Recoil Reaction:  Challenge of Ascention

 

Lost Years - Sunday, December 16, 2001, 7:58 PM

 

Into the arena and hit the lights--step up now, you’re in for a ride

This is war ain’t no fun an’ games...we get it up, you go down in flames

Party time, going down, you better not mess us around

The stakes are rich, take a hit or stay.  The price is high—someone’s gonna pay!

Heads I win, tails you lose…outta my way, I’m coming through

Step inside, you’re in for a ride and we crush, crush, crush ‘em….

 

--”Crush ‘Em,” by Megadeth

 

 

Karkas Arena - Arena Floor(#1327Rat)

 

     Many millennia ago, this vast, circular arena was home to the some of the most famous gladitorial games on Cybertron. The most skilled warriors would be pitted against each other in death matches for the enjoyment of wealthy spectators on the balcony overlooking the arena. Lesser warriors, still honing their skills, would only fight to incapacitating injury or first strike, depending on their skill level. In recent times, this ancient place of death has become active again, if the remains of Cybertronians scattered about are any evidence.

 

 

Enfilade emerges, her rockets and lasers polished to a mirror shine.

 

Whiplash comes in silently and close to the ground, keeping to the shadows to get a good look at who’s around before she makes herself obvious. Then she steps out into the light and transforms.

MedusaSaur transforms into Whiplash.

 

Swindle wakes up, “DRINK!”  Swindle heads to the balcony.

 

Enfilade surveys the arena...a venue she’s not really familiar with. She’d far prefer a battlefield, or even one of those tabletop strategy games, as a means of challenge.

 

Enfilade scowls up at Swindle and says, “You owe me a /big/ drink when I win.”

 

Whiplash glances up into the balcony, but does not climb up yet. Instead she walks over to Enfilade, noticing the polished weaponry.

 

Enfilade looks over to Whiplash and says quietly, “More your game ‘n’ mine,” referring to the arena. She’s still not sure if the MedusaSaur is in her camp or not.

 

Recoil enters Karkas Arena.

Recoil has arrived.

 

Whiplash shoots a brief, annoyed look at the yelling from the stands, then addresses Enfilade. “You got all the weaponry you need?”

 

Enfilade shrugs. “If it’s good enough fer the trenches it better be good enough fer here. Maybe I c’n hit him with a vulcan shot right off, take him out fast.”

 

Solar walks over to the center of the arena and gets prepared to make the general announcements to start the match.

 

Whiplash nods, and looks around the arena floor again before muttering to Enfilade, “Okay, look. You and that rustbucket, you’re about the same size in robot mode. Means you don’t have a weight advantage or much of an agility advantage on him. What you’ll want to do is hit him early with everything you got, ‘cause you won’t be able to toy with him and wear him down.”

 

Enfilade’s optics widen again...this sounds like coaching. And to her, the advice seems sound. She supposes her question is answered, and nods. “Yer the expert, Lash, an’ it sounds good to me.”

 

Whiplash nods. “Knock him dead.” She means it quite literally. Without another word she turns away and heads for the bleachers.

 

Recoil arrives suddenly on the arena floor. Unlike Enfilade, he has no assistants with him, no one discussing strategy. He has nothing behind him but his aura of command, and it follows behind him with each marching step.

 

Enfilade turns to look at Recoil...the optics darken. “Be a pleasure.” Sure, she’s fantasized about it a thousand times, but now she has to actually /do/ it...lest she be the one deactivated on the arena floor at the end of this.

 

Whiplash heads to the balcony.

 

Enfilade looks at Solar, waiting for the starting cue, not really sure of arena ettiquette.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Whiplash finds a place among the other Decepticons, recognizing Swindle - but not recognizing the other individual with him. She looks over Blackwing curiously for a moment, but her attention is quickly diverted back to the arena.

 

Solar waits for Recoil to join them before making any announcememts, but does nod to Enfilade to show that he is ready.

 

Enfilade glares at Recoil, not even bothering to shake hands or salute and says, her voice low and rough, “Let’s get this done with.”

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Blackwing notices that Whiplash has entered the stands. He makes his way over to her and greets her, “Greetings Whiplash. I am Blackwing. I just wanted to say that I have heard of your greatness in arena combat and hope to watch you in an arena match someday.”

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Swindle stays in the dark.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Whiplash turns her attention back to Blackwing as he speaks to her, giving him a somewhat blank look. “Tell you what - you can be a fanboy after the fight, alright?” Yes, she’s brushing him off a bit since she really wants to pay attention to the beginning of the event.

 

Recoil doesn’t offer Enfilade a handshake or a salute, either. He responds to her with a single, low snicker. “Don’t think it’ll take long.” His optics narrow, and he stretches down into a combat-ready stance. The rivalry in the arena is not the kind that allows for much friendly repartee.

 

Enfilade sees no use in trying to put limits on this fight, like no weapons...she knows Recoil will do whatever it takes to win. Well...so will she. The optics through the visor are dark slits, lines of bold purple. She waits for the sound to start the match, already picking out where on his armour she’ll aim...for his windows on his chest.

 

On the arena floor, Enfilade and Recoil face off against each other, waiting for the signal from Solar to start the battle.

 

Hyperdrive sneaks out from who knows what rock he was hiding under. Silently stepping, he finds a spot to sit and watch the battle. He seems curious and has wisely found a spot near Solar. Hyperdrive isn’t wearing his autobot sigil visibly.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Blackwing eyes the newcomer and doesn’t recognize him, but turns his attention back to the arena.

 

Solar flips a switch on his arm and activates the PA in the arena. “Decepticons, we are here to witness a Challenge Match for leadership of the Combat Ops division. The contestants are Enfilade, who is the current commander of that division and Recoil, who is now the commander of the Fightin’ 58th. As this is a challenge match certain rules must be acknowledged and followed. First, weapons that can endanger spectators in the stands will disqualify you from the match, and you will forfeit. Second, no one else may interfere in the match. Mechs who do try may be courtmartialed or worse. Third, this match will only be over when one of the combatants is unconscious or otherwise unable to continue. Finally, besides the matter of this being between the two of them, this match has no rules for conduct, and anything goes. Normally in matches of these types the contestants try to act politely because an untrustworthy commander has been known to not live long afterwards. As soon as I gain my seat in the balcony a signal flare will be lighted to signal the beginning of the match. Any questions?”

 

Hyperdrive heads to the balcony.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Whiplash’s attention is fixed on the arena floor, and so probably wouldn’t see Hyperdrive even if he walked right in front of her. But it would be wise not to test that theory.

 

Enfilade shakes her head grimly, never once taking her optics off Recoil.

 

Solar looks to Recoil for questions.

 

Recoil pulls out his battlemace, and activates it. Holding his grenade gun in the other hand, Recoil swings the mace around in a few test passes, and it glows a circle of orange around its energy-chain bound arc. He then cocks the gun, and, without looking to Solar, says, “No questions, now start it up.” He can barely contain his aggression any longer, and he’s been waiting since his arrival to get the better of Enfilade.

 

Solar nods and heads to the balcony where he sits in the owners’ booth.

 

Enfilade flares her swing-wings, making herself look as big and intimidating as possible. She isn’t Recoil’s second to kick around any more.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Solar sits down and then lights the games flare signalling the start of the match.

 

Enfilade doesn’t need to be told twice...her shoulder rockets are already primed, and she looses them, aiming for Recoil’s truck windows.

 

Enfilade strikes Recoil with her rocket attack.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Solar sits on the edge of his seat watching the match.  He is so preoccupied he didn’t even bet on the outcome.

 

At the first strike, the crowd of mostly Dead-Enders cheers. Whiplash for her part just nods.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Hyperdrive moves over toward Solar. He reaches up quietly, “S-solar?” Being a tiny robot gives him a good chance at not being seen.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Solar hears the question and turns to look at the younger mech “Ya Hyper need something I got some lo-grade around?”

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Among the crowd moves a figure. Wearing a long cloak of rusty alloy that ocvers his frame and face, the stooped figure walks throught the crowds, edging towards the front where he can see the combat. The crowds seem to part for him, mostly because of the stench eminating from this seemingly old and in disrepair mechanoid.

 

With the crack of rockets and the shatter of glass, the first blow is struck, and Recoil is not pleased. Not even glancing down at the shattered windshields, he returns a shot of his own, pulling hard on the trigger of his raised gun.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Blackwing smells something not-quite-normal from the figure, but keeps his attention turned to the arena match.

 

Recoil strikes you with his artillery attack for 22 damage.

Recoil strikes Enfilade with his artillery attack.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Hyperdrive frowns a little, “Is it okay ta watch the games from here? I can’t have really low grade stuff or it’ll make my core die quicker.”

 

Enfilade had been preparing to rise up and finish him off with a good square blast from her Vulcan cannon. Her current alt mode was, after all, designed to destroy ground targets from the air. The grenade shell catches her in mid-transformation and knocks her backwards to the ground,where she painfully manages to revert to robot mode.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Solar waves to one of the empty seats and turns back to watch the games.

 

Another roar of cheering from the crowd, happy of any and all bloodsport.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Whiplash shakes her head. “Get right back at him!” she hisses.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Blackwing watches in concern for his commander.

 

Deep in the shadows cast by the figures cloak the irony of the combat is not lost on the mech as a slight smirk crosses his well hidden features. Of course he watches with interest, studying the attacks and tactics being used with a keen and knowing optic.

 

Enfilade searches for a weapon--any weapon--that’s working. Her rockets are still reloading, her lasers perhaps no longer working after the crash until her systems reset. She pulls out her own grenade launcher--but she’s carrying the same old standard-issue she was given in the War Academy, the ones all the students got, while Recoil has a personalized, custom weapon. Still, something’s better than nothing right now--anything to keep him back until she can get some strength back.

 

Enfilade misses Recoil with her grenade attack.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Whiplash’s optics flicker a little. “Now use that as a distraction and ram him,” she urges, though there’s of course no way she can be heard over the crowd.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Solar shakes his head, but his optics never leave the match. “Nah. Recoil just wants Enf’s job.”

 

Recoil grins under his grill mask as he watches Enfilade take the hit. “Told ya this wouldn’t take long!” he shouts as her systems overload from the blow. He dives forward as the sloppy grenade is tossed, and it sails by him, exploding a safe distance away. The silhouette that leaps toward Enfilade is backset by the red flame of the explosion... his redorange optics flash, and an orange glow twirls at his side: the spinning mace, which flips around in a two swift circles before striking at Enfilade’s face.

 

Recoil strikes you with his battle_mace attack for 14 damage.

Recoil strikes Enfilade with his battle_mace attack.

 

The spectators cheer. Up close and personal fighting!

 

The mace strikes Enfilade between the left side of her helmet and her face. The helmet takes the worst of the blow, wrinkling one of the purple “wings” that decorate it. Her visor cracks and shatters from the force, but thanks to the helmet, her optics don’t. The straps that support her faceplate, however, are torn straight through and the mask falls to the arena floor as Enfilade staggers backwards, landing on one knee. To those who’ve heard the rumours--terrible damage from some kind of Autobot acid weapon--the truth is somewhat different: Enfilade might actually be pretty under that mask, were it not of course for the marks of battle. A second scar joins the badly sautered mark left from the Paragon mission on her left cheek.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Whiplash shouts, “Now *nail* him, Fil! He’s right there in your strike range!”

 

Recoil stands up straight and looks at his handiwork, laughing, the mace twirling menacingly at his side. “That ain’t no Decepticon general. ...Just a Crystal City Cargo Carryin’ GIRL.”

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, The stranger notes the mace with a slight twist of his head under the cloak, noting the specialist close combat weapon and ranged weapons, evidently they made that one fully loaded, he muses and makes a note of the face for future reference purposes.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Blackwing winces at the savageness of the fight. He stands up and shouts as loudly as he can, “Commander Enfilade! Destroy him!!”

 

A section of the stands filled with shabby Dead End empties howls for the kill, any kill.

 

Enfilade hears the crowd...their cries of delight at the sight of spilled fuel. To spend her life working for them...and to die for their amusement? A hand reaches up, wipes the oil off her cheek and mouth. No. No way to live, no way to die. She uses her other hand to slam her visor up--cracked, it’s useless now. Pale lavendar optics narrow into lines of rage, as she seeks to channel all her hatred at Recoil, imagine him as everyone who ever told her to keep her place, that she’d never be more than a flying box-car. With renewed fury, she primes her lasers and looses a barrage of blasts at him.

 

Enfilade strikes Recoil with her laser attack.

 

The crowd roars its approval. Apparently the majority of these spectators have no favorite.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Whiplash’s approval on the other hand is very specific. “Good! Now follow up!”

 

Recoil’s grin turns into a grimace as the firepower streaks by his face, and one of the laserblasts strikes him cleanly, scorching his own mask with a black streak, while another strikes him in the shoulder. He disengages the battlemace, dropping the weapon into subspace as quickly as he can bring up his arm, and alter the settings on his custom gun. A stream of flame scorches out of the heavy weapon.

 

Recoil strikes Enfilade with his flamethrower attack.

 

Enfilade’s armour is built to withstand such heat and in most cases the flamethrower doesn’t bother her much...then Recoil gets smart and moves the weapon tip into the gash caused by his grenade attack. The damaged circuits, already leaking, are now singed to a crisp.  Enfilade can see no other option than to fire rockets at him again, and perhaps /this/ time she’ll be able to transform and bring her big gun into play.

 

Enfilade strikes Recoil with her rocket attack.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Hyperdrive stares not realizing anyone he knows is around. “So cons fight in order to up their ranks?”

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Whiplash’s tentacles pause in their constant motion momentarily, then resume their undulation around her. “Good. Better.”

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Blackwing narrows his optics and whispers, “YESSSS!”

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, One of the Decepticon seekers interspersed in the crowd near the area where Whiplash and Blackwing are watching, happens to hear Hyperdrive’s question, and spares a sideways look toward the source. “Of course. What did you think?” he answers.

 

Recoil steps back, and the rocket explodes into his chest, this time, hitting him hard! Only now does he assess his own injuries, nothing the cracked shields on his chest. He huffs, and flips into his transformation, brining the barrel of his artillery cannon to bear, and loosing it onto the robot mode of the other combatant in an explosive barrage.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, The hooded mech looks thoughtful under said hood, pondering the fighting techniques of the two, certainly it seems Enfilade is more comfortable in the air then the ground. Least he hopes...

 

Recoil transforms into his Self Propelled Artillery mode.

 

Recoil(#3618PenAc)

A heavily armoured, navy and silver self-propelled artillery cannon. He has a turret like a tank, a gigantic gun barrel, and multiple large, toothed wheels to propel him over any sort of terrain. While he has light lasers for self-defense, and being run over by him would hurt considerably, it’s better to be close to him in this mode than farther away where you’re within range of that powerful artillery piece. The chain across the front of him and the studded windows make him look equally nasty in this mode.

 

Recoil strikes Enfilade with his bomb attack.

 

The spectators howl their appreciation at the repeated explosions.

 

Enfilade takes the bomb blast in her lower left side, but hardly notices it...she’s operating on instinct now. Not natural to her programming, but something she learned at the War Academy until it /came/ naturally. Ground vehicle...Dive and destroy. The barrel of the big Vulcan cannon on her back glows. Enfilade leaps skyward, swing wings rotating and flaring wide, aircraft nose rising from her chest...  

 

And at this point, something goes wrong...her transformation won’t complete itself. Before the cannon has been brought to bear, the belly segment of the aircraft rotates into a robot back...the wings collapse in on themselves...the nose folds over again, and Enfilade--robot once more--crashes to the arena floor.

 

This time there’s an actual collective shout of dismay from the crowd.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Blackwing winces at the failed transformation attempt.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Hyperdrive shakes a little, “This....this isn’t a nice way to pick who commands.”

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Whiplash mutters under her breath, “Damn. Okay - you can still nail him on the ground.”

 

Enfilade drags herself up on her hands and knees, trying to figure out what went wrong.

Transformation... She looks down at the shrapnel wound in her chest, at the blistered paint from the flamethrower. Her...transformation cog, maybe?   She doesn’t know. She’s no medic. All she knows is there’s no retreat from this one, no 58th division to cover for her...no Dax or Skylift to bail her out of this mess. Is she in over her head, playing soldier?

 

crowd screams its encouragement for Enfilade to get up and fight on. They want the entertainment to continue.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Blackwing screams to Enfilade: “Get up and fight! Don’t give up!”

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Once more from under the hood of the foul smelling, hunched, old, wizened figure comes mental musings, optics noting the size of the cannon that almost came into play and another mental note slots into place. Don’t get hit by that.

 

The barrel of the artillery cannon swerves around, following Enfilade through her mistransformation. As Enfilade fails, the vehicle emits a laugh. “Havin’ some problems, Airlane?” Recoil tosses out the old name as if it were nothing: it was no secret anymore. “Maybe you should’a stuck to hauling freight, instead of soldieriin’ and SPYIN’. Then ya wouldn’t be in this mess.” After echoing her own fears, Recoil echoes out a shot, exploding liquid fire toward the tripped-up femme.

 

Enfilade forces her thoughts away from those of her old associates in Crystal City. Trying to stand up...she sees Recoil’s attack coming and fires her engines to throw herself clear. Those, at least, still work...she ends up with another mouthful of arena floor, but Recoil’s blazing bomb lands harmlessly off to her right.

 

Enfilade rolls over and over in the dirt, firing off her lasers.

 

Enfilade strikes Recoil with her laser attack.

 

The crowd roars its approval.

 

The lasers dent into Recoil’s main cannon, and Recoil, muttering firey curses in his vehicle mode, is forced to realign the barrel, and bring his side guns into action. He turns to his left, driving away from Enfilade at a 90 degree angle while he adjusts his cannon and attacks Enfilade with laser fire of his own.

 

Recoil strikes Enfilade with his laser attack.

 

Enfilade ducks, and some of the laser blasts cut into her wings. She thinks...if she can take out his big cannon, his vehicle mode’s mostly helpless...maybe she could drop a grenade inside. She pulls out her grenade launcher and aims for his windows.

 

Enfilade misses Recoil with her grenade attack.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Hyperdrive frowns and taps Solar’s arm, “Who do you want to win?”

 

Amidst the noise of the spectators and the explosions of weapons fire and artillary from the arena, Hyperdrive’s question goes unnoticed - though the Decepticons in the stands do seem to be cheering quite obvioiusly for Enfilade. As opposed to the Dead Enders and other visitors, who are either observing with interest, or cheering at any hit.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Yes, indeed one of the other visitors is observing with a keen interest, although it’s really rather well hidden indeed. His mind notes each move of the combat, what attacks are used, the power, the pace, the style and in some corner of his mind he muses that all of this would be far more spectacular with a soundtrack or a running commentary...

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Hyperdrive moves over toward Whiplash and looks at her with curiousity. He’s never seen her mostly at rest....

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Very fortunately for Hyperdrive, Whiplash’s attention is locked on the goings-on in the arena below. “At rest” is a relative term, of course, as her tentacles continue to thrash around her in growing agitation - but it could also mean simply that she’s not in the process of killing anyone at this exact moment.

 

Unfortunately for Enfilade, the barrel of the gun turns aside just as the grenade is launched, for Recoil is preparing to stand up into his robot mode again. The vehicle spins into the sequence, then Recoil stands up, and the grenade crashes into the powerful conflagration behind him. He shakes his head, makes a clicking sound under his dented mask as if he were scolding a kidlet. Then, he brings around his heavy weapon, and fires.

 

Recoil transforms into his Robot mode.

 

Recoil misses Enfilade with his artillery attack.

 

Enfilade rushes /forward/...it’s suicide to retreat now...and with no weapon really prepared for an attack at that close range, draws back her fist and takes a swing!

 

Enfilade strikes Recoil with her punch attack.

 

Enfilade growls through clenched “teeth”, “THAT’s a little somethin’ I learned in the Iron Hitch Saloon!”

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Whiplash nods in approval. “*That’s* it!”

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Blackwing chuckles at the surprise attack that Enfilade lands.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Hyperdrive grins a little, “Having the big guns isn’t always good huh?” He looks at Blackwing and Whiplash.

 

Recoil is surprised to be hit by the brawl attack, and he drops his custom gun to the arena floor as the punch strikes his faceplate, denting it further. He spits beneath it; the retort that comes out of his mouth is stifled by the damage to his jaw; “Pity this ain’t no barfight.” Still locked in close with the other Decepticon, he brings up his leg to try to push her away.

 

Recoil misses Enfilade with his kick attack.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, One of the Decepticon seekers tags Hyperdrive by the “collar” and pulls him a bit over to the side. “Outta the view, kid,” he grumbles.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Whiplash laughs. “Now get him off balance!”

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, The Stranger, as he’s known, for now, looks with an almost aproving smirk under his hood. A nice punch indeed and not a bad side step either to avoid the counter attack, wonder what else she can do.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Blackwing barely detects the quiet voice of Hyperdrive. He glances in his direction, and nods while smiling.

 

Enfilade darts sideways, expecting that...and slams herself into Recoil’s side, like a body check.

 

Enfilade strikes Recoil with her ram attack.

 

A deafening roar of approval from the spectators! They love this melee fighting style.

 

Recoil falls down onto the ground under Enfilade’s weight, and, for a moment, it seems as if he’s been taken down. Then, his left hand twitches, and he DIVES out from beneath her, tucking and rolling for the dropped gun. He pulls it to his front, and pushes in toward Enfilade as he opens up with the flame thrower, engulfing the both of them in the point-blank blast.

 

Recoil misses Enfilade with his flamethrower attack.

 

The roar of the crowd dampens momentarily as they can’t see what happened amidst the firey blast.

 

Enfilade takes the brunt of the fire on her wing, the thick armour shielding her, but can’t see anything through the flame and smoke...what the frag is going on?

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Whiplash leans forward against the railing, trying to see through the cloud of smoke.

 

Enfilade looses her ballistics at the center of the fire.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Hyperdrive gahs as he’s pulled around a bit. He reappears under whiplash and tries peer around her.

 

Enfilade misses Recoil with her ballistic attack.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Whiplash growls softly as more firepower is unleashed in the arena, stirring up the dust further.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, One of Whiplash’s thrashing tentacles inadvertently whaps Hyperdrive, as she’s probably whapped several of those sitting near her already without even noticing it.

 

The smoke and flames churn up in the arena, making it imposible for the two combatants to see each other... suddenly, an orange burst, the twirling battlemace, cuts through the smoke, aiming straight for Enfilade’s exposed face!

 

Recoil strikes Enfilade with his battle_mace attack.

 

The spectators scream approval as well as outrage.

 

Enfilade didn’t see that one coming...and is having trouble seeing much of anything through a shattered left optic. If she didn’t have nasty damage where the mask was before, she does now. She tries to bring her shoulder rockets online, only to find that the cloud of flame burned through the relays--they’re inoperable.    

 

What to do? Decepticon custom is to fight to the death--but the outcome of this one is pretty clear. So does she die now, giving up the title to him forever...or does she take the desperate gamble of future revenge?  She staggers backwards as Recoil approaches....

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Blackwing yells, “Don’t give up, he’s got to be damaged as well! Keep on him!”

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Whiplash’s optics narrow a little. “She’s gotta be faking him out,” she growls.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Hyperdrive gahs as he’s whapped. The little bot tries to stand back up so he can see again.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Blackwing notices Hyperdrive’s “gah” and takes a quick glance over to appraise the situation. He motions at Hyperdrive that there is an empty seat next to him.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Hyperdrive decides sitting over by Blackwing might be a fun idea. He looks toward the arena, “Who do you think is winnin’?”

 

Recoil steps suddenly out of the fire. Damaged and broken of his own accord, and scarred from the flames, he nevertheless has a strong, confident gait as he walks forward. He raises the gun in one hand, and another shell loads up, ready to fire. Recoil pushes the barrel right into Enfilade’s chest. “Looks like the game is over.” The grin on hi face is sadistic, wrinkling under the dented mask, twisting up his burning red eyes. “Feels good...to be finally puttin’ an end to you.” He squeezes on the trigger... “So long, traitor.”

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Blackwing continues to watch the battle, but replies grimly, “It looks like Recoil has the slight edge, but they both look in really bad shape.”

 

Long ago in the War Academy Phalanx taught Enfilade to always have a way out...and she has one now...a set of smoke grenades in a clip. She is not.../not/...going to give Recoil the satisfaction of killing her with his bare hands. Frag the factionals and frag their slottin’ rules. With a burst of energy she rams the clip into her grenade launcher and pulls the trigger...covering the arena floor with a thick cloud of white smoke, that completely obscures Recoil’s vision...and that of most of the spectators as well.

 

Enfilade lashes out at Recoil, aiming to trip him, and runs when he’s off balance...to somewhere she knows well...the old cargo loading docks. She hopes she has enough energy to make it to...the only other place that she can call “home”.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Blackwing uses his infrared vision to try and make out what is happening.

 

You paged Blackwing with ‘You can tell that one figure is still under the smoke cloud and one is...at the old entrance to the loading docks, on its way out of the building.’.

 

Recoil coughs and sputters as the smoke rushes into his optics, and the shot he was so carefully aiming goes wild as Enfilade charges and trips him...then, he disppears under the smoke, and the shell explodes fire over the arena.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Blackwing notices one figure leaving the area...

 

The crowd cheers at first, then mutters in discontent as they can no longer see. What happened to their promised kill, their anticipated outcome of an evening’s excitement in the otherwise unbroken drudgery of their lives?

 

Slowly, the smoke begins to dissipate...leaving a very angry Recoil alone on the arena floor, with nothing but his injuries and Enfilade’s fallen facemask to show for his time with his opponent...except...what’s that near the arena’s edge?

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Whiplash doesn’t have Blackwing’s infrared abilities, and so only sees the dark cloud until it settles. She’s as amazed as anyone to find only one combatant left when the smoke begins to clear.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Blackwing scans the area to take in what has happened.

 

Recoil glares at the smoke, at the broken mask...then, he notices something at the edge. A glimmer of metal, or movement? In the flames, it’s hard to tell...maybe he can chase that traitor down yet... He rushes to investigate.

 

Glinting softly in the dust are a set of generals’ bars.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Hyperdrive frowns at Blackwing and sighs, “Should we help her?”

 

Recoil picks up the bars, holds them in his charred hand, and smiles. He holds them up over his head, enciting the crowd.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Blackwing looks over to him and replies, “I would if I could, but I could not see where she went.”

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Whiplash growls to herself again, not sure what to make of this. That’s not the way they did things in the Games.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Blackwing shouts down to the arena, “Hail General Recoil!”

 

The Dead Enders start to shuffle out of the stands, back to their daily lives.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Whiplash gives Blackwing a venomous glare. “*Who* did you say you were?”

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Blackwing mutters to Whiplash: “Just ... we don’t like  doesn’t ... ... should ... ...”

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, The Stranger watches with an almost macabre interest at this point, watching carefully as the clowds of dust and smoke subside to reveal Recoil standing alone in the arena. One final mental note falls into place, the one that got away had some smarts. Another amused look flashes across his face, hidden of course, at the Decepticons’ general predicament.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Whiplash replies quite out loud, “He already knows it!”

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Blackwing mutters to Whiplash: “... ... still remain loyal ... ...”

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Blackwing mutters to Whiplash: “I heard ... Nightfire that he intends to challenge ... ... ... circumstances that he won...”

 

Recoil steps into the center of the arena, regards Enfilade’s fallen mask, then...GRINDS it beneath his heel. He grips the bars tightly, then fastens them to his own, still-shattered chest. He regards the crowd again...no, neither they, nor he, were placated by an aniillation today, and the thought of it makes him frown. But the crowd is not his concern anymore... the position, the rank, IS. Not satisfied, but, still damaged, he marches out of the arena.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Whiplash flashes a glint of her serrated fangs at Blackwing. Hyperdrive is still lucky to be over on the other side of the other Decepticon, so that Whiplash doesn’t notice him. She’s rather too irritated - and a little puzzled - to pay much mind to those around him in any case. “What kinda victory or defeat was this, anyway? Where I come from, you either win or you die. Now *this*-?” She really doesn’t know what to make of it.

 

The bleachers are thinning out rapidly now. Show’s over.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Blackwing looks towards her and replies, “This is survival. If Enfilade was killed, she would be no good to us anymore. It is better for her to live and take the chance of returning to lead us again.”

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Hyperdrive frowns, “I always liked Enfilade....she didn’t kill me on sight like some have tried ta.....”

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, The Stranger keeps his cloak and hood about his hunched up body and slowly moves out, moving with the crowds, almost blending in as an Empty.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Whiplash gives Blackwing another blank look, like earlier. Definitely not a concept she’s ever considered.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Whiplash glares around the almost empty stands for another moment, then turns to follow Blackwing. “Never saw someone run out on the end of an arena combat,” she mutters.

 

From Karkas Arena - Spectator’s Balcony, Blackwing says, “Well, watching this messy fight made me thirsty, I’m heading to the Wild Surge for a drink.”

 

**

 

A Decepticon symbol spins to the front of the screen, followed by a face perhaps only some of you have seen before: red optics over a grill-like mask. Currently, that mask is dented in fiercely, as Recoil hasn’t bothered to go in for repairs after today’s combat. General bars glisten on his chest, fortelling the message he is about to relate.

 

“Listen up, Decepticons. This is GENERAL Recoil speaking. As of today, I am taking over Enfilade’s former position, as your new Chief of Combat. From now on, no more coddling from your field commander: we fight by my rules in this organization, and the RULES of war can change any time. ‘Till I see you on the front line... This is your new general, signin’ out.”

 

Abrupt end of message.

 

***