With a Thousand Lies (revised)

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

  1. kaijuguy19

    kaijuguy19 Keyblade Wielder

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    Glad to see the story back mate! :thumb 

    Jolt really shined in this chapter!
     
  2. HeroicC300

    HeroicC300 Chats with Artists

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    Almost done with Chapter five, it'll be up tonight; just one scene left to write
     
  3. HeroicC300

    HeroicC300 Chats with Artists

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    Chapter Five: Won't Back Down

    Fort Hope (Formerly mercenary stronghold):
    Arcee, having finished data mining and working towards getting a solid fortress set up, went walking on the roof/observation deck of the central hub. Ishmael and Mizore were already there, and Ishmael looked more than a bit depressed.
    “Brother, there a problem?”
    He looked at her, and then sighed.
    “Ya. Sure, we beat these guys back and you managed to find out that we got a gift from Primus here, but now what? We liberate the village, but I know, deep in my bones, that this place, it’s my crucible. I’ll lose something here.”
    Mizore gave him a questioning look.
    “Why? What could you lose here?”
    Ishmael stood up, and put one of his hands (gloveless, the first time Mizore had seen his hands and the symbols on them) on her shoulder.
    “A great deal of things. For me, in a way, this is a fresh start. I don’t doubt that my family thinks I’m dead. Arcee, Ironfist, Jolt, Pyro, in a way, they’re my surrogate family. Wheeljack’s like a mad uncle, Hardhead’s that cantankerous relative or friend, Hoist’s the doctor, and Landmine’s kind of a friend who everyone knows but doesn’t really understand. It feels a lot like my family, but less, I don’t know, strict.”
    Mizore nodded having seen how he’d looked at the Autobots coordinating with some of the villagers and building automated defenses around the fortress and other critical locations. That bond, it wasn’t something given easily; it had to be earned.
    “So, why are you depressed then, brother? Something bothering you beyond your issues with your mother?”
    “Arcee, right? Jolt said something about how Ishmael and I acted like ‘Warborn’ or something like that. Any reason he’d say that? He doesn’t strike me as one someone of age.”
    Arcee nodded her head; these two, though having forged a platonic brother-sister bond somehow, didn’t strike her as the most mature. Well, Mizore gave off that vibe. Ishmael just seemed moody, and not like the manic smartass she was used to.
    “Ishmael, the first shadow op or other unsanctioned mission is always the hardest. Talk to Wheeljack and Pyro; they’re both Wreckers who put in enough missions and operations to move to reservist. They’ll be able to help you. Mizore, come with me; Hoist and I have prepared a set of nanites to give you your badge of honor.”
    As she walked off, towing Mizore with her, Ishmael looked at his badges; they had shifted from the light blue Wreckers symbol to one he didn’t recognize; it looked like the Autobot Logo, but it was white and hovered over what appeared to be broken chains.

    Prison, cargo bay:
    Hardhead was working with Pyro, Ironfist and Landmine on moving the stasis locked Icepick to Fort Hope. It was a generic name for the facility under construction, or was it rebuilding? Either way, the Build Team member, Wrecker and chronicler weren’t who he’d have taken, but Jolt was busy keeping the Fort powered until they could rebuild the Power Plant and get the grid re-established. It was a daunting task to rookies, but to veterans like the eight of them, it would be simple.
    “Landmine, careful with her chassis; though despised by Arcee and the A.C.E.D., we need to treat her and get her functioning again.”
    Landmine had rolled up to the cargo bay’s loading dock, and now several of these odd organics, ‘Yuki-Onna’ as Ishmael and Arcee described them, were bringing her chassis for Landmine to carry to the fort.
    “Okay, we’re coming out. This… thing is heavy.”
    With the sound of groaning metal sliding against concrete, Icepick’s chassis appeared before him. He was impressed with the kid’s skill at blowing things up.
    “Wow, he did a number to her. Nothing Hoist can’t fix with help, but still, impressive.”
    Her chassis had one leg blown off at the hip, the other one hanging uselessly; the servos nothing by shrapnel. Her arms were charred and broken, with one’s hand being fused to one of her infamous picks, and the other was missing the majority of its armor, and the hand was blown clean open. Of her torso, it was showing signs of his penchant for brutality; several holes were weeping Energon, while none of the wounds were fatal. Her head was also partially detached. Though her spinal cords and fuel lines were intact, one of the women had to carry it. Landmine waited patiently, the gentle soul not normally one for combat. Hardhead and Ironfist began carefully loading the borderline corpse into Landmine’s shovel. Pyro waited nearby, in his vehicle mode (Hardhead idly wondered why Ishmael proved to be such a great help in getting the others in terrestrial vehicle forms but gave him the mode he had) idling and showing new weapons. Must’ve been one of Wheeljack’s new inventions; the mad genius was always experimenting.
    “Landmine, shift to something akin to what Ishmael calls a Scraper; you’ll be able to carry this renegade more safely.”
    Gesturing for the women to get into the various local enforcement and transport vehicles, Hardhead and Ironfist transformed into their tank and SUV forms, and rolled to Arcee and Ishmael.

    Fort Hope: Medical Wing
    Mizore was curious about how the badge worked. Ishmael’s had shifted to something white, whereas before it was blue. Arcee was busy with something Mizore couldn’t identify easily. Her arm, which was covered in a synthetic skin of some sort until the elbow, appeared to be holding a tattoo device.
    “Okay, Ishmael got his on his hands. Where do you want your badge or badges?”
    Mizore blinked. She hadn’t considered that.
    “Um, my shoulders maybe? They’d be easy to cover, and according to Ishmael, once added, you and the others would be able to see them easily.”
    Arcee nodded, her aged face also showing some sort of pity. Pity?
    “Is there a problem?”
    “Yes; the locations will be sore for a few hours. It’s nothing that can be avoided, as the nanites have to interact with the skin and embed themselves deep.”
    She gestured for Mizore to take off her sweater. Thankful that she was wearing a triple layer of clothing, Mizore complied.
    Walking up to her shoulders, Arcee put her free hand on one to steady it, then pressed hard against the bone. Mizore winced, but held steady.
    “That hurts, feels like you’re branding me or something.”
    “In a way, I am. I’ll help you with the full ceremony later, but right now we need to add these logos. After they’ve taken, they’ll adjust based on what unit you’re most likely to fit in with. Mine are Elite Guard, as is Hardhead’s. Pyro and Wheeljack have the Wrecker’s logo, the one you saw on Ishmael’s hands, while Wheeljack and Jolt have the Free Spirit’s icon. Ishmael’s were shifting to that one last I saw.”
    Mizore, whose vision was now swimming due to the pain involved with the nanites, nodded drunkenly.
    “So, the nanites lacing the badge change with who we are. That’s nice. But this hurts.”
    “Sorry. That shoulder’s done. Now let’s get with the other one and finish this. I’ll sedate you afterward so that you can sleep through the truly painful part.”
    Mizore nodded, bracing for yet more pain.

    Vehicle Maintence Bay D22
    Hoist relaxed as the convoy containing the majority of the team rolled in. Said joy was gone, however, when Landmine arrived. Ishmael, moving to help, watched in fascination at Icepick’s chassis was unceremoniously dropped.
    “I knew I messed her up, but wow man.”
    Hoist rubbed his head, and motioned for her torso to be put on one of his makeshift medical slabs.
    “Ishmael, I know you love explosives, but this is extreme. Why did you even leave her alive?”
    Ishmael, being in gremlin mode, was peeling off layers of armor to begin repairing her torso’s innards.
    “So that she knew that she wasn’t top dog anymore. Hold on, I need to start repairing the coolant and Energon lines before we can start to prepare bringing her out of stasis.”
    Hoist nodded, and began the difficult process of peeling off armor and replacing or reattaching her joints. Even if she had murdered her entire team in ‘cold blood’ as Ishmael would put it, odds are she didn’t deserve Ishmael’s handiwork at crippling someone.
    “Ironfist, I need your help.”

    Armory Ruins:
    Wheeljack was giddy. Not only was he in the presence of something that was considered a myth, but they also had a relic of the Thirteen in the area! Having been one who had done the impossible before, but now he would assist in finding an artifact built to DO the impossible. But first…
    “Jolt, Are you sure this would be the best location for a Power Plant for the Fort?”
    “Yes Wheeljack; this area, in addition to having the space required added by your arrival, also is close enough to the rest of the Fort that we may be able to add several solar panels and other generators and thus create enough power to not only juice the base, but also the Automated Defenses you’re working on.”
    Jolt, having been working on setting up generators when not powering the base, knew exactly what was needed to power not only for the Fort, but also for the multitude of automated defenses and the singularity cannon Hardhead was supposed to oversee the installation of.
    “Jolt… Jolt! You there buddy?”
    “Hmm? Oh, yes. We need some fusion reactors to power everything. I have no idea why Ishmael thought installing a Singularity Cannon was a good idea. Those things have such extreme recoil that it takes being wired into command centers and stations to avoid being knocked down!”
    Wheeljack nodded enthusiastically. He then waved towards the location for the first Plant
    “Let’s get started!”
    Jolt shrugged; the mad scientist was who could do it. Now if only seven out of ten devices he made didn’t explode without cause…

    Medical Wing:
    Tsurara was walking up to see her daughter. Apparently she was joining the same group Ishmael was a part of. Several of the city maintenance workers were assisting some of the Autobots with… something. Looked massive, whatever it was. Thankfully, with a fully stocked medical wing, Mizuno could organize any doctors and surgeons into a cohesive group again. She passed one of them upon entering, and saw Mizore sleeping in one of the beds with Arcee hooking up monitoring devices.
    “Arcee, what happened?”
    Looking up at her, Arcee explained
    “Mizore asked to be given the Autobadge. Given how it works on organics, I decided to sedate her while the nanites take. This way, she sleeps through the most uncomfortable part of it.”
    Nodding, Tsurara moved to sit beside Mizore.
    “I’ll stay with her until she wakes up. Anything I should be aware of?”
    “Her shoulders will be very sore when she wakes up. Don’t touch them or your Energon signature might throw off the nanites. Don’t ask me how because I’m not a scientist, but according to the data from Ishmael’s experience, odds are that the effect will be increased with your daughter. If you want, I can send you updates as it settles when you’re not with her.”
    Tsurara nodded, and Arcee strode off to go help Hoist and Ishmael repair Icepick. Whatever was left of her anyway; Ishmael wasn’t known for showing mercy in fights.

    Moving past the various segments of the base, Arcee noted that a terminal used for communications with outside sources was blinking. Moving past it, she decided that whoever paid these idiots, they could wait. Jolt, Wheeljack and Landmine were working on the automated defenses in the middle of the fortress, while she could see the sparks and light from where Hoist was patching up Icepick. It was a long walk, given the hallways and broken areas, but she could manage it. Iacon was worse, however. The twin sieges had made the capital a wasteland. With luck, the Energon facilities built in secret were helping with its restoration. Clearing her head, Arcee started pushing debris and fallen wires out of her way as she moved to the medbay. Why she had to move through a ruined section of the fort baffled her.

    Thankfully, after a minute of moving through it, she ran into a work crew and was able to walk normally.


    Autobot Medbay:
    Hoist had finished repairing Icepick’s Arms, to the best of his ability. Installed a CR Chamber would be best, but for now manual repair was necessary. The hollow-looking slab allowed Ishmael to work on her innards, while her treads (which somehow formed something akin to Terran hair) hung draped behind the slab.
    “Hey, lard tires; try sending an Energon rush now.”
    “I told you to stop calling me that!”
    Hoist sent some Energon through Icepick’s fuel system, causing her body to spasm. Her life signals started to rise as well.
    “Ishmael, she’s walking up. Be careful however. I’ve no idea how you managed to survive your encounter with her.”
    “Noted big guy. Just a moment; I need to attached this and… done! She’ll be waking up. Let’s be careful and turn on her sensory systems one-by-one.”
    Walking around the slab, Ishmael waved over Dr. Mizuno and moved to a safe distance. Arcee also arrived, rolling out of her motorcycle form. Waving her over as well, Ishmael smiled.
    “So, sailor scouts, we’re about to wake up the renegade. Arcee, got the acid shotgun ready? We may need to put this rabid dog down. Hoist! Are the Olfactory sensors online? Cue up the Optical Circuitry next, then Audio! Not sure if she has a sense of taste, but best leave her sense of touch off until we’ve come to terms.”
    Mizuno mouthed Sailor Scouts? To Arcee, who mouthed back He’s a smartass and then began to examine Icepick. The battered femme’s body was incomplete, but no one was willing to restore her fully yet. As the white rogue started shaking, her ‘mask’ lit up, and she glanced around like she was in a fight. Straining against her bonds, she snarled and glared at Ishmael. He smirked and waved back.
    “Hiya bitch, remember me?”
    Icepick glared at him.
    “What do you want, boy?”
    “Well, me and Arcee are going to discuss terms; terms of your surrender.”
    Snarling, Icepick braced for the worst.


    Medical Wing:
    Tsurara was worried. Mizore wasn’t waking up and now she was glowing. Her entire circulation system was glowing, pulsing blue. It was comforting to look at, but worrisome all the same. As they got brighter, she saw the symbols coalesce on her shoulders, as well as glowing facial and arm markings akin to what Ishmael had. It was odd. While his were a light blue, hers were rapidly becoming white, and somehow seemed to show spiritual liberation of a sort.

    Rushing to her cell, she dialed Arcee (she didn’t bother to ask why the Autobots linked themselves in, since it was more useful than worth worrying about). After a beep or two, Arcee answered.
    “Yes, what is it Tsurara?”
    “Mizore. She’s not waking up and somehow her youki is solidifying into some sort of line pattern similar to what you and the Autobots have.”
    “Youki? What is-oh! You mean her internal Energon? Figured it’d have a different name here. It’s not exactly explainable, but odds are she’s reacting normally. So, don’t disturb her. She’ll awaken afterwards. Now, please get over here; we’re talking terms with Icepick.”
    She looked at Mizore. If Arcee was right, she would wake up.
    “I’m on my way.”

    Medbay:
    “So, your pet Wrecker put some sort of bomb in my head? Why?”
    “To ensure your cooperation, your highness” Was the sarcastic retort Ishmael gave. Arcee put her hand on his shoulder.
    “Simply put, we did it so that when you do anything rash, it will incapacitate you severely. Not enough to kill, but enough to make you regret your actions.”
    “Same thing, I’m now your slave. Aren’t you lot above this?” their subject sneered.
    Tsurara walked in, having had the same issues with transit Arcee did.
    “What’d I miss while my daughter was unconscious?”
    Icepick blanched, and limped to try to tower over Tsurara.
    “What is one of you Insecticons doing joining a faction, which is better than you?!”
    Shaking her head in contempt, Arcee took the blunder of responding.
    “Because unlike you, a hunted rogue, we believe that if one wants to join us, they should be given the chance!”
    Walking off, she grabbed Ishmael’s arm and dragged him with her. Dr. Mizuno and Tsurara followed. Then, looking at Ishmael, Arcee pondered what he had suggested beforehand.
    “You wouldn’t actually do it, would you?”
    “No! Of course I wouldn’t put an oversized burrito in her head even if she deserved it! I’m not that heartless!”

    Medical Wing:
    Mizore’s eyes flew open. Looking around, she saw that her body was glowing. At the same time, she also felt that her abilities were enhanced due to the nanites. She tried moving, but her body was sore.
    “Ah. You’re awake. Lay back down, it’s time for a checkup.”
    Ah. Dr. Mizuno. Behind her were Arcee, Ishmael, and her mother.
    “I feel really sore. Arcee wasn’t lying when she said that these would make me sore.”
    Ishmael snorted
    “You think that’s tough? I took ‘em awake. Talk about turn ‘n’ burn. Still the best way to ease out of the soreness is to use the muscles. So, when the good doc is done, we’ll get started on some exercises.”
    Mizuno was busy prodding and probing Mizore, while Ishmael pulled Tsurara and Arcee into a huddle.
    “Okay, so thanks to data mining Icepick while she was under and some work by the ladies here, we know where the next base is. We’ll wait until the Singularity Cannon is complete. Tsurara, you and I need to find others to form a raid group. The Autobots will be the heavies, and then we can see where it goes.”
    Arcee, ever the sticking point, had choice words
    “So we get to be shot at by the big guns while you sneak around? That fair, brother?”
    “Nah, not really. But since when was War fair?”
    “Point. Tsurara, you and Ishmael go find somewhere so he can fill you in on himself-that’s an order brother-while I talk to Mizore about being an Autobot.”
    Breaking the huddle, Ishmael dragged off Tsurara while Arcee went to go debrief Mizore.

    Unused Room, Fort Hope:
    “Okay, so Arcee wants me to dump my backstory on you. Ain’t she the sweetest?”
    Tsurara found that Ishmael could be mocking and bitter on personal subjects. He was currently; curled up in some crates, looking forlorn at something from his past.
    “She cares, and probably sees something in us both. So, please tell me.”
    “Okay, so when I joined, I had to cut ties with my family. The main issue is that I was adrift, and in a teenage rebellion type phase. Thing is, even in that kind of haze, I loved, and still love, my family. So when I had to cut ties, I did something that though I don’t regret, was something they never should’ve gone through.”
    Nodding slowly, Tsurara braced for something such as him getting arrested.
    “No family should ever have their children predecease them. After faking my death I attended my ‘Funeral’. I swear, my dad looked older than my grandfathers did, and mother? She was broken inside. Even if we drove each other up the walls due to being unable to see eye-to-eye, she never-they all didn’t-expect me to be the one to snap and kill myself.”
    One heavy thud later, Tsurara was also lying in crates.
    “You faked your DEATH!? You can’t be older than 16!”
    “15 actually. Yeah, it was rough, and even though I don’t regret it; I did it to protect them, I still hope to re-contact them someday.”
    So, Ishmael had faked his death to join the Autobots? Kid seemed to be tougher than he looked.
    “Arcee calls me one of the most dedicated organic members, and with good reason. Apparently I not only cut ties, but have also proven to be ‘resourceful’ and use the local myths to sift through what is Cybertronian in nature and what isn’t. So, though I’m not as tough as them, due to being smaller than them, a local on the cosmic scale, and having interests that benefit them, I have my uses.”
    “You are a strange one. So, what is your opinion on us not being human?”
    “Part of mythology, yeah? Simple; as long as you aren’t trying to kill me, it’s cool. Kinda like dealing with mythological beings. Mainly due to sheer surrealism; makes it easier to cope.”
    Tsurara, having gotten out of the crates, walked over and gave him a hug.
    “You’re reckless, but I can see that your heart is in the right place. If you need it, my house is open when this is over.”
    Ishmael’s head slammed up, accidentally headbutting Tsurara.
    “Sorry. Um, thanks? Family means a lot to me.”
    Getting off the crate he had been sitting on (he had relaxed and sprawled out while talking to Tsurara), Ishmael walked to face a wall.
    “So, think we could turn this into a lounge?”
    Tsurara stared at him, vastly confused.
    “A lounge? How did your thought process switch from faking your death to turning this into a lounge?”
    “I’m like that. Hold on, this crate holds something important.”
    Grabbing the oversized box, Ishmael slammed it onto the ground in between them.
    “Can you crack this open with your ice claws?”
    “Yeah, but how can you tell it’s important?”
    “It’s got electronics. That implies that they’ve encrypted their network and database. So if we can get Arcee to decode it, then she can datamine it easily.”
    Tsurara, muttering under her breath, started to slice open the top.
    “Anything else notable?”
    “Ya; this’ll have the cipher we need. That’ll help us crack comm. channels and listen in.”
    Ishmael grabbed the lid and threw it off. Inside were various computers, laptops, radios, and other equipment for running a base. He nodded to Tsurara, and grabbed a few laptops, and tossed a radio to Tsurara.
    “Let’s find the nerve center and start getting a bead on this place. Afterwards we can take out the next base.”
    “Nerve center? Kid, we need to have words about your stunt with my daughter.”
    Whipping around on a single heel, Ishmael leaned into Tsurara’s face.
    “She isn’t expendable, when she joined me and Jolt for that stunt she was damn lucky she didn’t get herself killed. You may not like it, but that’s what we need to kick these bastards out of here.” Moving back, he whirled around and started stomping off.

    Tsurara could hear his parting words very clearly however:
    “Mizore may not be expendable, but I am. They can always find another human if I die in battle.”
    Worried for her daughter as she was, Tsurara couldn’t help but wonder how Ishmael got that mentality. Walking to follow him, she figured that his deception was wearing on him.

    Long-Range Artillery Station:
    Wheeljack, Jolt, and Landmine had been hard at work with the women, and the singularity cannon had been finished. As it was, it had to be linked up to the base still. After that, they had siege artillery.
    “How much longer do I have to wait until the circuits and other links are complete? I want to vent some of this overcharge and that cannon needs power. I can’t power it up yet so Landmine when are the links going to be complete?”

    Laughing form his core, Landmine could only shake his head at the hyperactivity.
    “Jolt, until Arcee gives to go-ahead, we can’t. I know you like venting as much of that charge as you can, but you know it won’t help. Only powering a city will vent it.”

    “Besides Jolt, even IF you could vent that charge, who’s to say that it won’t come back once your body’s adjusted to it? Getting rid of that charge? Forget it; it’s here to stay”

    “Guys! What’s wrong with Ishmael?!”

    The three Autobots, an odd collection comprised of a Wrecker, a Free Spirit (Unlucky No. 7), and a Build Team member, turned to the new arrival. Tsurara was standing there, out of breath and looking very much like a concerned mother.
    “Here we go… Damn him and Damn ‘bullet’!”
    “He does have a tendency to push others away. If I could only weaponize that, the war would be won.”
    Tsurara was baffled by Wheeljack and Jolt’s casual comments on the unhinged teenager.
    “Bullet? What bullet? His attitude makes sense if he shot himself in the head once, but otherwise you’re not making any sense. Sorry, sorry, no need to get angry.”
    “Ishmael may be unhinged, but in a way, he’s slowly dying inside. That faked death? Arcee had to spend two months groundbound keeping him together. The only way he got past it was by picking himself up and forcing himself past it. Arcee may have had good intentions, but that is a very sore subject for him. Do not make any comments about him and suicide again.”
    “We haven’t made any rules about youkai yet, so even though our side is the side of angels, all of us here have made some hard decisions. Don’t make yourself one of them.”
    Jolt and Landmine stood up and started checking connections on the cannon, while Wheeljack just shook his head.
    “That kid, I swear he’ll be the death of us someday.”
    Waving Tsurara to come over, he shifted forms and popped open a door.
    “I’ll drive you to Arcee, and then talk to her. When we’re not in combat I outrank her.”
    Buckling, Tsurara smiled a bit at his attitude.
    “Then why is she the leader?”
    “Because I’m a scientist; I lack command skills. Unlike Arcee, who has command skills earned from combat. That’s what makes the Autobot chain of command so fluid; if Prime is killed, his successor is chosen not by next-in-line, but by leadership skills. Which will make it odd if our Magnus is chosen as the next leader; we’ve never had someone with both titles in Cybertronian history.”
    “Prime and Magnus are titles? Have you served them both?”
    “No, I’ve served under Magnus, but not Prime. I don’t like Primes; Zeta Prime was overzealous and Sentinel Prime was incompetent when it came to leading. Their subordinates Ferro Magnus and Epsilon Magnus were more skilled. Megatron had the Combaticons-former Elite Guard members who were extremely skilled-take out Ferro in one blow, and then had his thugs Blackout and Lugnut eliminate Epsilon. Ultra Magnus, Optimus Prime’s Magnus, has been more skilled. So far, he’s managed to thwart more attempts on his life than the other two combined. I serve in his personal commando squad; the Wreckers. Pyro serves as well. Ironfist we picked up along the way after he tagged along with me when I was recruited. That kid chronicles our escapades. We like him, aside from Whirl. But nobody likes Whirl.”
    Tsurara just nodded, not entirely following the names.
    “What makes Whirl so bad?”
    Wheeljack huffed, and gunned his motor faster.
    “What makes him ‘bad’? Nothing; he isn’t ‘bad’. ‘Bad’ doesn’t describe him. Out of all of us who are in the Wreckers-Roadbuster, Pyro, Rotorstorm, Scattershot, Impactor, Bulkhead, Railspike, Broadside, Springer, Leadfoot, Cyclonus, Guzzle, Scoop, Overload, Tailgate, all of us-He’s the only one who wasn’t either a low class worker or outcast. If anything, we’re the only squad who can keep him in line.”
    Tsurara looked outside. Either he was circling or taking scenic route.
    “Could you hurry up please? I’m certain there’ll be time for this discussion later.”
    “Hmm? Oh. Sorry. I just think better when stunt driving.”
    He started racing towards the incomplete nerve center. Arcee suddenly pinged him with a message label ‘urgent’
    :Wheeljack, I’ve found data that indicates a relic is in the area. It appears that each base holds encrypted data that helps pinpoint the location. Why they’re investigating such a thing is an unknown. Report back so we can map out a battle plan. Hardhead is already here.:
    :Acknowledged. Rolling.:
    :How goes progress on the cannon?:
    :Effectively done. Jolt should be juicing it soon.:
    :Excellent. Arcee out.:
    “Tsurara, we’re going to be doing a mission either today or tomorrow.”
    “Tomorrow. We need to rest and finish up the nerve center.”
    “Fair’s fair. You and your daughter may wind up being key allies of ours, you know.”

    Lounge, Evening:
    Arcee sat in one of the chairs, reading a datapad containing status reports from around the base. Icepick was back in stasis while being repaired. The singularity cannon had been finished and now Landmine and Pyro were assisting with construction a perimeter wall. Wheeljack and Hardhead were busy working with Ironfist to build a series of automated defenses built around the neutron repeaters they favored. Jolt was busy with Hoist making sure all the electrical connections and power grid was working properly.
    “Evening sis.”
    “Ishmael. Heard you nearly drove someone to the brink again.”
    “Well-placed bullet is all it takes. Anyway, decided to bunk with Tsurara, Mizore and Dr. Mizuno tonight. Mock me if you want, but I don’t really feel and pumped up as I should.”
    Ishmael flopped down on a beanbag with one of his beloved burritos. Arcee never figured out what fueled the desire. Even though they happened to be oddly tasty when prepared correctly.
    “Anyway, Mizore seems to be on the road for a meeting with Primus, which will be almost as odd as I am. Also, is it just me or is the Snow Priestess nowhere near as, well, preachy as expected?”
    Putting down the datapad, Arcee prepared for one of Ishmael’s rants.
    “I mean honestly, I understand that there are cultural differences in addition to them not even being human but the preachy factor has to be a Terran constant. Even though they’re not human I can’t tell the difference half the time even after blowing all my goodwill on a stupid, stupid stunt that nearly got me killed and Jolt exiled and oh god how many have I led to their deaths in these missions sister?”
    Calmly getting up, Arcee walked over to stand next to him. Ishmael looked at her, and was promptly slapped.
    “What was that for?!”
    “You are worrying too much right now. After we’ve pushed these mercenaries out and found the relic, then we can focus on your psychological state.”
    Ishmael decided that munching on his burrito was more important than focusing on Arcee’s words. Given time, he’d get over his issues. Halfway through his evening meal, Mizore and Tsurara walked in. Both had their own meals, while Arcee was back to investigating and sorting through data feeds. She had taken her disguise off earlier in the day, so she looked like the rest, as opposed to the attractive tanned look she normally ran on earth.
    “So, the big move’s tomorrow?”
    “Ya. It’s going to take Jolt and Ironfist all night to calibrate that cannon, not to mention that Jolt’s also going to have to network it to the Nerve Center. The Snow Priestess is organizing whatever’s left of your old militia to run the center and form squads, platoons and companies to fight.”
    Tsurara gave him a confused look.
    “How do you know so much about these things?”
    “I play a LOT of Real-Time Strategy Video Games and several Turn-Based wargames such as Squad Leader or Epic 40k. Rule of thumb for the lot of ‘em though: scale matters not. Anyway, I figure that due to my skill set, if we were in one I’d be one of the unique ‘don’t let them die’ units, which make everything a pain.”
    “You die, and we lose our main link here. Jolt floats, you know this.”
    Finishing his burrito, casually tossing the wrapper into a nearby garbage can, Ishmael began detailing plans.
    “True. Tomorrow I’ll gear up. Mizore, Arcee’s got some gear for you. On our mission, you’ll be my shadow, since it worked well last time. Also, I’m bunking with you two and Dr. Mizuno. Figure that the rooms in this place will be better than the homes and buildings elsewhere.”
    Tsurara nodded, even if he hadn’t stated what she was doing.
    “And my role is?”
    “Sniper; you’ll work with me and Mizore sniping people who attempt to take us out until a certain point. We’ll need to shift that rifle of yours to be able to spot for the cannon. We’ll go over details tomorrow. I’m tired for once.”
    Arcee waved them off, resuming her datamining of the Mercenaries’ database.
    “Here’s hoping you don’t have another weird dream this time, Ishmael.”
    “What? I’m not that bad!”
    “Just go to sleep.”
    They filed out (on account that the doorway wasn’t that large) and Arcee looked down at her current file.
    “Who is this ‘Fairy Tale’ group and why are they listing a recruitment-type agent at a ‘Youkai Academy’? And how does that factor in their plans alongside this occupation movement?”

    Notes:
    Singularity Cannon: The cannons from Fall of Cybertron with a different shell-type; instead of a normal shell it's ten Dimensional Decimators lashed together that separate mid-air and then activate.
    Ishmael's manic-depressiveness: It'll be detailed in a side-story called 'Bullet'
    Arcee datamining twice: Once on the mainframe, once with a datapad that's holding the more encrypted data
    Tailgate and Cyclonus in the Wreckers: it'll be detailed in my Fall of Cybertron story. Short version is that Jazz and his crew (Trailbreaker, Hound and Cliffjumper) found them in the Sea of Rust
    Icepick: Won't feature for a few chapters, so assume she's going to be used as a prop for now, but she'll come back into focus

    Glad I got this one done!
     
  4. HeroicC300

    HeroicC300 Chats with Artists

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    Well, took a breather to get my mindset right. Thanks to some Shinedown, I did. So expect the next chapter sometime soon.
     
  5. HeroicC300

    HeroicC300 Chats with Artists

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    Nuked my sixth chapter, so while I'm rebuilding it, here's a MTMTE-style Meet the Cast:

    Ishmael
    Demolitions and Logistics
    Carefree and caviler nature hides a deep depression over cutting ties with his family. Prone to putting his foot in his mouth

    Arcee
    Field Leader and Shadow Ops
    Overburdened and stuck with a madhouse. She manages, but relies on Landmine to support the team

    Jolt
    Soldier and Technician
    Overcharged body gives him an upbeat look at life. Always there to lend a hand, but prone to seizing up due to the overcharge

    Mizore
    New Recruit
    Anti-social demeanor is a facade to protect herself. Just looking for a purpose beyond living

    Tsurura
    Team Mom and Sniper
    Friendly but unnerving, she tries to keep the other Terrans from imploding on themselves. Dreams of being a spy

    Wheeljack
    Mad Science
    One of Solus Prime's direct descendants, he can make anything given the raw materials and time. Has a habit of causing more explosions than the Mythbusters

    Hardhead
    Shadow and Shock Trooper
    Grim outlook on life comes from a habit of dirty work. Took a fictional tank as his alternate mode at Ishmael's insistence

    That's all for now.