Recoil Reaction:  Trouble in the Ranks

 

 

Darkmount - Command Center(#227Rnt)

 

     Before you lies the heart and soul of the Decepticon empire. You find yourself standing on a wide walkway spanning a three-quarter circle overlooking the 100 foot deep command center. The central stairs are just to your right and descend through three levels of sensor monitor stations. The entire height and length of the wall in front of you is covered with massive sensor viewers relaying information from the Tower Outpost Communication Center to Darkmount so that Decepticon leaders may survey their holdings without moving very far from the tools of power at their disposal.

 

     In the first work level below you are various computer terminals available for the officers to review logs of troop reports while the lower two levels are strictly dedicated to sensor monitoring and are constantly manned. In the pit of the room, various holomaps display the information interpolated from the sensor inputs that the currently assigned duty officer is constantly updating.

 

 

Enfilade is sitting at one of the consoles, the monitors showing various locations on Cybertron.

 

Solar walks in and sits down then he puts his feet up on the nearest console, finally leaning back in the chair, he starts to snore. He doesn’t even nod at anyone in the room.

 

Whiplash pokes her head into the Command Center, after having found repair bay empty for once. She’s just checking to see who’s around and if they’re all in fighting condition.

 

Enfilade hardly notices the newcomers. She’s too busy flicking through images on the monitor. “Heh...not a sign of the Bots,” she says, as if surprised, and then turns the monitors towards surveillance of Crystal City.

 

Shockwave stalks in, his large form causing little vibrations and klangs across the command level. He continues on towards the stairs and heads down them. Approaching Solar’s position, he leans in close and announces to the whole room, “It is not logical to believe that all the Autobots have perished in one attack.” Standing up to his full hieght again, he nods to Enfilade, “As was noted by the Field commander, we must be on guard.”

 

Solar snorts loudly and shifts slightly in his chair.

 

Whiplash notices Enfilade looks busy (quite a contrast to Solar), and Shockwave seems to be taking an interest in what she’s doing as well, so she slips quietly inside and comes down to the lower level, moving closer to the others but not yet calling attention to herself.

 

Enfilade looks around, drawing herself up in salute to Shockwave. “Yes sir. Right now, though, the sensors ain’t registerin’ anythin’ though.” She whuffs. “I’m worried more about the risin’ tensions in Crystal City.”

 

Whiplash edges closer, hoping to overhear more.

 

Enfilade says, “If we ain’t careful some trigger happy idiot’s gonna spark some kinda inter-city incident.”

 

Shockwave continues on to his command chair. Turning around to look at Solar again, he addresses the whole room once more. “As we have seen, the one called Alpha Trion claims to be the last. An obvious lie in an attempt to lull us into a sense of complacency.” He turns to face Enfilade, “Those tensions are logically the product of Autobot rumor mills. We must show the citizens now, while the few remaining Autobots hide, that we are the way, and that it would logically be in their favor to follow us.”

 

Solar shrugs, and the snoring looses volume into mere background noise “I think you’re lookin at it the wrong way, Enf, We should be the trigger happy idiots.”

 

Enfilade stares at Shockwave and says quietly, “I always thought you figured it was an illogical waste of resources to attack a neutral city that poses no threat to us.”

 

Whiplash can’t help but chuckle softly, making her proximity known. “Won’t be me that lights the powerderkeg.” With a quick look at Shockwave and the barest quick trace of a grin she adds, “Unless I get the go-ahead.”

 

Shockwave shakes his head, “No. There will be no lighting. There will be no firing. We will simply ‘convince’ them that we are the way. That our rule is complete, and that Cybertron is now completely ours.”

 

Enfilade looks over her shoulder as the MedusaSaur speaks. “Oh, hey there Lash, I...” and then her words trail off. The tips of the swing wings start to sway. “Shockwave...sir...why bother? They just wanna be left alone...Ain’t we got bigger things waitin’ for us off planet? Like Quanticus, where the 58th is posted.../they/ still got Autobots.”

 

Whiplash folds her arms and braids a few tentacles around them, letting the rest undulate around her shoulders. She doesn’t really believe there’s going to be an attack on Crystal City, she’s mostly just kidding. Though those who know her would be entirely aware that she’d be the first into a fray if the word were given.

 

Shockwave nods, “You’re correct, Field Commander. But, think of this. What would be more benificial to the 58th? Us showing up with only the troops we can muster at this point, or showing up with enough troops to fill the planet?”

 

Enfilade says, “Crystal City ain’t gonna bolster our troops, sir. They’ll just give us more trouble than they’re worth. All they want is to be left alone.”

 

Solar goes back to ‘sleeping’.

 

Whiplash mutters a growl to herself. “No word from ‘em now that we wiped out their friends?”

 

Enfilade’s optics slide over to Whiplash, but she says nothing.

 

Shockwave takes a step away from his command chair. He grasps his cannon behind his back with his good hand. “With the Autobots forces depleted, and the few remaining in hiding, the time is right. We will simply show them that they have no other way to go. Crystal City does not have the resources to launch an attack on us, nor are the Autobots in a position come to their rescue with their lies. Thusly, we are in the prime position to verbally convince them to take up our cause.” He pauses a moment, “Only the militia will stand in our way, and even they will think twice before taking on the might of the Decepticon forces.”

 

Enfilade says, “You shouldn’t underestimate Phalanx, Shockwave....sir.”

 

Whiplash tilts her head a little. “*Verbally* convince?”

 

Solar coughs and starts to choke on his laughter.

 

Shockwave nods, “The militia is their only protection, and Phalanx is nothing compared to our might. Once the militia converts, so shall the populace. And if the militia refuses, then they will learn the same lessons that the Autobots did.” He takes a breath, looking around the room at his troops. “What the Autobots, those that remain, fail to understand is that by playing dead, they are helping our cause more then they ever did while they fought. They are not making the statement that our way is wrong. They are making the statement that the Decepticons are the most powerful force on the planet, and that we destroy our enemies, even if it takes millions of years. Now that the Autobots are gone, the rest of the planet will come over more willingly, for they will not desire to get on our collective ‘bad side’.”

 

Enfilade says, “You said it yourself, sir, we can’t move on Crystal City because the Autobots are probably still out there. We’ll get ourselves weakened an’ be easy targets for any survivin’ Bots.”

 

Whiplash looks a little disappointed, but the situation is hardly new to her and she isn’t particularly disgruntled. “War of words, then?”

 

Solar says, “Can I make a suggestion? What am I sayin’ I’ll make it with or without permission. I suggest ya start having mechs set up an outpost in the area near where we blew that base up. Shows we ain’t takin A3’s threats seriously. Frankly I would just shred A3 where he stands.”

 

Enfilade nods. “I agree with that, Solar. I’ve claimed that territory, it’s time to occupy it.”

 

Whiplash says, “*That’s* something I can help with, anyway.”

 

Enfilade grins. “You an architect, Lash?”

 

Shockwave nods to each comment made, the replies to all at once. “This will be a three pronged battle. One of words, one of threats, and one as a show of force.” He looks to Enfilade, “Field Commander, your mission will be to start laying actual claim to formerly Autobot held territories. Demolish any Autobot encampments that you find, and make sure the planet knows that we stand by our claim. Our next front will be lead by you, Solar. With holdings in formerly unafilliated territories, it will be your mission to express to it’s citizens we are the future. Our final front, which will be doubly lead by Ghost and Razelore will be to,” he pauses, clears his throat and then continues “convince the militia that their fight against us will be futile. With these fronts being attacked at once, there will certainly be no place for the populace to come but to us.” He looks at each of his officers, “Unless any of you disagree with these concepts...”

 

Solar says, “Not a disagreement sir, but I did find these in Dead End a few cycles ago. And Enf Lash meant shreddin A3. Although would ya believe I am an architect?”

 

Enfilade at first looks pleased with her assignment, but then her optics darken behind her visor. “Allow me to go on the record stating that I believe Crystal City should be left alone.”

 

Solar drops Informational Pamphlets.

Informational Pamphlets(#4239n)

 

        A pile of pamphlets are sitting here, official-looking and professionally designed.

 

        The pamphlets explain some of the recent wrongs committed by the Decepticons. Backed with documentation and well-researched, it talks about some of the travesties Decepticons have committed to Autobots and Unaligned in the name of their empire. It contains a section that focuses on the Decepticons’ claim and backpedal to Dead End City. It also has an entire section focused on the recent Exodus attack, and the Decepticons’ inability to control the ambition of their own troops. It reminds nuetrals that the Decepticons often consider them viable targets.

 

        Propaganda information created by the Autobots, for a change? Literature being distributed in visible nuetral areas.

 

Whiplash says, “I’m not an architect, but I can help secure an area.”

 

There’s a trace of irony in Whiplash’s voice as she says, almost too softly to be overheard, “Disagree with you, Shock? Nahh.”

 

Enfilade’s voice was oddly formal, her grammar flawless, as she made her statement. Looking at the pamphlets she sounds more herself as she says, “What the frag is that, Solar?” She picks one up and snorts. “Heh. Good fer wipin’ up fouled oil an’ that’s ‘bout it.”

 

Whiplash picks up one of the pamphlets also and looks it over.

 

Solar says, “For us sure but the bots, they’re puttin’ those things in Unaffil territory. Morons basically, but if it’s a word game they want I’ll be happy to give em one.”

 

Shockwave picks up one of the pamphlets, looks it over, the looks at Solar, “This is meaningless now. And Crystal City will be unharmed...for the time. As for architecture, that is irrelevant for the moment. I expect reports from all front commanders in a timely fashion, and updates once per cycle. We will not get this close to complete planetary rule and lose it because we failed to stay alert. If there are no more comments, I shall be going to the repair bay to see to the re-commissioning of our former comrades.”

 

Enfilade nods. “Yes, sir.” She seems a little more relaxed...for the time being, though every once in a while the wing tips still flick sharply.

 

Solar shrugs and nods.

 

Enfilade turns to Whiplash and says, “You wouldn’t /believe/ the climate in Dead End these days. It’s like I’m...infamous er somethin’.”

 

Shockwave walks for the door, then turns back to address the room, “This war is as good as won. All we need do is tighten our grasp and we will have won the planet. Do not let this slip through our fingers now.” He looks towards Whiplash, then Enfilade, then Solar, taking each mech’s resolve. Pleased, he returns his optic to Whiplash, “A word with you, Colonel, if you will.”

 

Whiplash glances at Shockwave, but has nothing further to say, as it seems clear the Decepticon leader wishes to see to other matters. Instead she replies to Enfilade, “Infamous for what?” She almost spins around and back toward Shockwave again as he speaks before leaving. “Who, me?”

 

Shockwave simply nods.

 

Enfilade laughs. “Knockin’ the Bots reelin’. The neutrals look at me like I’m some kinda demon.”

 

Whiplash looks puzzled. She can’t recall ever having been addressed as “Colonel” before. She nods to Enfilade a little distractedly, and makes her way toward Shockwave. Something a little wary and a little hopeful in her expression as her tentacles unwrap themselves from around her arms and pick up their pace around her.

 

Solar shrugs and starts snoring again.

 

Shockwave again turns for the door calling over his shoulder, “And, Solar, clean up that trash.” refering to the pamphlets. After all, it would not do to have the command area covered in garbage.

 

Enfilade looks over at Solar. “Sound asleep, eh?” she says, knowing better.

 

An announcement comes over the loudspeaker to proclaim the arrival of a Decepticon shuttle on the launch platform.

 

 

Darkmount--Launch Platform

 

     Forcibly hewn out of the side of a raised mountain, this sturdily constructed platform is large enough to accommodate several ships and still allow enough room for the arriving and departing patrols of Decepticon seekers. Crafted of solidly forged chunks of Durillium, it has been made to withstand the tests of time and battles.

     Around the edges of the platform are various anti-aircraft batteries and entrenched watch posts for defense drones should anyone ever be foolish enough to attempt an attack from the air, or intrepid enough to risk approaching the Decepticon stronghold from the nearly impossible climb below.

 

 

Whiplash follows along with Shockwave, curious now at what has landed here.

 

Solar leans against the Conquest and yawns, “Always a fun night in the Mount.”

 

Shockwave steps off the elevator with Whiplash, and walks over to where the Decepticons have congregated. He is also curious, but hides it well behind his optic.

 

Whiplash shoots Solar a glare. “Keep alert,” she suggests.

 

Solar says, “When ain’t I?”

 

The shuttle...a small starhopper....touches down gracefully on the launching pad.

 

Whiplash mutters a growl, and melts into the shadows under the existing ships, just in case, to make her position unclear.

 

The airlock of the ship slides open, and, after only a short pause, a Decepticon commander, marching forward with great bluster, exits the craft. Immediately, the new arrival pops off a salute to Shockwave. “Sir!” He takes a brief glance over the landing pad at the collected soldiers, then, wasting no time, introduces himself as, “Commander Recoil, Fighting 58th, Sir. Reporting in.”

 

Recoil(#3618PenAc)

A tall, bulky robot, standing a solid 36 feet high. The heavy armoured windows of his alt mode form his chest; racks of wheels are visible on his lower legs. The huge barrel of an artillery cannon is visible on his back. Cold red-orange optics glare out at the world from beneath a pointed headpiece. His mouth is usually covered by a vented grill-like mask that can slide up and down. He wears a chain around his waist, from which hangs a battle mace, and is almost never without a very large grenade gun in his hand or over his shoulder. Painted in blue and silver, with a bit of orange trim, Recoil oozes aggression and power.

 

Whiplash’s optics flicker in a “blink” of surprise from her semi-hidden location. Recoil? Fighting 58th??

 

Solar shrugs and doesn’t move, but his optic dims as he connects to a computer network “The commander of the 58th Lash.”

 

Whiplash answers from out of the shadows, “I’m, er, familiar with the name.”

 

Shockwave nods and returns the salute with his real hand. “Interesting, Commander. We were just making plans for you.” He looks around, then returns his gaze to Recoil, “What brings you here, commander? We recieved no transmission informing us of your arrival.”

 

Whiplash transmits: ‘Fil? You ... might want to get up here to the launch platform. Buddy of yours just showed up.’.

 

Recoil responds, “Well, Sir, bit of a snafu with the com equipment. If you’d be willing to give me some of your time, I’ll tell ya all about it.” He doesn’t move from his ‘at attention’ position as he speaks.

 

Whiplash looks Recoil up and down, as though sizing him up.

 

Enfilade radios: “Oh yeah? Give me a minute...” to Whiplash.

 

Whiplash transmits: ‘Just so you’re forewarned. Recoil.’.

 

Solar just stares at the newcomer, his one true optic turning a cold deep blue, and his optic patch emitting a laser sight that hits Recoil in his chest.

 

Solar transmits: ‘Gimme what you know about Recoil, I’ve read the personnel file but I need more’.

 

Enfilade pauses and then says via radio, “Oh, you have fraggin’ got to be /kidding/ me.” to Whiplash.

 

Enfilade says, testily, “OK, how about that he’s a complete carbonslagging pain in the aft? Is /that/ in his file?” to Solar.

 

Whiplash transmits: ‘Nope. Big as life right in front of me. And he’s about to let us in on what he’s doing here.’

 

Solar transmits: ‘Actually yes it is, but only to subordinates’.

 

Enfilade answers Solar with ‘The Loser King used’ta be my boss...aw frag...this day just went right straight to the smelter.’

 

Enfilade emerges from the elevator, her face tense, and at Shockwave’s command walks across the roof to the assembled group, nodding stiffly to her former commander. “Recoil.” Not “sir”...just his name.

 

Shockwave nods to Recoil, “I can speak to you now.” He looks to Enfilade, “Enfilade, if you would join us.” Returning his optic to Recoil, “Is this okay, or would you prefer a more private setting.” Shockwave also takes the time to size up the newcomer, and access his file in his databanks.

 

Enfilade’s expression is, as usual, mostly hidden by the mask, but from the way she holds her frame it’s easy to guess there’s the equivalent of a thin-lipped frown behind the face plate.

 

Solar walks over to Lash, and quickly prints up the personnel file of Recoil. “It’s a fun read”, and he hands it to Lash.

 

Whiplash has heard plenty about this guy from her friend, but never really expected to meet him. She glances through the information Solar provides her, though it doesn’t tell her too much she hasn’t already heard from Enfilade.

 

Recoil almost breaks his stiff-straight stance when Enfilade arrives, and his optics narrow, ever slightly, as they meet hers. He does not bother to favor her with a response; this is a business trip, and she has no business interrupting. Instead, he responds to Shockwave, “Whatever your preference, sir.” This sentence seems a bit tense, and he covers it up by continuing to speak, “Though not sure what good the Sergeant’s presence’ll do.”

 

Enfilade looks around, at first not realizing what he’s talking about, and then it comes to her...she lets out a silent whuff. This is, after all, the mech who got her demoted down to Sergeant, kicked out of the 58th, and posted to Darkmount. Won’t Recoil be annoyed when he realizes the favour he did her... She looks back at him and gently reaches up to polish her general’s bars.

 

Solar chuckles, “You seem to be misinformed, Recoil. Enfilade is now the commander of Combat Arms Division, making her your direct superior..Recoil” the last word said with a sneer.

 

Shockwave looks to Enfilade then back to Recoil, “The Field Commander’s presence is often insightful, and my decission. If you feel that this is too classified for her, then perhaps I should send an expedition to Qualticus to find out what the problem is.” His voice has taken on the slightest edge, as if annoyed that his request has been questioned. Ignoring Solar, he keeps his gaze firmly on Recoil, “Now, is this too classified, or shall we proceed with our conversation?”

 

Whiplash keeps sharp watch on the new arrival, with an occasional flicker of a glance toward Enfilade. Since she’s spoken to her companions, her position in the shadow of the shuttle is pretty obvious, though she stays a bit indistinct in the shadows by instinct, expecting trouble.

 

Recoil’s optics...flicker. And as he lays eyes on the sight of the general’s bars Enfilade so clearly displays, his left optic begins to twitch. His entire frame tenses, and he seems just SHORT of a furious outburst... “...The...field commander?” But...no, not in front of the general. He holds his tension back, and responds, “Not classified. This’ll do.” He tries to regain his attention stance, and partially fails.

 

Solar pushes a recorder tab on his left arm, as any good intell officer would do.

 

Whiplash can’t help but smile, though she stifles it quickly and tries to catch Enfilade’s optics.

 

Shockwave nods, “Then by all means, at ease commander, and begin your report.”

 

Enfilade is personally grateful now that her mask is hiding the most unmilitary smirk she’s got...her face may look blank as always, but her friends can probably catch the sparkle of her optics even through that visor. She’s enjoying this. Possibly even Recoil can guess her expression too, though he rarely saw her happy.

 

Enfilade carefully peeks over at Whiplash....

 

Whiplash flickers one optic a little brighter in a conspiratorial “wink,” then quickly looks away lest she burst out laughing.

 

Recoil begins. “Sir, to put it bluntly, 58th is starting to get hammered out there. We’re runnin’ low on meds and troops and a lot of our equipment...” he thumbs toward the ship, which seems in fair enough condition despite his complaint, though he was certain to take the best one he could FIND, “is SHOT. I’m here requesting additional troops and equipment to be transferred to Qualticus and the 58th.”

 

Enfilade quickly looks away from Whiplash lest she laugh herself...but then Recoil’s words suddenly take the urge to laugh away. “Troops...what happened to my troops?” she demands. Yes, she’s always called them “her troops”, but now Recoil can’t just ignore her.

 

Solar mutters to Enfilade: “... ... the original crew ... ... the ... And ... kind of ... does ... ... have? ... ...”

 

Solar mutters to you: “What is the original crew compliment of the 58th? And what kind of equipment does it usually have? Standard only.”

 

Shockwave looks as Enfilade’s outburst takes his attention. Slowly looking back towards Recoil, he awaits an answer to the question. It was a good question.

 

Enfilade mutters to Solar: “... /should/ have two ... mechs ... there...an’ yeah standard military issue plus ...  some’a those heavy ... guns...”

 

Enfilade says, “We /should/ have two hundred mechs out there...an’ yeah, standard military issue, plus three shuttles, some’a those heavy artillery guns...’

 

Recoil responds, acting plainly ignorant of the fact that he should give Enfilade the same respect as any other superior, with a blustering, “‘Your’ troops, didn’t CUT it, soldier. Your TROOPS have been diving on Autobot grenades.”

 

Enfilade’s optics open wide with shock...the light flashing through the visor. The big swing-wings flare wide. “After I left they were /your/ troops, Recoil. What did you ask them to do? More suicide runs?” Enfilade’s usual mellow mood is nowhere to be seen right now.

 

Solar tsk tsks at Recoil. “What have you been teaching them Mech? Ain’t it your job to teach em basic survival? How many of the 200 do you have left?”

 

Whiplash’s tentacles increase their pace, their movement an indistinct flickering in the shadow of the shuttleship. Her stance becomes more tense and ready for action. She’s well aware of how protective Enfilade is of her troops.

 

Shockwave says, “Never a good position to take,” he says slowly. “What is possessing them to do that?”“

 

Enfilade mutters to Solar: “I’ll lay money ... ... second in ... ... stand ... to ...”

 

Recoil spits back a quick, “Sixty-TWO. Counting me.” He doesn’t make it seem as if this number should be at all a shock. “As far as your ‘suicide’ runs, ‘Commander,’ it wouldn’t BE suicide if they weren’t such blooming idiots. Hopefully we can get some real soldiers next time around.” He coughs, not wanting to make it seem as if his command is at fault, and covers, turning back to Shockwave, with, “It’s a different breed o’ ‘bot out there, sir. Combat tough and PREPARED. Unlike some people.”

 

Solar walks over defensively and stops standing shoulder to shoulder to Shockwave, a mech he’s always gotten along well with. “So what you’re saying is that in the few megacycles that you have not had the Field commander here as your second, you have lost over a hundred and thirty loyal Decepticons? That sounds like bad leadership to me.”

 

Enfilade repeats the number. “Sixty-two.” It’s as if she doesn’t know whether to be horrified or furious. And then...she takes an action guaranteed to cement concepts of revenge in Recoil’s mind. “Shockwave, I wouldn’t be giving him any more troops if he can’t look after the ones he’s got. I think the 58th needs a /new/ commander.”

 

Shockwave’s optic starts to glow a deeper and darker purple. “This attitude of yours is a waste of energon, Commander. Drop it. And give us facts.” He looks around, “As for the rest of you, allow him to finish, or leave the platform.”

 

Whiplash’s own optics are locked onto Recoil now. Lost 130 warriors, did he? The violet optics burn more brightly out of the dimness.

 

Enfilade folds her arms and pins Recoil with a nasty glare. She knows he’s angry, but what’s he gonna do? She is, after all, one of the most infamous mechanisms on Cybertron these days thanks to her recent triumph over the Autobots. She’s essentially on top of the world, so much so she forgot the reasons that usually have her brooding over a drink in the Wild Surge...or the Golden Blaster.

 

Recoil cools down as Shockwave addresses him again, and tries to ignore the insults of the other Decepticons. “Sixty-two troops, two shuttles, half-equipped. We’re down to our last three artillery cannons as the Autobots took out one of our weapons stores last week. Pure equipment failure on our part. The security system broke down, the techs were worthless, and I didn’t have anything to FIGHT with. Frankly it was the final straw. If the 58th falls apart it’s lack of qualified mechpower that’s wrecking us.”

 

Enfilade holds her voice box, but her wing tips flicker madly to express her agitation.

 

Solar mutters to Shockwave: “May ... ... ...  that ... ... occasions ... have said a ... is ... better ... ... ... he commands”

 

Whiplash edges out of the shadows and circles around to stand beside Enfilade as a show of silent support.

 

Shockwave gives no reply to Solar, but nods in agreement. “Commander,” he starts, “I’d like you to go with Solar here, and give him a list of the troops you have remaining. That way we can figure out where you’re deficient, and reinforce you in those areas. Also, make up a list of everything you have that is in working order. We will also reinforce those areas. As for your shuttle, we have few to give out. But I’m sure Solar can effect repairs on this one.”

 

Recoil salutes Shockwave once again. “General. I thank you for your consideration.” He approaches Solar in a marching gait, though he takes time to shoot another dark glance at Enfilade.

 

Solar turns to look at Shox “Ya just had to choose me, Huh?”

 

Enfilade just looks rather evenly at Recoil as he leaves, arms folded, holding her ground....because this is /her/ ground he’s on.

 

Shockwave nods to Solar, “I require the use of both the Field Commander and the Colonel.” He is now being very official for Recoil’s sake. “If the two of you would meed me in my office, I have things to discuss with the both of you.”

 

Solar turns and heads sulkily towards the elevator. “This way, Mech.”

 

Whiplash mutters to Enfilade: “... ... ... ... ... him ... you.”

 

Whiplash mutters to you: “I’ll keep an optic on him for you.”

 

Enfilade mutters to Whiplash: “Thanks.”

 

Recoil follows Solar, his official march fading to a more pounding and frustrated walk the moment he’s out of the general’s ‘eye’sight.

 

Whiplash turns and moves silently and swiftly after Solar and Recoil.

 

You enter the Darkmount - Command Level.

Darkmount - Command Level(#215Rnt)

 

     You step into this hall of heroes and are immediately struck by the quiet solemnness of this place. From the huge Decepticon sigil forged into the floor to the elaborate statues of great Decepticon leaders and warriors, this room demands absolute decorum and quiet introspection from all who pass through it.

 

     As you stride through towards one of the connecting doorways, you can’t help but look up at those heroes who have served this great Empire and wonder what their lives must have been like. The statues stand in stoic silence, each commanding in its own way. Silently, these warriors watch your progress as they have for eons and as they will for eons to come. You can almost hear the shout, “LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!”

 

You enter the Darkmount - Command Center.

Darkmount - Command Center(#227Rnt)

 

     Before you lies the heart and soul of the Decepticon empire. You find yourself standing on a wide walkway spanning a three-quarter circle overlooking the 100 foot deep command center. The central stairs are just to your right and descend through three levels of sensor monitor stations. The entire height and length of the wall in front of you is covered with massive sensor viewers relaying information from the Tower Outpost Communication Center to Darkmount so that Decepticon leaders may survey their holdings without moving very far from the tools of power at their disposal.

 

     In the first work level below you are various computer terminals available for the officers to review logs of troop reports while the lower two levels are strictly dedicated to sensor monitoring and are constantly manned. In the pit of the room, various holomaps display the information interpolated from the sensor inputs that the currently assigned duty officer is constantly updating.

 

 

Whiplash follows a bit behind the other two, strolling into Command Center like she completely belongs there. Coming up alongside Solar she gives him a smile and says, “I’ll help you out, how’s that?” Solar knows very well Whiplash has practically zero computer skills....

 

Solar enters and takes a seat on the lower level. “Ya can access the personnel files and academy records on that console there. I will run searches on this coded terminal. Holler if ya find anything.”

 

Whiplash pulls out a chair between Solar and Recoil, seating herself at a random console. Better not to push any buttons here. Though she makes a show of studying the controls and the screen before her as though it means something to her - all the while staying in position to observe Recoil out of the corner of her optics.

 

Solar inserts a card into a reader and then enters in his password logging into the mainframe, and classified files.

 

Recoil sits down at the computer console. He raises a hand over the keys, but looks...entirely uncomfortable with the attempt. Then, his gaze sets, and he starts to open up the files, stumbling at first, then finally bringing up the Decepticon roster.

 

Solar says, “Gimme a list of the info ya need, Recoil.”

 

Recoil ticks the two points off on his fingers, “Available weapons...and some troops with some TRAINING, for once! What’s the borders look like on Cybertron right now; ya got any frontliners for me you can relocate?”

 

Whiplash growls softly.

 

Solar shakes his head “Nah, I blew up the Bot Base a few cycles ago.” Solar calls up the files of the fighting 58^th

 

Recoil spits out at Whiplash, “Stuff it, ‘critter.’“ At Solar’s pronouncment, he blinks. “Blew it up as in GONE? How many of ‘em ya got left out there?”

 

Solar says simply “One.”

 

Whiplash responds by favoring Recoil with a full view of her serrated fangs and a warning flash of her optics.

 

Recoil would have done a full-on spit take, had his mouth been full at the time. He sputters. “ONE? Can you CONFIRM that? Let me see a territory map; let me see the lines.”

 

Solar pushes a button on the ommand console and he calls up the new territory map “Right now thats what we know.”

 

Whiplash remarks too-casually, “Enfilade led the attack that took out their whole base.”

 

The computer shows a decimated Autobot base and all the Bot territory now covered in purple cross-hatch, with a star over Alpha Trion’s lab.  Dead End is similarly cross-hatched, though there the lines are over neutral blue instead of Autobot red. Crystal City, however, remains a pure unbroken blue, as does its lands.

 

Recoil blusters, “Can’t be too tough for a well-equipped army to take out ONE LOUSY Autobot.” He puts a finger on the red star...beginning with, “So where are your fronts...” ...then, his gaze and pointer finger drift south, to the blue-marked territory. “And what the hell’s all this?”

 

Solar says, “Somethin we’re gonna be takin care of.”

 

Solar says, “Right now that information is classified.”

 

According to the files, ‘The 58th has not endured the spate of official complaints and court martials it used to undergo when Enfilade was there, but instead the casualty rate has spiked, thanks to some rather aggressive and poorly considered head on assaults.’

 

Whiplash leans over in her chair and peers at the map. “One of these days,” she mutters.

 

In the files, the second in command doesn’t say much...most of his reports are about “Recoil says this” and “Recoil says that,” as if he’s too uncertain of himself, or too scared of Recoil, to complain. Though at the bottom of one is a footnote... “We want Major Enfilade back.”

 

Recoil mumbles, mostly to himself, “...right, so Enfilade’s record is completely spotless, is it...?”

 

Solar says, “Oooh casualty percantage more than tripled...hmmm interesting. Field demotions skyrocketting. “and he sends the info to a personal file “No not spotless, but more victories than failures.”

 

Whiplash catches the words and is ready to snap a reply, but catches herself. Listen and observe, she reminds herself.

 

Recoil says, “Oh, so I take it she’s got in in her mind to rush this...blot herself?” He gestures to the blue smear on the screen. “She figures out how many mech it’ll take, and you figure out how many mech you can send.” He coughs. “As for the casualty percentage, it’s CYCLICAL. Use a few good unit commanders, and suddenly they’re droppin’ like firerockets. Another infusion and we’ll be back in business.”

 

Solar says, “I didn’t say it was your unit, so don’t get defensive on me. Actually the mission parameters started with Lord Shockwave.”

 

Recoil says, “I’d a’ figured him a mech who knew what he was doing... except for promoting Enfilade to COMBAT COMMAND. That femme wouldn’t know how to push a rush if you drew a diagram on her facemask.” He waves a hand toward the computer. “Bring up her records.”

 

Solar calls up her personel records with her recent victories showing footnotes for commendation. “It only goes back to the time you had her transferred.”

 

Whiplash’s tentacles increase their pace another notch. “You know,” she muses, a sort of icy calm pervading her tone, “even attacking Crystal City isn’t a matter of throwing warriors at the walls ‘till they break.”

 

Recoil doesn’t see on the screen anything he doesn’t already know...top of her class at the War Academy, subsequent awards, subsequent courtmartials, her posting to Darkmount...but to Solar and Whiplash, something on the screen might nag at them. Built at Militech Industries, Tetrahex.

 

Solar says, “Lash our guest is not yet cleared for that material. Till then give him no info on it”

 

Whiplash recognizes the name, at least. “Militech’s where we found Warblade,” she notes to Solar.

 

Recoil SHUDDERS more than visibly when the commendations streak across the screen. “BULL! He forces Solar out of his way, scrolling back up to older entries, containing her list of courtmartials. “With a record like that, how’d she end up with a promotion like THIS?”

 

Whiplash rises from her place, tentacles bristling as Recoil throws his weight around.

 

Enfilade’s records also label her as a prototype ground assault aircraft. For all her successes, Militech evidently didn’t build any more of her model, as there are no others around to be seen.

 

Solar says, “Her promotion came out of her performance since her return to Cybertron. She IS the best qualified for the assignment.”

 

Whiplash throws in her two energon chips, “That’s right.”

 

Recoil accuses, “If she was so SUCCESSFUL why didn’t they build a whole unit of her?”

 

The answer to /that/ can only be found in the Militech computer banks...if there’s anything left of them.

 

Whiplash says, “What do I know? I’m just a sentry.”

 

Whiplash isn’t inclined to chase down the loose end - in fact, doesn’t even fully recognize it as such. Solar, on the other hand, may be a different story.

 

Solar changes the subject and calls up Recoil’s history on the main viewer “Let’s see here--many reprimands for cruelty to troops, excessive suicide missions. Field demotions, and a court martial trial or two for yourself And I see not more than a handful of commendations and all of them listed from the time Enfilade joined your unit till the time she left it.”

 

Recoil says, “Completely irrelevant. My fitness isn’t in question here.” Well, actually, it is, but Recoil is brazenly ignoring the fact. “Bring up the info on her line; they discontinued it for a reason, right?”

 

Solar shakes his head “I ain’t got that info here; it’s proprietorial.”

 

Whiplash smirks. “Some of us are one of a kind.”

 

Solar says, “Would ya really want a twin Lash?”

 

Recoil says, “You’re intel. GET the info.”

 

Whiplash says, “A twin? Nah. I’m saying it’s a good thing.” She regards the screen, a little curious now herself. “Anything more you can dig up for this guy, Solar, so he’s happy and will quit bugging us about Enfilade?”

 

Solar stands and glares down at Recoil, “I will get it, but unless you can hack, and I see by your woefully inadequate dossier that you can’t, I have to wait for my partner”.

 

Recoil snickers. “And he’s calling me inadequate. Get ON it.”

 

Whiplash gives another warning growl, very much disliking how this visitor is talking to and about her friends.

 

Whiplash herself encourages Solar to finish up the search, “Just show this guy that there’s nothing to find so he’ll get outta our space, hm?”

 

<Decepticon> Solar says, “Hey Ghost ya busy? I need a bit of help with a slight problem”

 

<Decepticon> Ghost seems groggy, if a disembodied voice can get that timbre, “I seem to need assistance as well. What can I do for you, Solar?”

 

<Decepticon> Solar says, “I need a hack job. Militech computer in Tetrahex.”

 

<Decepticon> Ghost says, “Well that would explain...*pauses* Give me some time to get unlocked and over there.”

 

Recoil drums his fingers on the end of the console impatiently.

 

Solar calls up the Militech offices on the main viewer, and the diagram clearly shows a back-up computer in a rear office. At least to those who can read a blueprint.

 

<Decepticon> Solar says, “I’m in the mount I can give ya a lift.”

 

<Decepticon> Ghost says, “Have to get out of the mainframe first.”

 

On another screen behind them, the map of Decepticon holdings shines down its purple light...and a little blue spot falling on the table beside Solar where an unmarked Crystal City glows alone in the sea of purple crosshatch.

 

Whiplash recognizes the place on screen as a site of one of their recent explorations. She also notices the backup computer, which they didn’t come across. “Hey, but that’s-” she stops quickly, recalling Enfilade’s intensity for wiping out the system they did find. “-probably dead and burnt-out after all this time,” she finishes.

 

<Decepticon> Solar says, “Meet ya on the landing Pad. I’ll be bringin a /guest/.”

 

<Decepticon> Ghost says, “You know how I hate surprises... Better not be one of those “tempt me to shoot” sort of guests.”

 

Ghost arrives from the Inside the Mainframe.

 

As a wall panel in a corner near the main screen begins to slide back, soft hissings echo out from behind it. There is a wisping of gas that creeps ouf of the opening like fog along the ground, flickers of energy dancing in the mist. From the opening twitching and writhing cables extrude, their ends opening and closeing, showing razor sharp cutting tips adorned with the wispy echos of electrical emmision.

 

Solar says, “Nah, it’s him” and he points to Recoil:  “Commander of the 58th, and that is commander Ghost.”

 

As the cables writhe and twist outwards, twin pinpoints of violet light can be seen moving out of the darkness. Moving out of the shadows, as if forming from the very nothingness that makes up the lack of light steps Ghost, adorned with the criss crossing cables writhing around her frame. The cables seem disinclined to let the tall gray femme depart, their ends snapping open and closed as if angered that their.. prey, their.. mistress is leaving them. She arches a brow, light catching across her face to show a flickering scowl, then waves a hand. The cables begin their slow retraction, some of them unjacking from her frame, their ends still glistening with fluids as she steps into the light, leaving her.. work behind. with a nod, she peers about, the intertwining cables coiling in among themselves and withdrawing into the now closing panel. It seals with a soft hiss, appearing seamless and impenetrable.

 

Ghost waves a hand at one of the cable guardians and squints, smoke wisping off of her frame as if she’s been in a cryo tube, “Him?” she asks, voice rough.

 

Recoil stands at attention, and saultes the officer. “Yes, Ma’am. Commander Recoil reporting.”

 

Whiplash mutters to Solar: “ *now* ... remembers how ... ... a ... ... processor.”

 

Ghost lifts a brow at the gathered, “Is there a /reason/ someone is attempting to access limited acces files or were you all simply trying to garner my attention?”

 

Whiplash indicates Recoil with the tips of a couple of tentacles. “This guy’s bugging us about Enfilade’s record. Figured we could show him everything’s just fine so he’ll go away.”

 

The computer screen indicates a map of the Militech complex, where Enfilade’s public file says she was built. Enfilade did a good job of destroying its main computer, but the map displays a backup machine hidden in a side office.

 

Recoil says, now perfectly all-official, “With your permission, Ma’am.”

 

Ghost peers at Recoil as she completes her reassimilation into her own body. With optics lightening, she asks, voice a gravel filled rasp, “Why?”

 

Solar says, “Well for two reasons. First, as a way to find out if what Recoil says is true, and second because of the reason I spoke to you earlier.”

 

Solar mutters to Whiplash: “we ... make ... ... ... to ... later ... better yet allow ... ... do ...”

 

Ghost folds her arms over her chest, “Well, Recoil, is it?” She leans against the wall panel she just exited from, “What have you said about my esteemed commander?”

 

Whiplash nods to Solar, keeping suspicious watch on Recoil.

 

Recoil says, “ONLY, ma’am, that her overall records may be less prestigious than what you assume.”

 

Ghost smirks, “I assume very little, Ser Recoil. So, feel free to.. enlighten me on what my /trusted/ sub commander has done to cause you to come here seeking information.”

 

Whiplash mutters to Solar: “Thought ... was looking for warriors. ‘Cause he ... ... ... his.”

 

Solar says, “I think Recoil should keep searching the roster for replacememts. Ghost and I will head to Tetrahex.”

 

Recoil nods. An officer is here; he’s back on good behavior very suddenly. Ghost would get to hear later about the way he acted outside of her presence. “Affirmative. If I can return to scanning the current roster...” his voice darkens toward Solar.... “YOU can get the information.”

 

Ghost looks at Solar, then back at Recoil, “Actually.. I would prefer if you told me /what/ had brought you here seeking information in /my/ rosters.”

 

Solar says, “He has had a loss of soldiers from a full compliment of 200 to 62. He wants replacements.”

 

Recoil says, “Ma’am, I’m here requesting resources and troops to back me up in the 58th. The General already permitted me access to the personnel files so that I can choose the troops available for transfer.”

 

Ghost blinks.. “200 to 62..” she is quiet for a moment, “200 to 62..” Pushing off of the wall, she paces around Recoil, “I do hope that you have filed the reasonings behind such a massive death list, Ser.” Her optics glimmer, “And while you are free to peruse the personnel files, only myself or Shockwave can grant permission for so many of our needed troops to relocate.” She stops, peering at Recoil standing just off to his side, “I think you and I, ser, may need to have a few moments to speak to ourselves.. Before you start your little search.” She looks at Solar, “Why don’t you and Mer Whiplash.. go see to.. something while I speak with our errant officer here.”

 

Whiplash looks around at the others present, weighing her options. Turning away as though to head off on her own, she pauses and taps Solar on the shoulder. “Come on,” she urges, giving no more information than that, but motioning him to follow her.

 

Whiplash slips toward the door without another word, while Ghost is busy with Recoil. Whether or not she hears Solar following, she keeps going.

 

Gates of Tetrahex(#1586Rnt)

 

     Tetrahex - or as it was better known as, Seekerville - was the major factory where the two major models of seekers, coned and standard, were built. The city was famous for that until several vorns back, when it became famous... and notorious as the first target of a weapon of mass destruction. In one of the most controversial and debated events in history, it is widely reported that the former Autobot commander, Sentinel Prime, ordered the mass destruction of this entire city. Whether or not this is actually true is lost in history, however, the effects of the bomb that hit this city are very much real. The twin gates, each ordinated with a stylized seeker form are swung open uselessly, leading into the east, and a city that is more rubble than buildings.

 

 

Solar swiftly recalls hios spotlight to his houlder and pulls a datapad out of subspace “Should be over in that direction” and he starts walking.

 

Whiplash moves quickly along the ground, heading toward the old factory that they explored some time ago.

 

Hangar Row(#3249Rnt)

 

     This was the major factory and storage area for the seekers that were created here. Now, little remains other than the twisted and blackened metal of a row of buildings and factories, and the massive piles of rubble that were once living areas and shops. This area has been stripped totally clean of anything of any use, and is truly dead.

 

Militech Industries Complex [#4173 en]

 

Militech Industries Complex(#4173en)

To those who find the passageway into the lower levels, you will find that the bowels of Militech are quite different than the upper reaches. There is still evidence of bomb damage, but not of looting, though everything is covered in a thick layer of dust and has started to decay from disuse. In the very basement the area shows signs of a firefight - scorch marks on the walls, destroyed weaponry that were once computer-targeted defense gunsdangling from above. The shattered pieces of a large computer bank are scattered about, covered by a heavy layer of dust that settled after an intense explosion. An alcove adjacent to the main room shows evidence of what must once have been stored here - a med-table-like platform, the remnants of a tarp, and cabling that must once have fed power into something. Something that is no longer here. The settled dust shows clearly the footsteps of many variously-sized Transformers, including the quadrupedal prints of animal-like feet.

 

Ghost moves near silently into the area, attention clearly on her surroundings, a wary expression on her countanance.

 

In the back office, a computer bank does indeed survive.

 

Whiplash winds her way through the dusty basement level, going by memory of where that backup computer was shown on the screen.

 

Ghost follows Whiplash, her own optics taking on a reddish cast as she switches to a vision more used for low light areas.

 

Solar goes and kicks the computer that Enf destroyed. “I hope that the auto defenses were just on the main one.”

 

The Auto Defences...what remains of them...are silent. The computer in the back office sits silently, holding who knows what secrets inside it.

 

Ghost hnns softly, “As do I.. I have some.. research I need to do on Recoil.. But this takes precidence.”

 

Whiplash realizes there are others following, but she moves with a determination and precision that indicates she’d have come out here on her own too. Finding a half-buried opening into the back office, she flattens herself and slips through. The entranceway is covered by debris, which is why they missed it last time, but it’s fairly light wall material that can be shoved aside.

 

Solar points to the office in there. Its a couple of firewalls in took Sliver a while to access the Enfilade file.

 

Whiplash shakes the dust off her tentacles and transforms as she comes upon the backup computer, drawing her battle blade at the same time and regarding the data storage device.

 

Solar says, “Ya might wanna take your time and get all the info out of it ya can. I have a feeling Enf will try to destroy this one too.”

 

MedusaSaur transforms into Whiplash.

 

The computer sits there, as if waiting.

 

Whiplash looks back over her shoulder to see who’s following, and shifts her grip on the blade. “I figure if Fil wanted this thing destroyed, is there any real reason we shouldn’t just hack it to bits and be done with it? Send that guy Recoil back where he came from, tell him there’s nothing to find?”

 

Ghost eyes the computer, then heaves a soft sigh, a glimmer brightening her optics, “Alright, lets see.. what this baby has in it..” Pacing the device, she looks it over, checking access ports and energy feeds. Kneeling, she runs her hand down a side, then wedgies a panel open, “Information isn’t something we should squander, Whiplash. If this thing has anything of value in it, we need to have it. In case.. of events.”

 

Solar says, “Only that some of the info is neccessary Lash.  Info on Warblade and all the other prototypes are all stored in here. It’s valuable.”

 

Yes, the old computer is still working, once its power generator is activated. The list of prototypes comes up on the screen. There’s PROJECT WARBLADE, big as life, and a little deeper, PROJECT ENFILADE.

 

Whiplash grumbles a little and might actually have trashed the thing if she’d been alone. As it is, she puts away her blade and takes up the task of pacing about the room so the hackers aren’t interrupted and surprised when their concentration is elsewhere.

 

Ghost hmms as she pops the panel on her forearm open, extracting a thin nanomolecular neural fiber cable. A moment passes as she splices herself into the computer.. She rocks on her heels and gets a center of balance before she truly begins her specialty... “Alright, initiating insertion program. Solar, if you need my attention, whistle. Don’t touch me.”

 

The computer flickers to life, ready to yield its information at Ghost’s request.

 

Solar looks out the door. “I hate it when mechs feel they can hide things on me.”

 

Ghost’s optics flicker, then darken as her mind focuses in and through that thin cabling.. Her id, as it were, threads into the computers systems, seeking the source files for the information needed.

 

The computer responds. The words PROJECT ENFILADE hilight. Slowly, the file begins to load...

 

Whiplash catches a glimpse of the words as they flash on screen. Pausing in her movements, she peers over Ghost’s shoulder from a few steps away.

 

Solar pulls out a datacube and hands it to Ghost. “In case ya need a hard copy.”

 

The file is full, intact...Enfilade’s little act of destruction didn’t take this copy out.

 

Ghost hnngs softly as she does something for the benefit of her compatriots, namely causing the system to flash the needed information o nthe screen as well as dowload into a datacrystal. “Not.. my uusal.. style..” she manages to get out, concentration on manipulating the information to flow properly.

 

Whiplash looks back toward the entrance and listens for a moment, but the area seems to be deserted other than the three Decepticons. Curious again about “Project Enfilade,” she leans a little closer.

 

The file opens, revealing its secrets.

 

PROJECT ENFILADE: Rebuild of Cargo Carrier Unit Airlane into Close Air Support Ground-Attack Warrior. This heavy airframe will never be capable of dogfighting; therefore it is proposed to equip her with heavy armour and Vulcan cannon to enable her to destroy ground targets. Swing-wings should reduce the more restrictive faults of the cargo carrier model...

 

Solar says, “So she was a freight Hauler? That’s scary.”

 

Whiplash doesn’t seem too surprised by the revelation, though she doesn’t recognize the name Airlane.

 

Solar says, “Run the file on Airlane if you would. I see a cross reference at the bottom there.”

 

Ghost hnns softly, “Working on it.. Sort of a backaftwards filing system.”

 

Airlane’s file opens...

UNIT AIRLANE:

DESIGNATION: Decepticon Cargo Carrier

ORIGINAL MANUFACTURE: Skylift Enterprises, Crystal City

DATE OF CONSTRUCTION (This is at the tail end of the Golden Age.)

DATE OF RECRUITMENT (Several centuries later)

 

Solar says, “What was its name before recruitment. It looks like for a few centuries it was a fence sitter.”

 

Ghost hmms, sending her id further into the sytem to locate random files, “Stupid, scientists filing things where.. make no sense.”

 

Whiplash’s optics narrow a little as she frowns. “Airlane ... Crystal City?”

 

The individual now known as Enfilade appears to have been originally built as Airlane...a Crystal City Neutral. The file reveals several centuries of service for this “Skylift Enterprises.”

 

Ghost grates out, voice distant, “I want to know what Skylift Enterprises was.”

 

Solar says, “Is there a file on Skylift?”

 

Perhaps it is nothing new for a neutral to join the Decepticons...but...how many neutrals end up Chief of Combat? How many seem to be on some personal basis with Phalanx? Perhaps you remember that map Enfilade had...all of Cybertron in purple save for Crystal City.

 

Whiplash urges, “Anything more?”

 

The file describes “Skylift Enterprises” as a Crystal City cargo firm--like many others down in the starport region.

 

Whoever wrote the file left a tone suggesting he was less than impressed that Militech would have to waste its time overhauling a cargo carrier of all things...and then it’s written, “Particularly one with a record like hers...Court martial...” This seems a familiar theme.

 

Ghost hnngs, growling for a moment as she gleans what little information on Skylift enterprises there is in this system.. One word gets her attention.. Court.. martial.. Definately a recurring theme.. “I wonder.. if.. files underground..” Her attention is unfocused enough that her mental musings come across as broken speech.

 

Whiplash’s tentacles eventually slow down around her and finally come to a full stop before picking up an increased thrashing pace again. “So *that’s* why...!” she mutters to herself.

 

An image comes up...Before and After. The original “Airlane” was a white femme with orange Skylift Enterprises markings. The wings were more rectangular, less flexible. The spikes and serrated ornamentation is gone. But the face...is familiar to anyone who’s ever seen Enfilade without her mask.

 

Solar says, “Ya know there seems to be a lot of missing information. The dossier in even the classified files only shows everything since her return. We need to dig deeper.”

 

Ghost snaps out for a moment, optics narrowing as she peers at Whiplash, “Why what?”

 

Ghost shakes her head, “I closed her files upon her arrival, Solar. That.. is why they are so slim.”

 

Solar says, “Can ya send me the originals Ghost? I’ll bribe ya with a case of the white.”

 

Whiplash hisses softly as the unmasked face she saw only once appears on screen. “Why she’s so protective of that place,” she replies almost as an afterthought to Ghost. Three guesses as to what “that place” is.

 

Ghost hnngs, “No Solar, I can’t. That is between Me and Enfilade.”

 

Solar says, “I think it all is tied into Phalanx as well Lash. She speaks of him often.”

 

Whiplash’s response there is a low rumbling growl with a full view of the fangs. She pulls back from the others, the tentacles thrashing around her.

 

Yes...what’s up with this? Does Enfilade go back to Crystal City for nostalgia—or to report information? And all the secrecy...layer on layer of masks and lies.

 

Ghost lets the system download into the datamatrix, optics peering at Whiplash. A few thoughts tumble in her mind as she seems to stare past the other femme.. Then she rasps, “Define.. tied up with Phalanx.”

 

Solar says, “She says he was one of her instructors at the academy, but I never remember him teaching there.”

 

Whiplash’s optics darken a little as her thoughts whirl. How many lies was she told by someone she trusted? She spins away from the other two and resumes the pacing around the room and past the entranceway, scowling to herself.

 

Whiplash stops at the far side of the room and turns back. “Okay, *I’d* like to know why some lousy fence-sitter was teaching *anything* at the Decepticon academy. And ... maybe there’s some other explanation,” she finishes, thinking about Enfilade again.

 

There’s little detail on Airline’s personal life or what brought her to Militech for a rebuild. Perhaps that information is in Darkmount’s files, locked away for what might have been forever under another name and another face...had not this incident linked Airlane of Crystal City to Field Commander Enfilade.

 

Solar says, “Okay have we got all there is to get off this thing? Then I suggest we head back to Darkmount and do some more searches on both Phalanx and Enfilade in both her incarnations.”

 

Ghost hnns softly, voice loosing the irritated tone, “There were several instructors that weren’t.. officially in the military..” she trails off, optics narrowing.. A glance is given the system as she makes sure she has everything she can pull from it.. Everything.. Little things can be looked over for later.

 

Ghost unjacks and eyes the computer, then lowers her left arm at it.. A frown creases her face, “I have its information, no need to leave it here for others to.. abuse.”

 

Solar nods and pulls out his fiberglass duffle, he pulls from it a small globe that looks like a yin-yang, one half filled with a red liquid the other half blue. He throws the globe and the inner glass breaks as it hits the floor. It then rolls to rest under the computer console “Don’t want anyone else lurking around. We got a bout half a click to get out of this room.”

 

 

Wastelands <North>(#230Rnt)

        The Wastelands are a lesser version of the great abandoned zones that stretch over parts of Cybertron. Immediately, you notice how desolate and devoid of life this area seems. Looking back up the mountain range towards Darkmount, you can truly come to appreciate what a formidable fortress the Decepticon Headquarters is as you stare up at the 20,000’ cliff.

        When you finally tear your gaze away from the mountain to look at the uneven and broken surface of Cybertron that makes up the Wastelands, you can’t help but wonder if anything *can* survive out here. The area is massive and seems to go on forever in darkness, so you are only able to see a small part of it at a time. An entire army could take refuge here in the broken landscape and you might never see them. Consequently, the area is also useful for more realistic training in the ways of war.

        As you ponder the immensity of your devastated surroundings, you hear the little noises of unidentified creatures around you.

 

 

Solar says, “That didn’t really tell me anything conclusive. Its all unsubstantiated and just gives me more questions. ‘A puzzle ina an enigma, wrapped in a mystery’.“

 

Ghost hnnngs softly, not at all looking pleased with the outcome of this venture.

 

Whiplash lingered near the others just long enough to make sure they got safely out of Militech and made it home without interference from the odd sniper or leftover Autobot, not to mention those treacherous Crystal City militia types - but no sooner does the group arrive near Darkmount, than she veers off from her traveling companions and disappears off into the dark landscape.