Ice Planet:  Master of Insanity

 

 

Behind the lies, you will see the master of insanity

Under the mask, there will be the master of insanity

Between the lies, you will find he’s trying to get inside you

Out of the night into your mind, he’s always right beside you…

 

--”Master of Insanity,” Black Sabbath

 

 

The Decepticons follow an Autobot shuttle into space, where their ship begins picking up a strong energy signal from an unknown planet.  It begins to appear that the Autobots are bound for Monacus, while the signal promises a new power source for the Empire.  Field Commander Enfilade, in charge of the mission, orders the Decepticon ship to change course and investigate the power signal. 

            The signal led the Decepticons to a seemingly deserted planet caught up in an eternal snowstorm.  Enfilade and Whiplash left the shuttle to explore, and the origin of the signal led them to a deserted compound.  But in the horrible weather Enfilade and Whiplash were separated, and so Enfilade entered the outpost alone.  And now, alone, she is about to face the reason why this planet is empty…

 

 

Abandoned Outpost

 

     From the spartan, utilitarian design of this compound, it seems to have been built for a specific purpose, not for sheltering a colony. Numerous rooms open out from this entranceway, the walls thick and insulated against the endless storm outside. Even through these windowless walls, the shriek of the wind is very audible, clawing like a tortured beast at the outpost. The solidly-structured building seems almost a flimsy shelter against the rage of the blizzard just outside, not a place of saftey at all ... or is that due to the sense of utter *desertion* that lingers in here, like a blanket of despair?

 

 

<Decepticon> Enfilade says, “Enfilade calling Whiplash, what’s your position?”

 

Enfilade looks around the building warily. Empty.  Heh.

 

<Decepticon> Whiplash says, “Er, sorry Fil.  I got ... distracted.  I think I got an ID for you on our mysterious Cybertronian signal.”

 

<Decepticon> Enfilade says, “Slag, it ain’t Autobots, is it?”

 

<Decepticon> Whiplash says, “No.  Harmless.”

 

<Decepticon> Enfilade says, “Well, I got a sitrep on this place for ya...it’s empty an’ I’m talkin’ there aint’ been nothin’ livin’ here in a real long time.”

 

<Decepticon> Whiplash says, “I’ll be right in.”

 

Empty indeed... this place is achingly abandoned and this doesn’t seem to have been a recent change. And yet... and yet... doesn’t it sometimes seem that there are words hidden within the howlings of the wind outside, like hearing someone in the next room murmuring? And doesn’t it sometimes seem that the shadows flit a bit too quickly... as if they had wills of their own? No..no... this place is too dead. It is just the imagination, surely.

 

<Decepticon> Enfilade says, “Place is clear, Ghost.  Nothin’ occupied would be /this/ desolate.  Feel free to move in...but keep an optic out an’ everyone hold together..Lash an’ I got separated in the blizzard.  Make sure she gets in all right...you still with us, Lash?”

 

Enfilade examines her grenade launcher, shaking snow out of the barrel, and activates two flood-lights she pulls out of subspace and mounts on her upper arms. Moving forward warily, she advances.

 

 

You enter the Laboratory.

Laboratory

 

     This room more than any of the others is littered with broken pieces of glass, metal, furniture, crumbling plaster from the walls, cracked and leaning tabletops, and a multitude of shattered instruments that are unrecognizable. From the ceiling, great cables tipped in manuevering claws dangle half-torn out of their moorings, and what looks like a platform in the center of the room is almost hidden by all the remnant pieces of whatever research went on here.

 

 

<Decepticon> Whiplash says, “On my way.  Still going in the same direction.  Building was right here, not that far from us.”

 

Enfilade’s optics dart around, registering nothing again...sheleans forward over the tables, trying to guess what happened here. She’s not a researcher, and the data remnants are foreign to her.

 

This place is a tomb. This isn’t a metaphor, instead it is simply the feeling that exists. Whatever inhabitants once occupied this alien outpost are long since dead... and there is a layer of mourning in the air, of despair and grief, of hope abandoned. And this change doesn’t appear to have been voluntary, to judge from the destruction around.

 

<Decepticon> Whiplash says, “Made it inside.  Fil’s gone on ahead, but she’s right, this place is dead.  Looks clear to me.  And ... someone might want to tell Starfire to keep outta the storm.  Keep in mind she might be spying for Crystal City, now, and any power source we find is *ours*, but aside from that ... eh, never mind.”

 

Enfilade’s wingtips flicker back and forth uneasily. Professional soldier though she may be, she’s got another side to her, and right now that side is picking up what seem to be leftover emotions of despair and unspeakable pain... She tries to silence that half of her, to listen to the words of the soldier...keep moving, keep looking, be alert, watch your people.

 

And yet... despite her attempts to force aside the gloom of this place, it seems to seep in through the cracks in any mental defense and saturate the mind. Indeed... images seem to flicker through one’s mind, horrible fantasies and daydreams about what might have happened to the occupants... fire? War? Poison? What could leave a place with such a residue of anguish?

 

Enfilade knows one thing, this place doesn’t smell like war...doesn’t feel like war...she knows the effects of war and this ain’t it. War is full of rage, of defiance, of fury...this is a soul sucking desolation, a void, the heart of those who lie down to die in despair of living. She shivers a little. She’s a general, and can’t get emotional like this.

 

<Decepticon> Enfilade says, “Ghost, Trius, Nightfire--you still out there?  *voice tentative*”

 

<Decepticon> Ghost says, “We’re here.. And about to meet with Starfire.”

 

<Decepticon> Ghost says, “Nightfire’s recharging and as soon as we get Starfire out of the storm, we’ll be heading in.”

 

Despair.. indeed, the despair of betrayal, perhaps? Ah yess... a voice seems to murmur at the back of your mind, refusing to be silenced by your attempts to steel yourself against the desolation. Perhaps it was simple incompetence that lead to this... people trying to do a job that they had no right doing.

 

<Decepticon> Enfilade says, “Frag, so that’s our company.”

 

<Decepticon> Whiplash says, “What room did you disappear into, Enfilade?”

 

<Decepticon> Enfilade says, “I’m in some kinda...laboratory.”

 

<Decepticon> Whiplash says, “Er ... yeah.”

 

Enfilade starts muttering to herself... “Hold it together Fil.../GENERAL./” She glances over her shoulder in the direction she came, as if expecting danger to come from behind, where her comrades are.

 

Enfilade forces her way forward, picking her way over the fallen clutter. “What would Recoil say if he saw you now...laugh his fraggin’ aft off, at how scared you are. Can’t be worse than the damned shuttle...” She’s still not spooked enough to want to go back /there./

 

The voice seems to agree with this... fear has no place in someone /claiming/ to be a soldier. Aren’t you supposed to be strong? Yet you prove yourself weak again and again... and lie to your comrades on top of it. That history... tsk.. they all think you’re a soldier. You know you aren’t, however much you pretend.

 

Enfilade mutters aloud, “I am too...worked my way through the War Academy an’ on my own merit.” Is she arguing with herself or someone else? “An’ all those who said I weren’t never gonna amount to nothin’ are fraggin’ full’a scrap-iron...” And the more she talks the more she slips into a cargo-carrier slang....

 

Enfilade mumbles, “As long as /they/ don’t know I’m fine.”

 

The voice sneers in your own tones, your own inflections... why would your own mind betray you? What reason have you not to tell yourself the truth? Might as well accept it... Listen to how you talk. You can’t even make yourself sound like a soldier, much less act like one. And all the guns in the world can’t make you one.

 

Enfilade protests, aloud, “The Con army still needs transport though...they can’t get rid of me!”  Enfilade holds to her grenade launcher as if it were some kind of proof...

 

Can’t they? Isn’t this all a little bit too convenient? You’re they’re advance scout here, supposedly.. why aren’t they maintaining radio contact with you? Wouldn’t that make sense? What if they found out about you without you knowing... and brought you here just to abandon you?

 

Enfilade’s optics get really big behind that visor and she says, “They wouldn’t do that without a courtmartial!” Or...did they just /dispense/ with that this time? No formality for someone who isn’t even a Decepticon....and hasn’t she had /enough/ court martials already?

 

Since when do they court-martial gutter trash like you? That’s right, you aren’t even one of them. They’d sooner waste the energy of a trial on an Autobot than someone like you... How do you even know they’re still there? Funny how everyone but you and Whiplash stayed on board... and how you’ve even lost Whiplash now, isn’t it?

 

Enfilade tries to argue, “They didn’t do this to Sliver, he’s built Autobot....” Ah, but Sliver never had a reputation as a troublemaker, did he? Not like /Airlane/...till she had to erase not only her past but her very /name/... “Hold it together Al...” she mutters.

 

<Decepticon> Enfilade says tremorously, “Guys....?”

 

<Decepticon> Ghost says, “What is it?”

 

<Decepticon> Enfilade coughs, summoning herself together, “Can I have a sitrep?”

 

Listen to yourself! ‘Al’? You even called yourself that old nickname. You’re pathetic. Ahh.. that voice on the radio! Ghost... but wait, does that really mean anything? Ghost is well known as having been used to execute the unworthy before...

 

<Decepticon> Ghost says, “Well, Trius is in the shuttle keeping an optic on the readings. Nightfire is recharging. And I’m in here with Whiplash. What do you need?”“

 

<Decepticon> Enfilade says, rather panicky sounding, “In /where/, and why aren’t you in touch with me?”

 

Enfilade wonders...are they /stalking/ her? Ghost...the fusion cannon...and Whiplash...the gladiator, the wild-animal huntress? Was Trius lying about the energy...was this just a setup for a convenient disposal of her? Can’t publicly execute a general, can we? Bad for morale...

 

Like you can trust a spy? She’s trained to lie, isn’t she? They’re just playing with you now! Like a toy... you’re their damn playtoy. They aren’t just stalking you. They’re HUNTING you...

 

Enfilade growls, “Intel...damn Intel, I /knew/ they’d hack into my files someday!” She looks around for any material she might find to augment her already formidable weaponry.

 

Yesss... that’s it! You must strike first... think about all those wasted years in the War Academy... they have numbers. You must have the initiative.

 

Enfilade mutters, “They gave me the training...well, they’re gonna be sorry about that.” Turning her back to the unexplored hallway, she eyes the entrance to the lab and then she begins examining her grenade launcher, making sure it’s clear of snow and ready to fire, locking it, cocking it... Her rockets’ reloaders run through a test....her arm lasers power up as well.....

 

Enfilade reaches into subspace and pulls out her ceremonial sword in its holster. Al’s sword. She buckles it around her waist, getting ready to fight with everything she’s got for her life...be fragged if she’s gonna lie down for anyone.

 

It’s so clear now, isn’t it? They’ve walked all over you from the beginning. They’ve probably laughed at you from the start.

 

Enfilade growls...maybe the Decepticons aren’t all that different from the upper end Crystal City snobs who said she’d never amount to anything....well...they’ll /all/ be sorry now...because they’re all far more wrong than they know... Again she looks around for something to build a weapon of...explosives? fuel?

 

Nono... don’t mess with any of this alien technology... don’t know what it might do... besides, you ARE a warrior, whatever they think. Destroy them with your own skill... won’t that prove it?

 

Enfilade smirks, and ponders transforming and greeting the first bot to walk through that doorway with Mr Vulcan Cannon....but no. No, she wants to see the look on their faces when they die, knowing who has finally bested them...and on /that/ note...

 

Enfilade rises up her hand, pops the catch on her mask, and tears it loose, leaving it dangling from the right hand strap. She slams the visor up onto her head.  Looking out at the world is the face of what /might/ have been a passably pretty Crystal City cargo carrier, were it not for that badly sautered battle scar and the nasty snarl her mouth is twisted into....

 

The voice trails gently across her mind... so beautiful, in your rage... now go. Teach them what a true warrior is.

 

<Decepticon> Enfilade calls out, “You guys still out there?”  Her voice is now calm.

 

<Decepticon> Enfilade says, “I’m in some kind of laboratory.  It’s the first door on the left when you come in the door.  Maybe you ought to come in here.”

 

<Decepticon> Whiplash says, “Of course.  Where *are* you?  ... Okay, be right there.”

 

That’s right, beautiful... they are yours. They will never see it coming.

 

Whiplash has arrived.

Ghost has arrived.

 

Something in the room may draw your attention even more than the chaos the room is in...the fact that the first thing you see as you turn your head to the right is the business end of Enfilade’s grenade launcher, pointed right at you.

 

Whiplash steps inside, scanning for Enfilade - and stops, staring at the launcher. “Hey, just us, Fil!”

 

If you can tear your optics away from the grenade launcher, the /next/ thing you might see is the face of a stranger under the ornamental helmet. The visor rides up on top of the helmet, as she’s been known to do from time to time...but the face-mask also dangles from the right hand strap, and glaring down at you from flinty pale-pink optics is a face that might be passably pretty were it not for the badly sautered battle scar and the nasty snarl on the mouth.

 

Enfilade growls, “Don’t even move.” There’s one /more/ addition...the ceremonial sword, usually hidden away, now worn in a holster on the hip.

 

Enfilade’s eyes seem to haze a bit.. and then, when they clear, doesn’t it look like the others are reaching for their own weapons? Aren’t Whiplash’s tentacles crackling a bit?

 

Ghost slowly raises her hands in front of her, optics narrowing as she takes in the launcher, then the actual face behind the weapon.. “Mer...It’s us.. put the gun down.. and the sword…”

 

Enfilade says, “Yeah, I know it’s you. The huntress-turned-gladiator and the Empire’s second-in-command....you know, I’m really flattered, Ghost, that you’d have to personally come and deal with me.”

 

Whiplash’s optics flicker a little brighter in surprise. “Hey, this is *us*, Enfilade.”

 

Listen to how they still lie, beautiful! They try to make you drop your guard... they don’t even respect you enough to let you have a warrior’s death...

 

Ghost blinks, “Seeing as we came on the ship with you, Enfilade, why wouldn’t we come in here like you asked.”

 

Enfilade growls softly at Ghost and Whiplash, her optics blazing fury.

 

Just for a moment, the two startled Decepticon femmes might notice a dark figure seeming to hover at their enraged comrade’s shoulder, hunched as if whispering gently into her ear... and then it is gone again. Perhaps just imagination?

 

Enfilade says, tersely, “Because it looks bad to the troops to execute a general publicly. So this beautiful little side trip was arranged...just you two and me in here...and when it’s all over you’re going to re-write the file, and who wouldn’t believe the likes of you? And your Empire’s little embarrassment is all gone...”

 

Ghost gets a “what the hades” expression for a moment.. then frowns as she recalls Enfilades transfer file…

 

Whiplash’s optics flicker toward the shadow of something by Enfilade’s shoulder, but she can’t say for sure if it was just a trick of the darkness. She takes a half-step back, still baffled. “What *are* you talking about?”

 

Enfilade smiles a little, smugly, and says, “Well, guess what. I figured out your little game. Guess you shouldn’t have sent me to the War Academy, eh? What...figured I was too dumb to learn? Figured you’d never make a warrior out of scrap like me?”

 

Whiplash gives Ghost a questioning look.

 

They STILL think you’re foolish enough to listen more of their lies... watch them squirm, trying to get away now that you have the upper hand! They are not warriors... you are. They do not deserve to live.

 

Ghost glances at Whiplash, then returns her attention to Enfilade, “I think you might be mistaken. You are a warrior, you are head of this mission and there isn’t a plot against you here..”

 

Enfilade smirks a little and says, “I just wanted you to know that,” she says as the grenade launcher’s barrel rises, as the butt tilts into firing position...”You’ve been bested by a....”

 

Ghost mutters to Whiplash: “You ... left I’ll go  ... 2.”

 

Whiplash finally seems to comprehend that Enfilade would really fire on them, and nods fractionally to Ghost, her optics still locked on the maskless face.

 

Enfilade’s optics dart between the two of them and she squeezes the trigger....

 

Whiplash bolts to the left as Enfilade’s finger tightens on the trigger.

 

Enfilade does squeeze the trigger, then sees the other two scattering...she fires off a missile at Whiplash, hoping the homing device can kick in, and turns her attention to Ghost...aw frag, this is gonna get ugly...well, be /damned/ if she’ll lie down and die!

 

Enfilade misses Whiplash with her rocket attack.

 

Enfilade whirls around and balls her left fist, trying to aim a punch at Ghost.

 

Whiplash darts sideways as the rocket streaks past her, impacting with the wall behind her as she snaps her tentacles forward, her optics blazing up in sudden fury. Enfilade really *did* fire! Outraged now, she powers up her tentacles in acrackling corona of light. What would have been a stun bolt is notched up to a full-fledged electric blast that she unleashes toward Enfilade.

 

Enfilade strikes Ghost with her punch attack.

 

Whiplash misses Enfilade with her electricity attack.

 

Ghost’s optics flickerflash as she twists to one side, a soft raspy growl coming from her as the grenade goes off. She had been simply armed, a pistol in holster on her right hip... A shake of her head and she scowls, attempting to stay on the move, frame blurring just slightly as hyperreflexes are initiated. Skidding just slightly, feet still wet from outside, she gets a glancing blow from a well

aimed fist.. A brow shoots upwards as she launches herself at Enfilade, “This is going to hurt you far more than it hurts me, my dear..” she rasps, lacing her fists together in order to strike back with full force and mass.

 

Ghost misses Enfilade with her smash attack.

 

Enfilade essentially pounces on Ghost, her whole body carrying through with the blow, and moving her clear of Whiplash’s tentacles. Ghost strikes at her, but the Field Commander is surprisingly fast and leans back, her swing wings flared to help weigh her to move away. It wasn’t the War Academy that taught her to brawl like this. She tries to decide if Ghost or Whiplash is the more current threat....

 

Whiplash hisses as Enfilade’s own movements in attacking Ghost elude the electric bolts. “Traitor!” she snarls. “Pretended to be my friend all this time, all that talk about regard for your troops - and now you attack us? I’ll rip you into so many little bits you’ll fit right in with the clutter on the floor here!”

 

Whiplash lunges forward, falling into her MedusaSaur mode and using the momentum to propell herself forward.  Whiplash transforms into her MedusaSaur mode.

 

Ghost! You have the advantage with her, press it! Victory with her will let you finish off Whiplash...

 

Enfilade snaps back, “Call it a pre-emptive strike...” The voice urges her to strike at Ghost and so she does...but not with gun or laser. Those were the weapons of a general...this is a victory for... The ceremonial sword is supposed to be for show only, but during its lifetime the blade ha sbeen sharpened several times.....

 

Enfilade misses Ghost with her blade attack.

 

Whiplash’s growling rises in pitch as she lunges forward, claws extended to rake them into Enfilade’s back which she so foolishly left open. Disregarded Whiplash’s abilities as a warrior, perhaps? The MedusaSaur’s optics blaze fury.

 

Ghost’s speed comes into play as her systems finish the step up procedure. Even as Enfilade moves out of her way, she rasps out words, “Enfilade, cease and desist. You are endangering the mission and will have to be removed from its command for your own safety.” As that blade swings periously close to her own self, she raises her left arm, “I warned you...” On that appendage seethes a matte black weapons bore, forming as if from shadows itself.. “Stand down or be made to lie down.” Her optics darken with her own words as she gives a shake of her head, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

Enfilade pauses for just a moment...as if some of those words are sinking in. Her mission....? Her troops....? But then the next phrase starts echoing insanely in her brain box. “Stand down or be made to lie down...” “Damn you,” she hisses, the swing wings flaring, “Frag all ye fakki aft-slaggers an’ yer wars...ye’ll take me as cannon fodder but ye’ll never let me ferget what kinda scrap pit I came from....well you an’ everyone else c’n go to the Inferno, cause if I don’t get a chance, I’ll take my own!”

 

If she didn’t want to hurt you, why is she allowing Whiplash to attack you unhindered? She’s just trying to get you to focus on her, weaken each other, and then finish off whoever remains...

 

Whiplash strikes Enfilade with her claw attack.

 

Enfilade hears that voice remind her of Whiplash a little too late and the next thing she knows, there’s a MedusaSaur on her back... Enfilade flexes her shoulders, arms back, trying to move backwards and slam Whiplash into a wall or something to get her off.

 

Ghost hnnngss as she skips backwards, a hesitation apparent despite the weapon in play on her forearm.. She glances at Whiplash, a moment of worry creases her brow, then she shakes her head, optics flickering, then slowly darkening as she begins the descent into temper mode. Words escape her... she can’t find anything that would make sense of this... A flaw of hers after all.. “Best you back off Whiplash, Enfilade.. Stand.. down.. There are no conspiracies against you Enfilade… And you’d best drop the feral bit, Mer Whiplash, lest you lose control.”

 

Enfilade growls, “If there weren’t before there probably...will....be...now...”  She grunts as she shakes herself, looking for a wall to smush Whiplash into, “get...off...me!”

 

Whiplash’s claws dig in, clinging tight as she tries to get leverage to claw herself upward and bring her fangs into play, even as Enfilade tries to shake her off, rams her toward the wall. Over Enfilade’s shoulder, Whiplash’s eyes meet Ghost’s and again that fury blazes up - how well does she really know Ghost, anyway, who lurks around inside the computer - *inside* the computer, of all places! - and now wishes to tell her to be other than what she is? She flashes a glint of bared fangs at Ghost.

 

Ghost’s vocalizer emits a low, grating growl as she raises that weapon, arming it, preparing to fire. It seems to suck in the light itself, her optics darkening as she flicks her attention between targets.. Best to take down the heaviest threat first... Taking aim as she kicks upwards, hovering just over the ground, she hesitates, her loathing of firing on her own troops at war with getting control of a situation badly degrading. One last chance is taken on negotiating a stand down, “Stand... Down...” she rasps, voice low, optics violet, shadows dancing around her gray frame.

 

Enfilade’s feelings are badly conflicted...on one hand she can’t let Ghost keep the advantage of height and she dare not wait for that dark gun to fire...best to send up some rockets at Ghost and forget the MedusaSaur for now....on the other hand, she’s not going to disobey an order to stand down.... “Prove it!” Enfilade challenges, “get this beast off me!”

 

And then, abruptly, visible to both Enfilade and Whiplash even as they struggle fiercely with one another... that same shadowy shape, this time seemingly at Ghost’s side, pointing towards the pair and whispering to her as well.

 

Enfilade’s optics get really big as she sees the dark thing clearly.

 

Whiplash hisses at the term “beast”, digging in her claws and scrabbling for purchase, the tentacles starting to come around and power up with electric light.

 

Enfilade feels the claws dig in and is suddenly reminded of her unwanted piggybacker.

 

Enfilade misses Whiplash with her punch attack.

 

Ghost lets out an ‘Arrrrrrrg=aaah! You’re going to make me do something that you...*YOU* are going to regret!” She swings her arm around, taking aim on Enfilade... Her voice drops to a whisper, “I’m sorry.”

 

Whiplash is slammed backwards into the wall behind her by Enfilade, the force of the impact powering down her tentacles more out of startlement than anything else, but the claws stay locked into the armor.

 

Enfilade tries to bring her rockets online...can’t do it fast enough. She stares Ghost straight in the optics and says, low, defiant voice, “Frag you, Decepticon.”

 

Ghost strikes Enfilade with her plasma_rifle attack.

 

In the bright flash of the energy discharge from the Decepticon spy’s weapon, the figure is even more obvious, a silhouette of pure darkness in some vaguely, disturbingly twisted humanoid shape, seeming to raise a hand and lightly caress Ghost’s cheek with it as it murmurs to her.

 

Enfilade stumbles to her knees as she catches a blast right in the chest...she wheezes, fighting the pain, digging for that defiance...  Enfilade wonders if the figure is just a hallucination brought on by the pain...

 

Whiplash is thrown free as Enfilade is blasted, skittering to the ground and catching that dark shape as well. Her optics flicker a little as she shakes her head as though to clear something.

 

Ghost has been known to have a temper. And before, its always faded after the first use of that deadly gift on her arm... Now… now it seems to simply boil, a temptuous maelstrom of writhing anger. Even as coolant wafts from her weapon, she clenches a fist, rasping out, “Maybe I should just rid myself of you and not have to worry about traitors in the midsts... It would be so much easier not to listen to stories of “it wasn’t my fault, I didn’t mean to, It was a misunderstanding…” To silence the words. So I don’t have to worry about femmes and mechs not following /simple/ orders.. so easy to just finish this here and now.. “ She starts to raise that cannon again, recharging.

 

A shadow seems to detach from the darkness around Ghost and reform itself beside Whiplash, a limb reaching out and gently passing a hand over her eyes.

 

Enfilade retorts, “Yeah, it /is/, isn’t it? Truth comes out, eh? Shame you never gave me a chance to /do/ anythin’ treacherous first! Cause I wouldn’t....but you won’t believe it after you read that damn record. Well, frag that record and frag you...” Those rockets are powered up now.

 

Enfilade misses Ghost with her rocket attack.

 

Ghost grates as she twists to her right, coming back around as the rockets impact on the wall where she had been, “Records be damned, Enfilade. You just didn’t believe me when I said they were in the past.. Now look at you.. I should have heeded them and had you in the hellpits overseeing drones picking up slag from a waste recycler... This is what I get for giving a damn. For trying to give you a *chance* to start over again.”

 

Enfilade growls a retort, “I ain’t goin’ back to that kind of livin’, Ghost, you‘ll never take me back there.”

 

Whiplash’s tentacles come forward again, the blue light crackling up around her as she skulks along the wall, her optics fixed on Ghost, the momentary clearing of the expression clouding over again into something murderous, something that cannot be appeased. “Kill *Shockwave*, will you?” she snarls almost inaudibly. “I‘ll rip your fuel pump out through your throat...” she crouches to spring.  Whiplash mutters something that seems to make no sense to the immediate situation, something she’s hearing from who-knows-where, reacting defensively to some inner vision of her own.

 

 Ghost’s optics flick to Whiplash as she opens her vocalizer.. A brow cocks up as she speaks words of truth, but nasty words none the less, “I’ll kill *ANYONE*that threatens the empire. Anyone.. Internal or external. I don’t care who they are, their rank or what they are supposed to be doing. If they threaten my empire, they’re slag.” From the dimming of the light around her, another shot is powering up.

 

Enfilade startles a moment...this isn’t making any sense. “Wha...nobody killed Shockwave, what the frag is happening, are you two both /nuts/?”

 

The darkness is suddenly at Enfilade’s side next, lightly tracing a finger along his shoulderplates and leaning in to hiss something in her audials.

 

Whiplash doesn’t even hear Ghost’s words, she’s so enraged. She bolts forward, claws outstretched, completely heedless of Ghost’s formidable weapon charging up.

 

A light touch on your shoulder... and through that contact seems to pour a wave of paranoia and distrust, swamping your mind in its power... they ARE crazy! They’re lunatics! They’ve turned on you, and now each other! They must be destroyed!

 

Enfilade pauses. Crazy sodldiers should be cured, not terminated....but...but this is a war zone, this is a survival situation, and rough measures are indeed called for....

 

Ghost’s weapon discharges a series of plasma rounds. They elongate into high energy fletchettes, aimed at the charging Medusasaur. As she fires, she remarks, roughly, “This isn’t an arena, Whiplash.. I don’t fight fair.”

 

Ghost strikes Whiplash with her ballistic attack.

 

And then, abruptly, the presence is gone... done toying with them, for the moment, a chuckle of cold amusement seeming to hang on the air. And with it goes all the rage and the anger and the fear it’s been pouring into its new playmates, leaving only clear reality behind...

 

Whiplash is struck by Ghost’s weapon in mid-leap, sending her crashing to the floor, momentarily stunned, but the crazed fury in the back of her mind forces her to gather herself again, to scrabble for footing and be ready to leap again, consequences be damned...

 

Enfilade stumbles to her feet and leans back against the wall, watching Whiplash and Ghost, her optics wide and her mouth hanging open.

 

Whiplash stalls in mid-motion, as though suddenly having had the ground pulled out from under her. She looks downright startled to realize she’s getting ready to tear into Ghost. What was that about defending Shockwave? The image flickers in her mind and is gone.

 

Enfilade looks at Ghost and Whiplash, now not sure /what/ they want...or what they’re going to do... Her hand rises to verify that yes, her mask really /is/ down.

 

Ghost hnnggs as her hits connect, optics dimming... A brow arches up as reality swims into focus once more, her temper fading as fast as it should, leaving behind the assy distaste of having fired on her own.. A shiver.. and she looks around, momentarily confused, then a cold expression crosses her face, voiding all emotional expression.