael was stuck just aiming the targeting laser, while hooked into the Autobot comm. network. He was waiting for pings that would let him know who was landing in what order.
    :Ishmael, this is Arcee; first wave is Hardhead, Wheeljack, and myself in that order. Then it’s Pyro and Ironfist, and finally Hoist and Landmine. Take care, and target any anti-tank weapons caches:
    :Roger that. Screwball out:
    “Mizore, first wave’s inbound. The problem is that the sonic booms we just heard? Those will alert all the mercs. Now that it’s begun, you’ll need to hold off the mercs long enough for me to direct them down.”
    “Right; should be easy. Right?”
    “No. These guys know we’re here. We can’t surprise them. Our only hope is that Jolt makes it back in time. After that, we’ll see.”
    Mizore walked off, presumably to ambush any mercenaries.
    Aiming his targeting laser, he found the armory. Hardhead and Wheeljack could completely trash the place in a matter of minutes. Arcee could also hack that database, which would give the information they needed.

    Mizore, ever watchful due to training every girl in her village got, kept an eye out for Ishmael. To her surprise, she saw her mother with Jolt, explaining something. Moving to look elsewhere, she found her first mercenary to kill. Yuki-onna were trained in stealth, which combined with her mother’s desire to be a spy, led to some very skilled sneaking.
    “I don’t believe it; that kid’s busy with something and he’s left undefended. Is he stupid?”
    “Possibly. Though given who it is, he might have a card to play. Maybe he-”
    There was a thud, and the first merc simply looked at the kid, aiming his rifle.
    “Maybe he’ll die.”
    “No. I will protect him for a simple reason. He is the chance of freedom for my race, and you have no place here.”
    Turning, the merc found, face-to-face with him, one of the women, though her claws were very bloody. Smirking, he prepared to slap her, only to feel deep cuts into his chest.
    Walking off, Mizore went back into the shadows. Her friends greeted her there; if humans considered her kind to be a creature of myth, then she’d be sure to do her best to live up to that.

    Ishmael was worried. Sure, he could bring down all seven, but currently another plan was in his head.
    :Arcee:
    :Yes?:
    :Use the network to co-ordinate landings after you, Hardhead and Wheeljack have arrived; I have something for you that warrants immediate attention:
    :Noted. There better be a good reason:
    :Merc Database. Juicy Info. Contacts. That’s what:
    He looked up, and saw the flaming trails that represented the first wave.
    :I’ll send the call. That warrants investigation, and given how you phrased that, you want them to kill as many mercs as possible getting here:
    :You know me so well sis:
    They must have been at more than terminal velocity. Upon arrival, the two powerhouses would wreck the armory and begin to lay waste to the mercs. Arcee could then reach the database room and mine it. They could go back, fix Icepick and have her back on their side, get Tsurara and the others back, prevent them from assisting Jolt-
    Wait. They were assisting Jolt. And getting near the armory…
    “Jolt! Get away from there! That’s where Hardhead and Wheeljack are landing! Get Away!”
    Jolt paused, looked up, and frantically began leading his makeshift group back. Just in time; Hardhead and Wheeljack had arrived. The armory just broke under their landing, taking with it all the weapons that the mercs could’ve used against them. Jolt went back to fighting with Tsurara, and together they massacred the mercenaries, driving them towards Ishmael and their main base.

    Right where Arcee would land on them.
    “Here we go, here we go, satellite radio; y’all get hit with the-”
    She landed
    “-BOOM BOOM!”
    As she got out of the crater her arrival made, her acid cannon belched out endless death and pain to the mercs. With a solid link between half the team established, the remaining four fell to earth.

    In the mercenaries’ air unit pool, the largest arrived. Destroying every helicopter he saw, Pyro began to walk off and rejoin the others.

    Somewhere near what was once an old fortress, two crashed into the ruins. Hoist and Ironfist stood up and walked towards the fight.

    In the rubble of what had been the local militia’s headquarters, Landmine examined the wreckage. Walking off, he reverted to his vehicle from, details changed to fit in better. Rolling away, the earthmover made a route leading through as many mercenary marauders as possible.

    Ishmael looked at the carnage from his gamble. Even though Mizore had been the only one he started with at the base, the eight Autobots, Tsurara’s brigade, and the shock and awe from arrival had ruined the base. As Arcee walked towards the database room, Ishmael filled her in on all data he’d gained.
    “…This is much better than some assignment examining some ruins! I get to meet REAL myths, and they’re awesome. Instead of dusty old buildings, we’ll find out what Her plan was. Finally…”
    “Ishmael, quiet. We’re here. Now to see what got you so excited.”
    Walking to the computer, Arcee, pretender tech dormant, simply merged her arms with the supercomputer.
    “By the Allspark. Ishmael, good call. Hound and his team have reason to hurry up. Is the antennae farm still working?”
    Ishmael ran his omni-tool over the makeshift holo-map of the base.
    “Ya. But whatever you’re doing, it better be good.”
    Arcee wrote a message in old Cybertronian, the Autobot cipher, and sent it via Mass Relay Network as well as the Autobot Comm. Network.

    “Okay Ishmael, this mission got more complicated, but by the end, that complexity will have been worth it.”
    “Why sis?”
    Mizore nodded in agreement.
    “There’s a relic here alright, but according to the signature, it’s one of the Thirteen’s.”

    Okay, so the first act is over. Now, I'm going to marshal my thoughts. The story'll shift to being from the P.O.V. of Wheeljack, Arcee, Hardhead, and Mizore.
     

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