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Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

The noose around Fortress Maximus' neck tightens. Will the Decepticon 2nd fleet led by mighty Scorponok finally subjugate their old nemesis? And if they do, what will be the fate of the Autobot resistance?

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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Devastron » Tue Jan 01, 2013 10:31 pm

Weapon: Energo-Sword
Southern Wing - Block G

Scowl had decided to relax after tapping out a ‘good game’ signal to Icepick at the conclusion of their latest match. With an activity period having ended so recently there was little else to do but sit around, relax and listen in to whatever interesting conversations were going on around the prison. Unfortunately there wasn’t too much of interest to listen in on as the warden soon left the prison facilities. After his departure it was just the usual chatter and gossip. The really good stuff was discussed out of the range even his enhanced audio receptors

The Monstercon shifted his focus back to Icepick and Umbra as the former began to explain how the game was played. Listening to the myriad instructions for the little code they had come up with made Scowl wonder how even he and Icepick managed to keep it all straight. With unlimited time and boredom anything was possible apparently. As he reached the end of his explanation Scowl moved to reset his own board. It would be rather exciting to play someone new.

The short Cybertronian rubbed his hands in glee when he heard her make the first move. He duplicated it on his board and then paused to think for a moment. The early stages of the game were fairly elementary. Still, these early moves could dictate the rest of the game, so they weren’t to be taken lightly. Finally he settled on a move, a basic and fairly neutral one. He wanted to get a feel for his opponent before becoming to aggressive. ‘Scout 5 to E-6’ he tapped out on the wall.

*

Southern Wing – Cell Block G

Airachnid had quickly and silently returned to her stand spot in her cell. She sat down in the chair in the middle of it, her legs crossed at the knees and her hands folded in her lap. She was the absolute picture of calm, giving a broad smile to any guard who passed by. It was her typical way of spreading confusion and intimidation. She didn’t want the guards to think she was angered, depressed or even inconvenienced by being in the prison. Sitting calmly and smiling was far more likely to confuse and frighten them then any standard display of rage that most other prisoners would use. The guards who didn’t know her history would be lulled into a false sense of security while those who did would be disturbed by her. Both reactions worked in her favor.

Of course this act was far easier to do when the Decepticon had nothing else to do or look forward to. Now that there appeared to be a very real possibility of escape it was more difficult to maintain this façade. Still, she had to keep up appearances so as to not arouse any suspicion.

Fortunately for her the series of loud sighs and other noises coming from a neighboring cell would have been enough to annoy her on even the calmest of days. With no guards currently in sight she took the time to address the mech next door. “Something wrong over there neighbor? Not getting enough fresh air over there?" Her tone was taunting, as it often was. She had little fear of the guards and even less for her fellow inmates. If this prisoner, Flame was his name she recalled, was capable of more the sighing loudly then he would have done it by now.
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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Ember » Sat Jan 05, 2013 10:10 pm

Motto: "I'm not psycho...I just like psychotic things."
Southern Wing – Cell Block M

Oh was he getting to this one. Then again Spree had a knack for getting under any mech’s plating this, ‘Con would be no different. And the best thing…he’d get away with it. He always did after all.

Spree watched intently as Wildfly tried like hell to hide his growing anger. He won’t hold out long. Stupid ‘Con can’t take it. Spree let out a hearty chuckle while he slammed the palm of his hand against the door several more times.

Now he’s pacing! Oh this was great! And he’s mumbling! Not only is he angry, he’s crazy! Even as Wildfly charged the door and began thrashing angrily against it Spree continued his mocking laughter. This was getting good. With another guffaw Spree upped his taunting. “Wow. I just realized somthin’. Those over-bright optics, that rigid body, those tightly clenched fists…you are ugly when you’re angry! HAHAHA!"

Spree stepped closer to the door and shook his head slowly. So pathetic. “I know what’ll make ya feel better. How about I put a collar and leash on ya? Then I can walk ya out here so you can lick up this mess. Would ya like that? Would ya, boy?"

Southern Wing – Cell Block G

Flame continued his inane grumbling, coupled with some over exaggerated movements. There was nothing worse than living out his days remembering what his superiors had done to him. Fortunately he had all the time in the world to plan his return. And when he did return those narrow minded fools would finally see the error of their ways.

The scientist was pulled from his delusional musings when he heard the silky smooth voice of the femme occupying the cell across from him. Well, now this was good. Someone to talk to and someone to listen. “Wrong? Oh my dear, there is always something “wrong."" Flame took hold of the lone chair in his cell and moved it to the door and took a seat…mimicking Airachnid’s won move. “As for the fresh air…no. I’ve no need for it. No, what I need is for one of these fools to see that I was right and they were, and still are, wrong!"

The mad scientist stood up from his chair and began pacing his cell. "I was the one who was on the verge of ending this war! I was the one who could have saved us all! And now…" He spread his arms wide gesturing wildly all around him. "…now I can do nothing! They put me here because they refused to believe me." He stopped his movements and returned to his chair. Slowly he began to calm down. He carefully crossed his legs, folded his hands and laid them lightly in his lap. A gentle smile spread over his face as he regarded the hard to see image of Airachnid. “So, tell me, my dear. Where was our little friend Aileron taking you to? I’m quite certain it wasn’t for a visit to our resident psychiatrist, nor was it to our believed warden. Besides, everyone here knows that over grown aft-hole doesn’t answer to Maximus…not anymore anyway."
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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Insidious » Sun Jan 06, 2013 5:15 am

Rung's Office

Fort Max listened quietly as Rung spoke. He had not asked the psychiatrist for his opinion with a decision already made. Maximus' leadership style was far from that which would pay anyone lipservice. When he wanted to know a mech's thoughts on something, it was because Maximus' own were usually still a work in progress.

Kronus was hardly the first violent, unstable inmate to work his way through the Garrus system, but his case was still unique. And if both rehabilitation of the individual and safety of the masses could be achieved, Max would do it.

"Alright. In that regard, I suppose I was coming to you to affirm my own thoughts. Spark extraction is never something I would advocate for. It...well, you know....I feel it's something I'm just forced in to every so often. Let's hope this one doesn't push the system too much further down that road."

As the doctor made note of his perceived progress with the inmate and his intent to increase sessions, Maximus nodded and slowly got to his feet once more.

"Go for it. I hope it works," Maximus said, looking down at a report that had come through from Armor Aid. It pretty much confirmed what he had thought. Feared, maybe? On some level. "I guess that's all I needed to hear for now. We both have plenty of work ahead of us, so I'll leave you to it."

Maximus smiled in his usual, half-ish sort of way before turning to exit the psychiatrist's office. He wasn't the happy-go-lucky sort of 'Bot, but he didn't mind conveying a little bit of positive emotion, or any emotion, unlike mechs such as Ultra Magnus who wanted to be taken super seriously at all times. He really did hope that this would turn out for the best at the end of the day, and that Kronus did not simply become another casualty of the system. The war, however, had consumed many in its time. Maximus did not like his odds.

It was an uphill battle for all of them.
___

Elba Mines

Goldrush didn't really need to hear Steelhand's words to know that he would be a better fit down here than the industrialist had thought. Everything about his tone and his body language suggested that this was a place that he wanted to be. He would surely prove to be as effective a miner as he was one of the warden's stronghands. Maybe more? Goldrush didn't want to set the mech up to fail, but his prospects were looking good. Maybe he himself had made a mistake in waiting so long in allowing the guard to work down here. Or maybe he had just primed his engines that much more. Who knew, really? Goldrush didn't care, so long as it meant increased profits for both of them.

"No. No they didn't," Goldrush said, thinking back to his own mining operation, as well as the state of the mining industry in general during those last days leading up to the start of the Great War. A war that had been started by a miner-turned-gladiator. Or maybe the other way around. Goldrush was not expertly familiar with Megatron's biography. The mines themselves, though, by that time, had been largely stripped of most of their precious resources. Many of the miners burned their sparks at every angle simply because it was their function to do so--wrecking their bodies and churning out nigh-worthless scrap. It wasn't until after the war began, and both sides began to dig deeper, that their homeworld provided new treasures for them to uncover.

"I think you will. I definitely think so," Goldrush said as he continued to lead the guard through one of the winding caverns of the mine, while pointing out others that Steelhand would likely be assigned to. "Some shafts are more complex than others. More unstable. The more seniority you gain, the deeper the shaft and richer the profits."

Ahead, Goldrush could hear a rising chatter of numerous mechanoids. There was one last area of this mining operation that Goldrush wanted to ensure the guard was familiar with so that it didn't take him by surprise when he inevitably discovered its existence later.

As Goldrush and Steelhand walked in to the open area, they joined a crowd of a few dozen mechs who were cheering on a fight between two others in a sunken pit just a few meters below them. A cheer went up as one mech tackled the other to the ground and landed a furious punch.

"This...so I hear, is one of the ways that some of the mechs down here like to burn off a little excess energon. I can imagine what you might be thinking, but it's not," Goldrush said, pausing as another cheer went up. The gladiator arenas of old were dens of destruction. Mechs fought for survival in those days. Miners were starting to notice his presence now and point it out to others. "No weapons. No death. Just the sport of winning and losing. What a bot can do with his hands. And, well, the enjoyment of picking a winner and walking away with some extra chits."

Goldrush grinned and looked on, watching as the mech that had been tackled earlier now indicated his desire not to continue, and the other mech's arms were raised in victory. Cheers went up from some and jeers from others as small amounts of currency began changing hands.

"Break's over! Back to work!" one of the foremechs called down from a higher level cavern.

"You have any money on that one, Goldy?" one of the miners said as he walked past Goldrush and Steelhand.

"Not this one. Just missed it. I'm sure I'll catch another," Goldrush said, looking back over at Steelhand. Like most guards, he possessed a solid physical design. He would likely do well as a miner. But he would also likely do well in this arena, too. Very well. But he didn't want to push the young guard too hard yet. Let him get acclimated to his new surroundings, find ways to balance it with his traditional facility work assignments and, well, let the chits fall where they may.

Goldrush would surely have some riding on him.

"Well, I think that's as much damage as I can do," the golden mech said, chuckling. "I'll let you start putting pick to stone and hand you off. Copper! He's all yours!"

The larger, copper-colored mech closed in on them, having obviously been watching the goings on from some other part of the mine. Goldrush gave Steelhand one last nod of encouragement before starting to walk off himself. It was good to get down here every once in a while and stay in touch with one of his earliest sources of wealth, but there were still operations on the upside that required his attention. If only there were more breems in the orn.
___

Southern Wing - Cell Block B

"Oh, not too late at all. What you did on the outside and what you do in here are two different things. Some mechs can't separate the two but, well, those who can.......they do better," Icepick said, listening as Umbra and Scowl began playing their game. Truthfully, he kind of found the whole thing relaxing, even when he wasn't playing.

The question about Fortress Maximus was a natural one for any newspark to wonder about. After all, one was only really motivated to do their best if they knew they weren't being set up to fail at every step. Icepick, for his part, had never got that impression during his time here.

"The warden? Oh, I suppose so. He's probably as fair an Autobot officer running this joint as we've had in a good long while. We've had a couple of real crazies before Max got stationed here, when he was off fighting...well, us. Some of us, anyway. Has a grind for Scorponok from what I hear. Don't know what went on between those two. Whirl's one of the ones you gotta watch out for. He's more glitched than some of our old battlefield commanders, and that's saying something. Fortunately the warden has pretty solid mechs in most of the senior positions. With his big ship docked here, and his crew running around, it helps keep the place stable. As stable as anyone could keep it, I guess. We're not the most accommodating bunch, as you'd expect."
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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Wreck 'n Rule » Mon Jan 07, 2013 2:43 pm

Motto: "I can totally prove that I'm not a zombie! Just lean over hear, and let me take a little nibble out of your brains."
Weapon: Double Barrelled Shell Launcher
Medical Ward

Armor Aid stepped out of his office, reluctantly, just as the drones were finishing their cleanup. As expected the ward was shining clean, no doubt sterile, and every tool and piece of medical equipment put back in it's designated place.

"Good job you two.", he said to the drones, "Now if only you could do surgery, maybe the patients would actually have a chance."

Both drones stopped for a moment when Armor Aid addressed them, waiting to see if the acting CMO had any orders or commands for them. When none came they went back to cleaning as if he had said nothing. Armor Aid sighed.

"Yeah, you've never really been much for conversation.", he pitifully said to himself.

He looked to the Medical Ward's main entrance, the one barrier that seperated him from the rest of the Penitentiary. Since Lancet's death he hardly ever left the medical ward, thanks to a sufficient supply of energon and a fully furnished private office he had little need to leave except for the worst kinds of medical emergencies. Other than those and the rare orders from his superiors, he had no deisre or need to leave the medical ward.

With effort Armor Aid took a step toward the door. Then another, and another, with each step requiring more effort than the previous one. He didn't want to leave the relative safety and seclusion of the ward, but if he didn't Rung would probably intrude on him, and he wanted that even less. Finally after several breems he reached the door, and his hand hovered over the button that would open it.

Just do it already., he thought, his cooling fan taking short intakes as it seemed like there was a forcefield preventing him from opening the door, his optics shut off, Just open it, get out there, and get this over with.

Suddenly Armor Aid slapped the button with his palm, and the door hissed open, though his optics remained disabled. He didn't want to look out because he already knew what was waiting for his in the hallway.

They're staring at me now, I just know it, all the inmates and the guards and the other stafff. Staring at the sorry excuse for a medic that's too scared to leave his own office. Any minute now they'll start laughing their vocalizers off, probably come up with some new jokes about how I'm Garrus 9's greatest killer.

Slowly, Armor Aid reactivated his optical sensors. To his dread there were several guards standing around, some of them whispering and snickering, and all of them looking and pointing toward him. In a panic he transformed into an armored medical transport, and sped off with reckless abandon. If he was lucky everyone would think there was an emergency, and they would stay out of his way.


Elba Mines

Steelhand continued walking through the mines with Goldrush, he was so excited to get started that he felt like he would explode if he didn't start swinging his pickaxe at one of the walls. The mine's owner showed him some of the areas he would be working in, and Steelhand took careful note of each one every turn and intersection. It had been an awful long time since he'd walked through caverns, and the last thing he wanted to do was get lost, especially if he needed to get back to his regular duties at the prison.

As they went further, Steelhand's audio sensors picked up a number of voices up ahead. Though he didn't know the voices personally, something about them seemed somewhat familiar to him. He could make out what seemed to be a few cheers, a boo or a jeer here and there, some taunts. As they got closer, he thought he heard the sound of metal hitting metal. Although not nearly as loud or as aggressive as he remembered, the general tone gave him a cold chill. As they reached the open area that Goldrush was leading him to, Steelhand dropped his pickaxe as a look of horror came across his faceplate.

No...... no, no, no.... this can't be real..... not here.....

Steelhand couldn't believe- no, he didn't want to believe what he was seeing. It was much smaller, and more crudely made then what he had fought in, but it was a fighting pit none the less. The two mechs fighting in the middle weren't as violent, and the gathered miners watching didn't seem to be nearly as bloodthirsty as the spectators Steelhand had fought in front of, but that didn't matter. It was a sight that Steelhand had hoped he would never, ever, have to see again.

Steelhand couldn't hear much of what Goldrush said at first, as his memory banks brought up memories that he had long wished he could erase. Visions of energon gushing from limbs that were ripped off, electrical sparks spewing from torn armor plating, and the sickening crunch of servos and circuitry as his powerful fist made contact with another mech's faceplate, all the while a crowd that resembled an angry mob demanded more.

As his new boss spoke some more, Steelhand tried as best as he could to rid the images in his head and stay focussed on the present. He slowly picked up his pickaxe and placed it on his back, still shaking a little as he listened to Goldrush explain the pit. Apparently it was a way for some of the miners to earn some extra money and blow off steam. At first Steelhand was skeptical when he was told that there were no weapons and no killing, but to his relief that statement was confirmed when one of the mechs submitted, and the match ended with barely a scratch on either fighter. Still, the mere presence of the pit left Steelhand deeply unsettled, and conflicted inside.

I've wanted to work down here- slag, I've wanted to work in ANY mine since they were all closed down before the war., he thought, oblivious to all the miners who were walking past him as he seemed in a daze, I can do this.... yeah, I know I can do this. No one's getting killed, no one can force me in there. I can still work here, and I'll just go somewhere else when this is going on. RIght, this isn't Cybertron, I'm not desperate for money, I don't need to fight to survive like I had to back then. This can still work, I know it can. I'll make it work.

Once Steelhand had convinced himself as best he could he stopped shaking and his smile came back, though it seemed a little forced now. He nodded back to Goldrush as the owner walked away.

"Thank you, boss. I promise I won't let you down."

With that said, Steelhand turned to face Copper, reaching behind his back to retrieve his trusty pickaxe.

"Just tell me where to start, and I'll get right to it!", he said to the foremech with professional enthusiasm.

This will all work out okay, I know it will.....


Rungs Office

Armor Aid's tires came to a screeching halt as he reached the door to the psychiatrist's office, his vehicle mode stopping just past it. He transformed, hurried to open the door and rushed in as if he was avoiding laser fire.

"Lousy slaggers, think I'm some joke. Think everything I've tried to do is so funny.....", he said to himself as he took a deep intake, calming down.

Who are you kidding? You are a JOKE!,, he thought to himself, standing with his head down, You've got no business trying to be a doctor, you don't even have a LICENSE! What right do you have to replace the most important mech in your life? How can you even TRY to replace him after you-

Armor Aid was brought out of his train of thought as he realized there was a very large mech who was about to leave. As it turned out it was none other than the warden himself, Fortress Maximus. His mere presence made Armor Aid nervous, and the paramedic started to shake.

"S-sir!", he saluted as best he could, trying to look his commander in the optics but barely being able to. He really wished he had a cy-gar-8.

Please just leave, don't remind me how much I fragged up.... Just let me see Rung and get this over with already so I can get back to my office.....
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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Drop Bear » Tue Jan 08, 2013 4:27 am

Motto: "Face it: we're doomed."
Weapon: Black Magic
Southern Wing – Cell Block M

So much for unpredictability. By enforcing silence and marshalling his rage, therefore lending his outward aspect an appearance something in the way of indifference or composure, Wildfly thought he had been rather clever and deceived Spree, hoping the bucket of bolts would pack it in and leave him be. He was wrong.

As his fists crashed against the cell door, adding to the growing amount of indentations already populating its surface and deepening others, and as he hurled countless obscenities at Spree, he finally realised this. That realisation, however, didn't cause him to stop. No, he wouldn't stop—couldn't stop. Fury's disease had infected Wildfly, and its symptoms would not be so easily evicted from his systems.

Spree wasn't going anywhere, but neither was Wildfly's rage.

After a good breem of physically assaulting the door and verbally abusing that oil stain, Spree, Wildfly let up. Arms hanging by his sides, though still threatening to lash out with violent intentions—his quivering fists evidence to support that possibility—Wildfly peered through the small viewing square the guards themselves loved to use so they could monitor the incredibly exciting lives of their inmates on an hourly basis.

Just as he was about to fire a retort at Spree—that cyber-weasel, that piece of slag, that fragger!—Wildfly's nerve receptors registered something sloshing around his pedes. He looked down, and he cursed once, twice, three times.

The sound of Spree's voice filtered through the door, along with his irksome laugh. “I know what’ll make ya feel better. How about I put a collar and leash on ya? Then I can walk ya out here so you can lick up this mess. Would ya like that? Would ya, boy?"

Wildfly's energon ration. All over the floor. Unfit for consumption. Wouldn't receive another ration until who knew when. Expletive. Expletive. Expletive.

He almost questioned himself over the energon ration. Then he remembered why it was pooled on the floor. In his rage, he had forgotten about it, too preoccupied with fantasies involving the agonising death of Spree.

Yet another reason to murder this guard. And didn't they just keep on piling up?

Wildfly did not look at Spree as he spoke, his optics aimed at the energon enveloping his pedes. “When I get out of here, you'll be the first to die. Mark my words."
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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Foxfire13795 » Wed Jan 09, 2013 1:40 am

Motto: "Broken Autobots never mend."
Weapon: Magnetic Repellor-Attractor
Southern Wing - Cell Block B

Umbra mulled over what Icepick said as she plotted her next few moves. It was still very early in the game, so there were still numerous ways to move. The beginnings of a plan formed in Umbra's processor. It was similar to how she went - er, used to - go about her missions long ago. It actually involved quite a degree of deception and subterfuge. She had been in pretty sticky situations before that had required some ingenuity on her part.

It wasn't long before Umbra heard Scowl's reply. A smile formed on her processor as she moved the corresponding piece where Scowl had wanted it. "Moved his Scout..." she murmured to herself as she thought of her next move. He seemed to be playing fairly neutral...probably to get a sense for her play style. New opponent and all.

The femme spent a moment or two deciding between two different moves. In the end, Umbra tapped out her move to Scowl, 'Scout 3 to G-3'. More neutral than her previous move had been, but it set the foundation for a series of traps. She hoped that some of her more bold moves would detract attention from some of them.

Umbra leaned back, satisfied with her move and listened to Icepick as he talked about the Warden. What he said was mostly reassuring. She made a note of Whirl's name in her mental list of guards not to cross. Not that she intended on crossing any of them at all. A little smirk crossed her face when he spoke of prisoners not being the most accommodating bunch.

"No, I guess we're not. But you've been fairly friendly toward myself which was the last thing I was expecting when I shipped mys- got shipped to Garrus-9. An Autobot femme in a prison whose vast majority of residents are Decepticons? Haha, yeah...I wanted to keep a low profile, but that's hard when you're a femme."

Umbra paused in her speech for a moment, considering.

"Thanks Icepick. For, you know, not ripping me limb from limb," she added with a chuckle.

"So, Icepick. Why did you join the Decepticons? What's the appeal versus...say, the Autobots?" Umbra asked curiously.
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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Devastron » Fri Jan 11, 2013 10:20 pm

Weapon: Energo-Sword
Southern Wing – Cell Block G

Airachnid maintained the smile on her face, perhaps even grinning wider as Flame took up a seat with posture and position mimicking her own. Was this an act to annoy her or some misguided effort to ingratiate himself to her? Either way it wouldn’t work. While she preferred to work alone there had been a time when she was more involved with the core Decepticon movement. Back then she had worked with all sorts of beings, as associates, prisoners and victims. She had learned to size up another being quickly, tolerate whatever insults or platitudes they threw out and, most importantly, how to get under their skin. She had become quite adept at prodding and poking others, with weapons or words, and getting an amusing provoked reaction from them.

The Decepticon listened and watched as the apparent Autobot spoke. It really didn’t take an expert to see that this one was a self professed ‘genius’ who felt he had been misjudged by those who were too stupid to understand him, or were afraid of what he could do. Airachnid had seen a few of these types in the Decepticon ranks. The Decepticons were more then willing to take in rejected scientists from the Autobots, whether it be for immoral practices or work in more unsavory technologies. Unfortunately very few of them lived up to their own hype. Unfortunately for them rejection from the Decepticon ranks usually ended in the smelting pits.

The scientist retook his seat, again mimicking her, and asked her where she had been. Airachnid had no intention of telling him where she had been. She considered concocting some elaborate lie, but it would probably be more amusing to just ignore the question all together. She still had a response for him though, one she was sure would stir things up for her amusement.

“You said they put you in here because they refused to believe you. Are you sure they didn’t put you in here because they couldn’t believe? Is it possible that you are, in fact, insane, and they put you in here for your own good? Your ranting and wild claims give off that impression at least." She offered him the same smile she always offered the guards as she awaited a response.

*

Southern Wing – Cell Block G

As Scowl waited for the next move he listened in to some of the conversations going on around the prison. Wildfly wasn’t hard to miss with all of his yelling and banging on the door. They were lucky they didn’t all catch trouble from the way he acted. Certainly there were probably guards who would take out their frustration from Wildfly on his teammates, but fortunately it hadn’t happened yet. He could hear a couple of the more hardened inmates in his cellblock chatting back and forth. They were the types he tended to avoid. He went through all of the usual chatter in the prison before focusing back on Icepick and Umbra.

The Monstercon found himself nodding in agreement at Icepick’s assessment of the warden and guards. Everyone kind of knew about Whirl and how unstable he could be. While Whirl didn’t really pick on Scowl that was probably more because the Monstercon avoided him when he could. The rest of the guards in his cellblock were a pretty decent bunch, to him at least. Sure they were all on the take and crooked, but they treated him well and that’s all he cared about.

Finally his attention shifted back to the game as Umbra made her move. He mimicked the move on his own game board and studied it. So far the game was going very slow, the moves almost out of a text book. He was being cautious but he wasn’t sure if she was doing it because she was new to it or she was also being cautious. Scowl was feeling a bit adventurous, and a little bored, so he settled on a more aggressive move. He adjusted his game board before tapping out the move. ‘Knight of Cyberton 1 to B-7.'
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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Ember » Sun Jan 13, 2013 2:29 pm

Motto: "I'm not psycho...I just like psychotic things."
Southern Wing – Cell Block M

This was getting better by the astorsecond. Spree snickered as Wildfly’s fists connected continually against the heavy, nigh impenetrable door. In response the Monstercon’s tormentor slammed his open hand against the outer surface of the door; goading the raving mech even further. The resulting sound from both mechs echoed loudly throughout the entire cell block.

After some time the physical abuse of the obstruction finally subsided when Wildfly let up. And there he stood arms at his sides, fists still clenched tightly. Spree had also stopped his pounding and quietly stared back at the prisoner through the small window.
The smile that had worked onto Spree’s face slowly faded and was replaced by a placid yet neutral expression. His laughter quieted while his optics raked through the cell. There was really no need to push the miserable wretch any further, unless, of course, he gave a good reason.

It was then that the guard’s audios picked up something. Spree tilted his head slightly to the right as he heard Wildfly finally speak. The ‘Con had his optics focused on the floor and not on the guard just outside of his reach.

“What was that? When you get out…? And just what makes you think you’ll ever get out of here, ya freak?" Spree snorted. “None of you dirty little piston-lickers are gettin’ out of here. See, you’re all already dead. You just don’t know it yet." The guard smiled and let out a low chuckle.

Southern Wing – Cell Block G

At first the Decepticon femme said nothing. She simply sat quietly with that smile plastered on her face. Had it not been for her pleasing features Flame would have been disturbed. As it was, however, the scientist simply took it as another trait held only by Decepticon heathens.

And then she spoke. Flame perked up immediately. Finally, someone with a semblance of intellect to talk to. Perhaps now time would pass a little more smoothly. However, Flame’s hopes were dashed when Airachnid spoke. Flame’s face twisted in disgust. The nerve! To suggest that he…?!

Flame shot up from his seat with such force that the motion sent the chair to the floor with a loud crash. He then stalked to the bars and glared at the femme. “I am not, nor have I ever been, insane!" He threw his arms up in the air and shook them violently. “I am the epitome of sanity!" With a grand sweeping gesture Flame crossed an arm out in front of himself. “I offered them a way to win this Primus forsaken war, and they, THEY, refused to accept it! No, it is not I who is insane; THEY are the ones who are mad!"

He began pacing the length of his cell as he pressed his position further, all the while gesturing fiercely in order to add emphasis to every word he was spewing. “Illicit spark transplants. Desecration of corpses..." Flame shook his head. “All of it was done for the betterment of our kind. But no one could see it." He looked back to Airachnid a deep frown etched on his face. “So you see; I did nothing wrong."

Rung’s Office

Rung had risen from his seat and walked around his desk to escort Fortress Maximus to the door when it suddenly slid open giving a very agitated Armor Aid access. The CMO rushed in and instantly began babbling to no one in particular. “Oh my." Rung let out in a low breathy tone. He was expecting the doctor, but not in such a distressed state.

“Um, thank you, Fortress, for stopping by. I’ll keep you informed of my progress." Rung kept his optics on Armor Aid while he gently took a hold of the warden’s elbow and guided him out the door. Once the door had closed and the two mechs were alone, Rung made his way back to the worked-up Autobot. "Armor Aid. I’m glad you could come. Please…" the psychiatrist motioned to one of the two chairs that were set in the center of the room.

In order to placate the mech and make him more comfortable with being in the presence of the psychoanalyst, Rung took a seat first. He waited a moment before he began. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ll be recording our sessions." The orange mech raised his right hand and wriggled his thumb. “It’s nothing new; I do it with all of my patients. It helps when I need to review meetings and for writing reports."

Rung settled in to his chair while he also considered Armor Aid for a moment. He casually crossed his legs and rested his elbows lightly on each of the armrests while interlacing his actuators in front of him. “I’ve read through your file." The psychiatrist began while also steepling both forefingers and placing then against his lip as he regarded the CMO. “Lancet and you were…close." It wasn’t a question as Rung already knew of the circumstances of the former doctor’s death. “What happened, even though you may not believe it, was not your fault."

After a moment Rung leaned forward slightly in order to catch his patient’s optics. “Tell me what happened."
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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Drop Bear » Mon Jan 14, 2013 6:32 am

Motto: "Face it: we're doomed."
Weapon: Black Magic
Southern Wing – Cell Block M

“Oh, I'll be getting out of here, don't you worry. Not sure when, but I will." Wildfly lifted his gaze from the pool of energon. “You'll see." He peered through the viewing glass and smirked at Spree. “And you know what? We'll all be getting out. We'll all eventually be free. All the prisoners. Won't that be lovely?"

Considering Wildfly had been confined to a tiny cell for... No, that estimation didn't sound right. He suspected his sentence's length to be around... No, that couldn't have been it, either. Just how many vorns was it now?

It was easy to forget things when Wildfly felt as though he'd been one of Garrus-9's permanent residents since Cybertron came into existence.

Anyway, before he ventured to other thoughts and forgot what he was currently thinking about, Wildfly ruminated over his odds of escaping, scant as they were. And they were scant. Really scant. But they didn't discourage him from daring to nurture a small amount of hope in the event that someone or something would be the cause of his freedom.

Particularly when revenge could be inflicted on Spree. Sweet, sweet revenge.
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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Insidious » Wed Jan 16, 2013 9:57 am

Corridors

Fortress Maximus had left Armor Aid to his meeting with Rung without any additional interference from him. Just a smile and a nod and the large warden had been off. He wouldn't have much to speak with Armor Aid about until he had a chance to read that report more fully. And even then there were pretty good odds that the report would be more or less a cut-and-dried case with little need for additional investigation.

"Back to work, I suppose,"

"Say what, sir?" another guard said as he walked past the significantly larger warden. Maximus slowly looked around and then looked down, noticing the mech who had spoken to him.

"Oh. Um....good work. Keep it up," Maximus said, offering the guard a quick thumbs up before continuing on the trek back to his office. Never hurt to offer up a little extra encouragement to the staff around here, even if he hadn't specifically been intending to right at that moment. He probably was doing a good job, right?

Another cycle, another credit.
___

Southern Wing - Cell Block B

Icepick smiled wistfully at Scowl's acknowledgement of his good game and sent him a similar reply.

"You too, my friend. You too," he said quietly as he made himself more comfortable in his cell and began the process of retreating--at least partially--in to his mind, where the time passed a little more quickly. Not that time meant much of anything given how long they had been here. Even so, the Monstercon's options were limited and this was the best among them at the moment.

"Ah. Indeed indeed. I think my attitude takes many off guard. As for why I joined....I don't know. Take that back. I do. I think the glitch is that I don't fit in too well with many Decepticons. I like the power and all of that, but having to act like a royal aft to get it just isn't my style. In another life, I might have made a decent Autobot. But Slog is a good mech. Wonderful artist. Inspires me regularly. I suppose that's what bought my loyalty as much as anything, ages ago. And then power came after that. Power and control that I would have never dreamed of on my own. Cybertronians would speak of the Monstructor Six in the most hushed tones. And Primus forbid more than a couple of us start to gather in the same place. Some of it I can see as clearly as I see the walls in front of me. Other parts of it...well....they seem like dreams I suppose. As if they might not've even happened. In any event, now I stand before you as as Decepticon. Or lay in my cell, as the case may be.

"As for keeping a low profile, I'd say you're doing fine so far. You're not killing or cannibalizing other inmates. I suspect the staff will have their hands full with that for a good while. I certainly won't be doing any limb-ripping."
___

Elba Mines

"You'd better not," Goldrush said good-naturedly, before heading off in the direction of the large elevators that had brought him down here in the first place. Next stop would probably be the Greasepit, get the usual affairs lined up for the evening, ensure the accounts were balanced and make sure staffing was set. Then, well, he could probably afford to ingest a little high-grade himself.

"Second shaft on yer right," Copperhead said, pointing behind Steelhand to the access tunnel that branched off in to several support caverns where various miners could be heard clinking away as their tools connected with the stony and metallic minerals inside.

"Don't stop swingin' 'til yer told."
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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Ember » Thu Jan 17, 2013 10:15 pm

Motto: "I'm not psycho...I just like psychotic things."
Southern Wing – Cell Block M

The smug smirk on Spree’s face shifted into something much more sinister. This ‘Con was persistent. Spree hated persistence; especially in a prisoner. They were supposed to be drooling, broken masses that do nothing more than rock perpetually in the back of their cells mumbling gibberish. But this one, this ‘Con seemed to think he would be rescued…that he, and his comrades…would be whisked away and transported to some kind of Decepticon Shangri-La. Spree was not having that.

“I think you should really reevaluate your thought processes. You’ve been here for thousands of vorns and no one’s bothered to come for you in all that time." After a short pause, the guard placed his shoulder against the door and leaned in, crossing one ankle joint over the other.

Spree began tapping the tips of his actuators on the surface of the door, each one hitting in precise succession. “You know your behavior hasn’t been very befitting of an inmate who should be, at the very least, trying to become a productive member of his race." Spree tisked while pushing his shoulder off the door and took a peek in the cell. “I’ve been given permission to transport any inmates to the “The Hole”…you know, solitary?…if I think they’re just not behaving."

There was silence for half a breem before a swift kick to the door sent a piercing clang through the cell block. “And you have not been behaving AT ALL! Get your sorry aft up! I’m gonna stick you so far down in that dark, desolate pit you’ll be begging me to offline you!" The fury in the guard’s voice simmered a bit as he continued provoking Wildfly. “I think you’ll like it down there. No one and I mean no one can hear you. Nothing but silence. Well, unless you don’t count the voices in your head. I think it’d do you some good."
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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Devastron » Fri Jan 18, 2013 10:40 pm

Weapon: Energo-Sword
Southern Wing – Cell Block G

Airachnid almost laughed at his reaction. It could have been more entertaining only if he had flung the chair or himself at the bars of his cell in anger and frustration. He was the epitome of a ‘mad’ scientist. He possessed fantastic ideas only he truly appreciated and was being kept down by the common, less intelligent fools who feared and misunderstood him. He should prove to be ample entertainment until she could make the move for her freedom.

The Decepticon shrugged her shoulders at Flame. “You see nothing wrong with what you did, and perhaps I don’t. Your Autobot brethren on the other hand likely had some moral and ethical objections to some of that work. Perhaps you never read the ‘Autobot code’ that some of your kind hold so dear? I can’t say I’ve ever read it myself, but some certain ‘selections’ were read to me upon my imprisonment here. Surely an intellect such as yours didn’t skip over reading such an important document to your side? Or that you misread how your fellow Autobots would react to your actions?"

The femme paused, lifting a hand and her to her face and tapping her lips with her index digit. “Did you ever consider working for the Decepticons? Your methods certainly seem more in line with their thinking. None of the ‘crimes’ you listed would so much as bat an eye among their ranks. If you did have a solution for ending the war like you say then you could have found a prominent spot, maybe even at the side of Megatron, should you be able to end the war."

She dropped her hand down to her lap and smiled at him. “Of course that does assume that you can do what you promise. Maybe the Autobots dumped you here because you failed in your efforts? I have to say if that were the case and you joined the Decepticons, well, you wouldn’t find yourself in such lavish accommodations such as these." She stretched her arms out, gesturing at the prison around them. “At the very best you’d find yourself in Styx, which makes this look like a pleasure planet." Her smile widened as she continued. “Or you might find yourself judged by the Decepticon Justice Division, or perhaps Megatron himself would get his hands on you. Then the question is really how long would you want to leave under that kind of pain and torment?"
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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Drop Bear » Thu Jan 24, 2013 10:05 pm

Motto: "Face it: we're doomed."
Weapon: Black Magic
Southern Wing – Cell Block M

Revenge, revenge, revenge, revenge, revenge, revenge, revenge, revenge.

Nothing else occupied Wildfly's core processor. No other thoughts were permitted entry, and that singular thought was barred from leaving. It had the whole place to itself and intended to settle in for a long while.

Wildfly took a moment to calm himself, despite feeling an irresistible urge to lose it. Then again, he'd felt that urge ever since Spree had stopped by his cell to “give” him his energon ration. But to his credit, Wildfly had applied self-restraint and remained relatively composed.

Well, not really. He sort of did let his fury get the better of him. And he might have attacked his cell door as if it were a substitute for Spree. And perhaps he did threaten to kill the guard in many ways, each one more horrendous than the last.

All right. Okay. So he hadn't kept his cool. But at least he wasn't dancing over Spree's shattered corpse, cackling like a madmech.

All right. All right. Okay. So being locked in a cell for the vast majority of the solar cycle dashed even the slightest hope of slaying the guard. But at least he wasn't dancing over Spree's shattered corpse, cackling like a madmech.

Spree tisked while pushing his shoulder off the door and took a peek in the cell. “I’ve been given permission to transport any inmates to the “The Hole”…you know, solitary?…if I think they’re just not behaving.

“And you have not been behaving AT ALL! Get your sorry aft up! I’m gonna stick you so far down in that dark, desolate pit you’ll be begging me to offline you!"

Yet.

Silence robbed Wildfly of words. Where a reply should have been forthcoming, almost instant, hardly a sound was emitted from his vocaliser. That this idiot was about to enter his cell and transfer him to solitary confinement meant glorious revenge would be exacted. Revenge! Revenge!

“Come on in, then, friend," Wildfly said with no small amount of delight. “Take me away to The Hole. If you have the ball bearings to do it, that is."

Spree walks in. Wildfly clocks him one. Spree stumbles. Wildfly proceeds to tear him to pieces. The idiot dies. Wildfly punches the air in triumph. Celebrations begin. Severe consequences can be considered later.

A brilliant plan. A superb plan. The ultimate plan.

And maybe while he was at it, he could free his fellow team-mates from their cells. Yes, yes. That would be rather clever of him to do so. Have all the Monstercons roaming the penitentiary at their leisure, inciting maximum chaos and destruction, massacring everyone unfortunate enough to be ensnared within their sights.

Except for their fellow prisoners. Apart from a couple, they were a decent bunch.

Revenge, revenge, revenge, revenge, revenge, revenge, revenge, revenge.
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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Foxfire13795 » Fri Jan 25, 2013 12:12 am

Motto: "Broken Autobots never mend."
Weapon: Magnetic Repellor-Attractor
Southern Wing - Cell Block B

Umbra heard Scowl's move being tapped out and moved his piece accordingly. This was rather relaxing. Playing this game. She would've never imagined in a million orns that she would be where she was now. What a world. The universe had a pretty...weird sense of humor. Umbra plotted her next move while listening to Icepick's response to her endless tirade of questions.

Umbra understood the allure of power. Everyone did whether they admitted it to themselves or not. For herself, Umbra would have liked some more control over how things went in the past. A little more power over her own situation. Not that it really mattered now. What was done, was done, and nothing would ever change her mistakes. Umbra let out a little sigh.

"I can understand why you joined up. A good mech to inspire you. The power and control. The Autobots definitely had inspiration in spades. And moral authority too, I suppose."

Umbra thought briefly on the war. It was strange to think of it from the outside. She supposed this is how she would've thought if she had managed to remain neutral. Of course, the time came when one had to choose a side, and neutrality was no longer an option if you were to remain alive or remain on Cybertron. If she'd joined the Decepticons, perhaps some of her mistakes could have been avoided entirely...

The reconnaissance agent had to smile when Icepick mentioned that he wouldn't be ripping anyone limb from limb.

"Oh, I have no doubts. Heh, this is the first time in a long time that I've had a chance to talk to someone like this. Like a friend."

Turning her attention to the game board again, Umbra took a moment to figure out how to tap out her move. She'd thought of it as she and Icepick had conversed. Scowl was being adventurous so would she. She tapped out her move to Scowl carefully so as not to accidentally move a different piece than she intended.

'Omega Sentinel to C-6.'

-----

Cell Block H

Examining his latest work, Slog stood at the centre of his diminutive cell. The monstercon felt at home in the solidarity of his cell. The press of the crowd tended to be rather oppressive out in the yard. However, the activity period had been decidedly eventful. Seldom did one see such a gratuitous display of violence in Garrus-9. As macabre as it was, the image was impressed clearly on Slog's processor, every detail crisp and livid. It set his artistic muse ablaze.

Fortunately for Slog, he had managed to forage and gather some new raw materials for his paints during the lull before the excitement had begun. Sitting on the edge of his cot as he crushed the raw material between two digits, Slog mixed the materials into the paste that would serve as the primary medium for the piece.

Slog enjoyed the simple task, one of the few small pleasures that was allowed to him. Other than talking to some of his fellow monstercons, art, and anything associated with it, there were very few things that took up the vorns that seemed to stretch into eternity. Briefly, Slog wondered which of them he would see at the next activity period.

Slog glanced around for a place to compose his latest work. Practically every available surface was covered in Slog's compositions: paintings, sculptures, murals - whatever would fit, wherever it fit. Oftentimes, Slog was forced to paint over one of his more dilapidated works. Such was the case now.

A section of the wall held a painting that had almost eroded entirely. The mural depicted the original thirteen primes. It was strange for a Decepticon to depict the primes in such a way; Slog knew. Of course, the image had eroded to the point where its original subjects were unrecognizable to all except the artist himself.

Slog scrapped away the old material bit by bit, saddened by the loss of the piece. Such a loss could not be helped given the materials that he had to work with, but it was a blow to him regardless. Once the old painting had been cleared away with greatest care and tenderness, Slog dipped his digit into the earthen paste and began his new piece with light, delicate strokes, immediately gripped by the fervor of his fiery muse and intense laser-like focus.
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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Wreck 'n Rule » Mon Jan 28, 2013 8:57 pm

Motto: "I can totally prove that I'm not a zombie! Just lean over hear, and let me take a little nibble out of your brains."
Weapon: Double Barrelled Shell Launcher
Elba Mines

Steelhand's smile had completely returned when Copperhead instructed the senior guard where he was to work. He spun his pickaxe in his hands with enthusiasm as he could hear the familiar clink of tools hitting the surrounding rocks.

"You don't need to worry about that.", he happily replied before heading down to the shaft where he'd been instructed.

Steelhand took in a deep intake as he savoured the sounds and sights of the mines. It was like he was back home again, no war, no prison. Walking down the shaft he walked past several other miners hard at work until he found an open area at the end of the shaft for him to work. The walls were still glittering, a sight Steelhand felt he would never tire of.

"This looks like as good a spot as any.", he said to himself.

He set his pickaxe down for a moment and rubbed his hands together, then took a firm grip of his mining tool. With great anticipation he pulled his pickaxe back, then swung it at the wall with all of his great strength. The head of the axe hit the rockface with a loud clanking noise, as a good sized chunk of minerals shattered from the wall. Steelhand couldn't help but give a hardy laugh.

"This ain't no dream.", he chuckled, "I'm finally back home!"

Once the initial joy had settled in, Steelhand swung his pickaxe at the wall again, and again, and again. It wasn't too long before the guard had gotten into a solid, almost musical rhythm, his pickaxe hitting the wall at a regular pace, chunks of glittering rock flying off with each clink and clank. As Steelhand kept going, he started to remember a song he and the other miners used to sing as they worked.

"Diggin' and pushin' 'til the end of day, workin' for the mech down Iacon way.", he sang to himself, keeping with the rhythm of his pickaxe, "My servos are achin' and my tank is low, but deeper and deeper and deeper we go."


Rung's Office

Though initially relieved when Fort Max said nothing to him, deep down Armor Aid couldn't help but feel disheartened. Though he hated being reminded of his constant failures, getting little to no feedback from his superiors felt even worse. He couldn't help but wonder if the warden had simply given up on him.

Maybe he's just accepted that anyone who get's hurt will die while I'm here. Maybe I really am just here as an executioner.

Before the acting CMO could dwell on that thought, Rung led the gigantic mech out the door, leaving the just the two of them. The psychoanalyst wasted no time to get right to Armor Aid, offering the acting CMO a seat. Rung sat down first,

"All right, I'll sit.", he sighed as he sat down, "But I don't want to get too comfortable. If there's an emergency I'll need to get out of here right away. Of course, maybe they'll stand a better chance of survival if the medical drones take care of it."

When Rung mentioned that they would be recorded, Armor Aid's optics widened. He didn't worry so much about Rung reviewing their talks, or even the oft chance that this session would make it's way to any of his superiors. It was the thought of anyone who wasn't supposed to listen getting ahold of this recording. His optics scanned around the room as he wondered where the recording device was, not to menion whether there were any other recording devices that Rung wasn't aware of.

"I don't mind if you record this.", he mumbled as he continued to look around the room, thinking to himself, Though I doubt you'll be the only one listening to this later.

Armor Aid sat riggedly in the chair. Despite Rung's intentions, the paramedic had no desire whatsoever to relax. He just felt nervous being out of his office and the medical ward which had become something of a sanctuary for him, and the growing withdrawal from his drugs weren't helping matters. Without thinking he tapped the armrest of the chair with his fingers as his mind began to wander away. It wasn't long, though, before his optics focussed back on the smaller orange mech, as his audio sensors picked up the name of the most important mech of his life; Lancet.

At first Armor Aid calmed down, as the sound of his mentor's name brought up many cherished memories from his databanks; Lancet teaching him more about Cybertonian medicine than he had ever known, bringing mechs back from the brink of death, enjoying drinks at the Grease Pit, relaxing in the office and talking about plans for the future when the war finally ended.

In a blink though, those memories were overridden by one very dark memory, a memory that Armor Aid would do anything to be rid of. His hands gripped the chair's armrest hard, his fingers digging into them. He looked away from Rung at first, but eventually brough his optics back to the psychoanalyst.

"We were. I would have followed him to the Pit and back.", he replied, barely containing the bitterness he felt before quietly adding, "I should have."

Armor Aid stopped to shut off his optics for a moment, stroking his forehead. So many mechs had tried to convince him that Lancet's death wasn't his fault, but no matter how many times he heard it, he wouldn't believe it. None of them knew what really happened, and knowing what he knew, Armor Aid had no desire to tell anyone the whole truth. Armor Aid turned his optics back on and looked back at Rung, his fingers slowly tapping the chair.

"I've already reported what happened at least a dozen times, but fine.", he huffed, "I'll tell you, if only to get you off my back."

Armor Aid took a deep intake as he recalled the events from his databanks. It didn't take long because he had recalled them more times than he could count.

"I strained my shoulder during a break, so I came to the medical ward early to get it taken care of before my shift started."


Armor Aid entered the medical ward, his left hand holding his right shoulder as he slowly rotated it. The pain wasn't too bad, he could have bared with it for the rest of the cycle before his shift started. But as much fun as the Grease Pit was, he was looking forward to learning from Lancet even more. This just happened to give him an excuse.

"Lancet?", he shouted as he looked around the medical ward, "Hey Lancet, you in here?"

>>"Armor Aid? Oh, uh, You're here early. Just- just come into my office if you'd like."<<

Armor Aid looked puzzled as he heard his mentor's voice over the intercom. He didn't sound his normally cheerful self. His mentor had been quite busy with paperwork lately, though, so he thought little of it.



"Lancet was just finishing some reports for Maximus. We'd been running some routine maintenance exams on the inmates for the past megacycle."


"Well you were right, as always.", Armor Aid said with a smirk as he walked into Lancet's office, still holding his shoulder, "Arm wrestling Steelhand after he's had a few was a big mistake. I think I may have-"

Armor Aid stopped talking as he looked at Lancet, and realized that something really was wrong. The thin, white mech was sitting at his desk, his head down in his hands. He was clearly bothered by something.

"Huh?", Lancet said in a daze before he finally looked up at his protege, a thin white tube fell out of his mouth, "Oh, uh, Armor Aid. I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Armor Aid looked down at the table and picked up the small tube. He looked at Lancet with disappointment and confusion.

"A cy-gar-8? Lancet, you said you quit these over a vorn ago! You know how they can clog up your cooling systems and damage your cerebral processors!"

"I know, I know....", Lancet apologized as he shook his head, "I just......."

Lancet looked down at his desk, pausing as if he was trying to think of what to tell the young paramedic. This worried Armor Aid. As long as he had known Lancet he had always been honest and forthcoming.

"Lancet, look at me.", Armor Aid pleaded, which made the doctor finally look at him straight in the optics, "If something is wrong, please tell me! You've known me long enough to know that you can trust me!"

Lancet took a deep intake. He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but stopped and shook his head.

"No, Armor Aid. I can't tell you....", the doctor said painfully, "I can't tell anyone. They've already- no, no I'm sorry, I can't. If I tell anyone, I'm a dead mech."



"Since I was back earlier than he expected, Lancet decided he'd bring the reports to the warden personally."


Armor Aid didn't know what to think. He'd seen a number of violent inmates threaten his mentor countless times, only for Lancet to brush them off as meaningless outbursts by desperate mechs. This had to be serious, he had never seen the doctor look so scared, so uncertain.

"Who's 'they'?", the paramedic inquired, "Which inmates are threatening you?"

Lancet looked up at Armor Aid and took another intake.

"It's not just some of the inmates.", Lancet reluctantly said with a whisper, "Some of the guards, too. There's a lot going on behind the cell walls than you know. I don't think Maximus even knows how deep it goes."

"And you're just going to sit here and do nothing?!?", Armor Aid asked incredulously, "I can't believe I'm hearing this from you!"

Lancet shook his head, and picked up the cy-gar-8 that had fallen onto the desk, "Armor Aid, I just..... This is too big for me to deal with, all right? Too many are in this, and they know that I know. I try to do anything and I'm dead, and Autobot Medical is already stretched too thin to send a replacement any time soon. I mean no offense when I say this Armor Aid, because you really have grown as a medic since you came here, but you're just not ready to be Garrus 9's only medical officer. For now it's best if I lie low, and hope someone in security finds out about it."

As Lancet was about to put the cy-gar-8 back in his mouth, Armor Aid slapped the doctor's hand, sending the small tube flying across the room. Lancet looked up in surprise, Armor Aid had never done anything like it. The paramedic looked down at his mentor with a scowl.

"What was it you always told me? 'If you don't cure the disease early, it will destroy the body over time'? Well it sounds to me like Garrus 9 has a disease, and it needs to be cured right away!", Armor Aid said with fire in his optics, "How many have died by these mechs? Because if it's more than one, than it's too many if you ask me. If this is really going on and Fort Max doesn't know it, then you need to tell him before it's too late!"

Lancet looked down for a moment, and slowly a smile came across his face as he nodded his head. He looked back up at Armor Aid.

"I guess I taught you too well, didn't I?", the doctor warmly said as he patted Armor Aid on his non-injured shoulder, "You're right, I need to report everything I know to Maximus right away- in person, there's no telling if the comm-lines are bugged."

Armor Aid noticed several datapads on the desk- the ones that Lancet had kept the maintenance reports on. He picked them up and handed them to the doctor.

"Take these- that way you'll have a legitimate reason to see the warden. They'll be less suspicious", Armor Aid assured, "And I'll go with you, just in case someone tries to stop you."

Lancet got out of his chair and raised his hands, walking past Armor Aid to the door.

"No, no, they'll know you're there to protect me, and that'll just make you a target as well.", Lancet explained, "I can make it there on my own."

The door slid open and Lancet walked out of his office, Armor Aid following right behind.

"Lancet, let me go with you!", Armor Aid pleaded, "You know I can take a lot more than you can."

"No Armor Aid, and don't make me order you.", Lancet insisted, "Besides, someone needs to stay behind and keep an eye on things. And you can gain some experience by fixing up that shoulder of yours."

As Armor Aid was about to protest again, Lancet turned around and smiled. It was the same warm, reassuring smile that put Armor Aid at ease, that said no matter how bad things might seem, everything would be all right in the end. Armor Aid relented and went to the nearby med station.

"All right, Lancet, I'll stay. Anyway I'm sure there isn't much to worry about. They wouldn't dare try to kill the CMO in a crowded hallway, right?"



"I stayed in the medical ward and fixed up my shoulder. Turned out to be nothing serious, just needed a little more lubricant and a couple of servos realigned."


Sitting in the chair, Armor Aid seemed to get more rigid. He tapped his fingers harder on the armrest, his optics looking around the room, away from Rung. Without thinking about it he opened a small storage compartment on his hip, and without looking pulled out a data rod. He held the data rod between two of his fingers, and started tapping it against the chair.

"Right after I fixed up my shoulder the medical ward doors came open, and one of the guards ran in.....", Armor Aid paused as he could feel lubricant start to well up in his optics, he choked up a little, "Carrying what...... what was left of Lancet...... in stasis lock......"


For a moment Armor Aid did nothing but stare in horror at the sight. Lancet, his superior officer, teacher, mentor, and best friend, with a gapping hole where his chassis was. He could feel his fuel tank try to purge his system as he saw the trail of fluids and scraps of metal that followed behind. The guard carefully laid Lancet onto one of the surgical slabs, by which point Armor Aid came out of his shock and hurried over.

"Drone 2 and 3 over here, NOW!' he ordered two of the medical drones, which in turn came over, "I- I need a neural stimulater and, uh, uh," the paramedic stumbled as he desperately tried to think of what he would need to save his mentors life, "An energon regulator, and, uh-"

Armor Aid stopped as he felt something weakly grab his hand. Hesitantly he looked down, trying not to focus on the mess of broken parts and energon that lay below him. He didn't look down at his hand, for he knew already who was holding it. Instead he looked to Lancet's face, and was shocked to see his optics glowing dimly, and his faceplate had the same warm smile from earlier.

"It...... It's all-all right, Arrrrrmor Aid.....", Lancet weakly assured his protege, his vocallizer struggling to function, "It-t-t-t's all r-r-right....."

"Don't worry, Lancet!", Armor Aid said motivated as he held onto his dying friend's hand, "I'll fix you up, I promise! I won't let you down!"

Lancet barely shook his head, though his smile was still there, "Y-you were my b-b-best stu-student-t-t..... I-"

"SLAGGIT, DON'T TALK LIKE THAT!!!", Armor Aid shouted, as he tried to find where to start operating, "YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE IT!!! I'M GOING TO SAVE YOU, DON'T GIVE UP YET!!!!"

Lancet's optics went dark, though he was still smiling, "I'mmm prrroud..... of youuu....."



Without realizing it Armor Aid had placed the data rod in his mouth. He couldn't have been more tense as he looked at Rung, cursing the psychoanalyst for making him remember that awful day. He stared at the small mech like he was trying to shoot lasers out of his optics.

"I did everything I could think of, everything that Lancet had taught me.", he said in a huff, taking the data rod out of his mouth and tossing it behind him, "Reconstructive surgery, electro-dynamic nullification, systems realignment, I practically used up the medical ward's supply of energon for transfusions, but nothing worked. And after 5 cycles .... I finally had to admit that I'd lost him, and recorded his time of death at 1840 hours......"

Armor Aid shook his head, a shiver came over him as he remembered the sickness he felt when it was over, and he was covered in his mentor's fuel. He wished he hadn't left his office, he needed his cy-gar-8s more than ever.
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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Ember » Tue Jan 29, 2013 10:50 pm

Motto: "I'm not psycho...I just like psychotic things."
Southern Wing – Cell Block G

Flame moved from the bars of his cell to the far corner. The scientist stopped just before the wall and placed his forehead against its smooth surface. Everything, everything he did was for them. And now he was being punished for it. Of course he accepted his punishment but he still had work to do. And being incarcerated was putting his work on hold.

“My dear, I live by the Autobot Code. I did what I did in order to help. That is what the code stands for…helping." Flame shut down him optics and gently began to tap his head against the wall. A steady rap, rap, rap sounded throughout his cell.

The sound stopped suddenly as Airachnid asked about working for the opposing side. “Work for the Decepticons? You obviously have me confused with a mech without morals!" Flame turned away from the wall and slowly, carefully stalked back to the cell’s bars where he could see the femme more clearly. “I do not believe in the Decepticons or their absurd cause! I am an Autobot and an Autobot is what I shall stay!" Flame grabbed hold of the bars and gave them a violent shake. “Do not presume that I am not loyal to my faction’s cause because you are not to yours!"

Southern Wing – Cell Block M

Spree watched Wildfly through the bars on the door for several moments before turning around and leaning heavily on the door. This was getting exciting. He could go as far as he wanted and if the inmate misbehaved then he had every authority to discipline him.

Finally the silence began to grade on him, surly this mech had something more to say…anything. Spree pushed off of the door and peeked back inside. “You’re awfully quiet in there. Mulling around just how you’re gonna tear me apart? Typical."

Spree waited before he began tapping on the doorframe. “Never thought you slaggers were ones to hold your tongues."

“Never thought you were one to harass an inmate." Spree’s optics widened at the sound of the intruder’s voice. The guard spun around his weapon in hand. Spree relaxed when he spotted the figure’s one bright golden optic. The mech stood at the end of the hall, his arms crossed just under his protruding chest.

Spree relaxed and replaced his gun, a small awkward smile plastered on his face. “Whirl! Sir! I…I didn’t see ya there." The senior guard remained quiet but lowered his clawed hands and very calmly made his way to stand directly before the much shorter mech.

“Of course you didn’t see me. You were facing that clutch-munching little glitch." The cycloptic mech took a look through the door’s window and stared at Wildfly. “Having fun at his expense are we?"

Spree let out a nervous chuckle as he stepped away from the cell. “I was just letting him know that his actions were completely unacceptable, sir." Whirl looked over his shoulder at the other mech. “His actions? What’d he do?" “The inmate deliberately dumped his ration, sir. I was advising him that that behavior would not be tolerated." Spree said; his head held high and with an air of smugness.

“That so." The senior guard looked back into the cell and tapped lightly on the cell. “You! Is that what happened?" Immediately Spree stiffened. “Sir, you know he won’t…" “Shut your chrome-alloy cake hole!" Whirl shouted causing the other mech to clam up and retreat back. “Answer the question, ‘Con!"
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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Drop Bear » Thu Jan 31, 2013 5:59 am

Motto: "Face it: we're doomed."
Weapon: Black Magic
Southern Wing – Cell Block M

Taut posture, optics wide open, neck craned forward, and actuators crumpled into compact fists, Wildfly waited for Spree to enter his cell so he could finally annihilate the guard for causing him ample amounts of grief. Even if spark extraction resulted—which remained a strong possibility, if not a certainty—slaying that idiot would be well worth it.

Wildfly waited. And waited. And waited. And waited.

He continued to be the only individual occupying his cell. Not a good sign. Not what he wanted.

Come on, come on. His features contorted now and then, morphing his concentration into viciousness. Why are you busy babbling out there? Why aren't you coming in here so I can kill you, you fragger?

The answer arrived in the form of a voice, a voice Wildfly could not immediately identify. But he remembered who it belonged to sooner than he thought. Mainly because Spree uttered the name like a little glitch.

A single golden optic appeared and studied Wildfly through the viewing panel for a moment before withdrawing. Whirl was, in the Monstercon's blunt opinion, a weird looking Transformer. That gigantic peeper of his... He couldn't even make any further comments on Whirl because he was incapable of not thinking about that freaking colossal optic.

Wildfly pondered over the probability of he and Shockwave being long-lost spark-brothers, somehow separated during the beginning of the Great War. It wouldn't have surprised him if they were.

Whirl and Spree conversed briefly. Spree's tone suggested hesitation, even fear at one stage. Wildfly loved how awkward he sounded, how weak he sounded. It was spectacular.

Then justice came—or at least a fragment of it. Justice for the energon ration Wildfly never properly received. With any luck, he would be given a fresh ration for his depleted systems, though he'd learned to not rely on luck to any degree. Countless vorns stuck at Garrus-9 had taught him that.

“Nope, that's not what happened at all." Wildfly carefully approached the door, peering through the viewing panel. “Your responsible friend here, your considerate colleague decided it would be entirely reasonable to pour my ration on the ground." Ignoring Spree, he gazed directly at Whirl. “Do I look like I'd want to toss my ration on the ground, rare as they are? And do you see any liquid on me?" He flashed Whirl a smile. “Tell you what, boss, I'll save you the trouble of answering those questions. That would be a no and a no."
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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Ember » Sat Feb 02, 2013 11:16 pm

Motto: "I'm not psycho...I just like psychotic things."
Rung’s Office

The psychoanalyst gave Armor Aid a slight nod as the facility’s CMO relented and decided to take a seat, but he made it quite clear that he was not going to get as comfortable as Rung had hoped he would. Rung darkened his optics before leaning back in his chair. “That’s fine. The last thing I want to do is make you feel uncomfortable." He nodded at the mention of the doctor’s concern of being away should there be some kind of emergency. “I understand. I’ll try not to keep you from your duties."

Rung waited. A good part of his work was based on just the waiting. Pushing a patient was neither productive nor was it healthy. Along with the waiting came the watching. Rung kept his optics on the CMO and noted when Armor Aid averted his eye contact, but he soon returned his gaze.

And then it came. His waiting was over. Armor Aid finally broke the silence. Rung nodded and let the disturbed mech just talk. He needed to talk about…everything. And he did.
The slim orange doctor listened intently while taking mental notes as well as physical notes. Everything that poured from Armor Aid was recorded and filed so that a reliable and proper diagnosis and treatment plan could be arranged.

And the reveal of his patient’s past trauma was disturbing to say the least. While the medical officer spoke he seemed to begin some kind of obsessive compulsive behavior with the use of a data rod. The action did not go unnoticed by Rung and a note of the action was taken and duly recorded.

As Armor Aid continued with his recall Rung brought up the records that had been filed on Lancet’s death and compared them with what he was hearing now first hand.
Without so much as a flinch Rung kept his optics on his patient even while Armor Aid’s glare grew more intense.

After his account was finished the CMO shook his head and shivered; he also grew silent. Rung waited for several moments before he unwound his actuators and settled back into his chair. “I am very sorry for your loss." Rung’s voice was low, but it was full of honesty. He just hoped Armor Aid could see it. “You did everything you could for Lancet. There was nothing, nothing that you could have done to prevent such a horrible tragedy."

Rung leaned forward in order to gain the medic’s attention. “The loss of your mentor and trusted friend has thrust you into a deep despair. This is something you already know, but the despair is only part of it." Rung let out a heavy sigh before he continued. “You’re suffering from PTSD, Posttraumatic Stress Disorder. You’ve been exposed to a horrific psychological trauma and you cannot cope with the loss of Lancet." Rung paused for a moment and studied Armor Aid. There was more, much more.

“I know your hurting and that you’re angry, but turning that anger in on yourself is only doing a disservice to Lancet’s memory." Rung leaned further forward with his elbows resting on his knees. "Armor Aid, self-medicating and self-loathing is not the answer; it never is. When did you resort to self-medication to ease the pain and depression you feel?" The fidgeting the unrest and the obsessive use of the data rod were a clear signs that the medical officer was under the influence of some kind of substance abuse. Granted it was probably not anything illegal, but his secretiveness only proves that he’s not comfortable with his dependence on it.

Once he got Armor Aid to talk about his own feelings, and once he was comfortable with being open, Rung wanted to press further. He needed to get more information out of the distraught mech about the allegations Lancet made concerning the corruption within G9. But helping Armor Aid came first.

Southern Wing – Cell Block M

Whirl’s lone amber optic focused in on Wildfly as the ‘Con flier stepped in closer to the door. The senior guard made no attempt to intimidate the inmate; instead he radiated a sense of concern. It was Whirl’s own special way to throw off, not only his fellow staff members but the dregs that occupied the various cells.

After Wildfly’s much anticipated, and truthful, response, Whirl placed a pincer to his chin in a thoughtful manner. Letting out a contemplative “hmm” the mech turned away from the door and regarded Spree who had, to Whirl’s surprise, stayed put. “I’m pretty inclined to believe him." Whirl tapped the end of his pincer against the metal door. “He’s got no reason to lie to me, you know." He leaned down so he could look directly into his subordinate’s optics. “So, why did you?"

Spree’s mouth dropped open and quickly closed as no answer came to his racing mind. “I see." Whirl finally said. He straightened up to his full height and placed his clawed hands behind his back. “You’ll be donating your ration to the prisoner, but…" He looked back to the door and peered back inside catching sight of Wildfly still standing by the door. "…the prisoner will be cleaning up the mess." Whirl’s golden optic glistened before pressing further… “And I’ve got the perfect cleaning device for you to use."

Without pulling that lone eye from the ‘Con, Whirl motioned for Spree to retrieve the ration and return as soon as possible.
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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Gatkowski » Mon Feb 04, 2013 5:33 pm

Motto: "Victory needs no explanation, defeat allows none."
Weapon: Nuclear Charged Fusion Cannon
(OOC: I'm fairly certain I haven't contradicted any important details here. If I have, just let me know and I'll edit.)

Cell Block B

Stingray scrolled the page with a gentle nudge of her digit on the touchscreen of the datapad. She was sitting in a relatively comfortable position on her bench, her elbows resting on her knees as she stared at the display, reading in silence.

It was that passive activity she had developed the most liking to. During the free activities period one particular orn, she had visited the libraric archives and had picked up a short treatise on sociopolitical history, The Nature of Balance written by Boltax. Though she had done so merely out of boredom, she could hardly put it down. Afterwards, her visits to the archives had become regular. She had immersed herself in numerous essays and studies on Cybertron's history, mythology, politics and philosophy. Then, at one point, taking her exceptionally orderly behavior into consideration, Fortress Maximus himself had granted her a permit to take a number of the works with her to her cell.

Stingray wouldn't claim that she understood everything she read. Not by far. She was far too simple in her thinking, despite not being lacking in the intelligence department to grasp all the comprehensive concepts and theories laid out within the many pages. But she kept on consuming them nonetheless. Many of the inmates, and some of the guards, too, looked at her strangely because of her non-rebellious conduct and the mere fact she was more interested in texts than interacting with any other individuals.

It was true, Stingray was wary. She had been injured, nearly killed, and abandoned by those she had believed to be her comrades. She had been picked up by those she had believed to be her enemies and had been given more fair treatment than ever before. She didn't yet know what to make of it. Too many of her old beliefs were shattered and she was still not ready to accept new ones. So she kept three paces of distance from everyone, regardless of allegiance. In reading she found a measure of clarity, detached from the conflicting notions all around. So she used that to try and array her troubled thoughts.

The piece Stingray was currently sifting through, Alpha Trion's Virtues of The Adamant, was quite entertaining, if a little too philosophic and straightforwardly bipolar. It was concerned primarily with the qualities leader figures possessed or should possess and what differentiated them from tyrants. To it's merit, the work was easy to understand, even for the simplest footslogger. Decepticon propagandists could have drawn much inspiration from it, Stingray thought.

She looked up, as the noise of firm steps grew louder in the background. Every now and then, patrolling guards would pass by her cell. Sometimes in groups of two or three, prodding one of the inmate's along. This time, just a lone guard went by.

Good. Stingray was in no mood for interaction just now.

She turned back to the datapad.
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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Insidious » Tue Feb 05, 2013 3:07 pm

Warden's Quarters

His meeting with Rung having been completed with some small sense of satisfaction over what had been discussed there, Fortress Maximus had finally made it to his personal quarters. The room had once been used for vehicle storage, but after Max had taken over for the previous warden and found his accommodations to be...unsuitable, to say the least...he had requisitioned this space and proceeded to conduct a full overhaul.

The tri-leveled space was sparsely appointed in terms of decoration, but had an extensive datapad archive, map projection system and personal CR chamber designed to accommodate a mech of Max's considerable size, not to mention an awe-inspiring view of the moonscape outside and the vast open space beyond. He was looking forward to spending a little time there, for a recharge at least, but he had other business yet to tend to.

Approaching the massive computer system, Maximus began accessing the two files that Armor Aid had sent, both his autopsy of Darkwrath and his request to Autobot medical, so that he could review both in greater detail, as well as the other shift logs that had been filed by guards in various wings of the prison in the intervening period since the warden had last enjoyed completing this fun-filled task.

The administrative minutiae of running a facility like this were not Max's favorite undertaking, but he wouldn't dare complain. He much preferred maintaining peaceful stability over frontline combat, at least when he had the option between the two.
___

Southern Wing - Cell Block B

"Yes, that's one thing about Megatron at least. He's very inspiring. His writings and speeches just make you want to question...everything. That was his biggest appeal, certainly for me. Cybertronian society used to be so rigid. You might be too young to remember, I don't know. But it was a different world back then. So monoformic. In everything. But he changed it. You definitely have to give credit where it's due."

Icepick leaned back slightly, reflecting back on those days. This Umbra was definitely good for a few things. Apart from being a new player for their occasional games of Matrix, she prompted some fond reminiscences for the Monstercon. And some not so fond ones, too, but--well--Icepick wouldn't give much attention to those.

Icepick thought for a moment about Umbra's last statement.

"Well, that's not good at all. At least with our cells being in rather close proximity like this, we should be able to do this as often as we want to. Might make the time pass a little more quickly. Have to put a premium on anything that will allow a bot to do that around here."
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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Drop Bear » Wed Feb 06, 2013 4:06 am

Motto: "Face it: we're doomed."
Weapon: Black Magic
Southern Wing – Cell Block M

With supreme effort, Wildfly cloaked his delight at the news of a fresh ration. The desire to smile, cackle, point a digit at Spree, and insult him nearly overwhelmed the Monstercon, but he quashed it, justified as he believed it might have been. A neutral expression painted his face-plate.

Yes, that's right, why did you do that? But it's no big deal. I'll gladly take your ration, you afthole. Wildfly's optics darted to Spree before returning to Whirl. Many thanks for the donation, buddy. Looks like I owe you one. A ghost of a smirk swept across his lip components. Not.

He didn't care about ratting out Spree, thus shattering whatever laughable code the inmates functioned by. Wildfly came first, second, third, and fourth. Everybody else, with the exception of his fellow Monstercons, had to settle for a distant sixth.

He did, however, care about cleaning up a mess he most certainly did not create. But he didn't want to push his luck. With Spree bringing him a new ration—his ration—it would be wise to play along and remain on his best behaviour.

Still at the door, Wildfly stayed cool. “The perfect cleaning device, eh? Even without it, boss, I'll make sure this floor is spick-and-span, clean as a whistle."

There was a great chance that Whirl didn't appear convinced of his sincerity. Wildfly was fine with that; he could accept that. He'd never exactly been a model prisoner, and he possessed no aspirations to become one. But as long as he could pull this one off, then he could keep out of trouble for a while.

Or at least until Spree provoked him again. Or at least until the next activity period, where an impulse turned into a joke and that joke landed him in hot liquid.

Wildfly waited for Spree to return. He offered Whirl a brief smile.

That freaking peeper again. It was as though it had latched on to him. He resisted the urge to comment on it, lest he lose that ration and spend some quality time in solitary confinement.

What a trying last couple of cycles it had been.
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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Ember » Sun Feb 10, 2013 5:57 pm

Motto: "I'm not psycho...I just like psychotic things."
Southern Wing – Cell Block M

With a low grumbled “yes sir” Spree turned on his heel and made his way out of the cell block in order to fetch his ration. The ration he was supposed to partake in right after his shift. The guard spent the better part of his trek cursing Whirl to the Pit.

Meanwhile the copter-bot watched Wildfly closely as he responded to Whirl’s suggestion of a cleaning device that would be most efficient in cleaning up the spilled energon. Whirl offered him a simple nod and added, “I’m sure you will. But this little piece of equipment will make it all the more easy for you." The sound of heavy foot falls echoed through the block as Spree finally returned with his energon cube in hand.

Whirl pushed away from the door and looked down at his newly arrived subordinate. “Ahh. It’s about time. Hand it over." The former Wrecker snatched up the fuel clamping it tightly in his clawed hand, his lone amber optic boring deep into Spree’s frame. In response the guard averted his eyes focusing instead on a spot on the opposite wall.

“Now. You…" He waved the cube in front of the small window making absolutely sure Wildfly could see it. "…you’ll clean up the energon on your side of the door and once you’re done I’ll send in this ration." Whirl watched Wildfly before he finally broke down exactly what he wanted the Monstercon to do. “Here’s what you’re gonna do to get that spilled slop up." The Senior Guard paused for a moment just to be sure he had the ‘Con’s complete attention, “You’re gonna get down on your hands and knees, lower your head down really, really low… see, that way you’ll be in the perfect position to lap it up. Every last drop of it." A booming laugh sounded from behind Whirl.

The copter-bot shot the other mech a warning glare causing Spree to stifle his overjoyous laughter. “Now, where was I? Ahh, yes you were just about to clean up that mess. Oh and…" Whirl lifted cube once more and waved in the window. "…you hesitate; you make any kind of sound, other than that of your licking up that mess, or you send me so much as a smirk… I’ll be the one guzzling this ration." He took a quick look over his shoulder at the now surprised and angry Spree. With his optics glued to his subordinate Whirl removed a straw from a storage compartment, inserted it into the cube and took a long swig. “I suggest you get to work. I’m mighty thirsty."

Southern Wing – Level 4 – Clock C

*Ahem* The sound made Kronus finally lift his head and look at the small figure standing in the doorway. “I’m sorry, Kronus, but I’m gonna have to put this back on." The guard lifted the face restraint so the Decepticon could see it. The thief let out a defeated sigh before lowering his head back down, his chin nearly coming to rest against his chest. The depressed sound from the prisoner brought a frown to Streamlight’s face. “One more breem. Just one more." Kronus’ request was low, nearly a whisper.

Streamlight’s shoulders slumped slightly before he stepped through the threshold and came to a stop directly in front of the restrained mech. “I can’t. You know that. As it is I’m not supposed to remove the face restraint." The young guard lifted said device up slightly to emphasize his explanation. Kronus responded by lifting his head and sending his watcher a small nod of understanding and defeat. “Yeah, I know, kid."

The flier stepped back out of the cell and waited for a moment letting Kronus get into position so that the rest of his restraints could be implemented. Once he was sure it was safe Streamlight headed back into the cell where he stepped up to the ‘Con and began reapplying the face restraint. He was on the second lock when the thief spoke lowly. “Do you still think you’re being punished? You weren’t so sure before when I asked. I mean, I can be a handful…" The young guard was silent for a moment as he continued his work. “No. I don’t think so. Not anymore." He finally said.

Once the last lock was in place Streamlight stepped back and stared at the bound mech for several minutes. The silence began to worry the ‘Con. “Are you glitched or do you do what you do to get attention?" The question wasn’t one Kronus hadn’t been asked before and for a long time he had never known how to answer. It had taken him several thousand vorns to finally come up with a somewhat adequate response. “I don’t find what I do strange. To me it’s…well, it’s as normal as walking and talking." Kronus stared back at the white and red mech. "“Normal”, in my world, is certainly not considered “glitched”."

Streamlight continued to watch him closely. To Kronus he seemed to be contemplating whether or not what he was saying was the truth. “I’m considered glitched because I’m different. I don’t act like everyone else therefore I don’t fit in with the rest of you. So, no, in my eyes I’m not glitched. In everyone else’s’ I’m a crazed lunatic who needs to be locked away." A small sigh followed his answer. It seemed to placate Streamlight as he offered a soft nod and a slight smile before he stepped back out of the cell and closed the door. The locks slid smoothly into position and the energon bars ignited. With all of the safety protocols met, Kronus was released from the restraints binding him to the far wall.

“For the record…I don’t think you’re glitched." Streamlight’s low voice floated into the cell. “I just think you’re misunderstood is all." Kronus said nothing; instead he moved to his recharge slab and lowered himself onto it. Yeah, killing this kid was gonna be easy. He smiled broadly before he initiated his recharge cycle.
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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Drop Bear » Wed Feb 13, 2013 4:35 am

Motto: "Face it: we're doomed."
Weapon: Black Magic
Southern Wing – Cell Block M

This was it. Justice. Revenge. Both featured in this moment, this little triumph Wildfly had secured.

Maybe it wasn't complete justice or total revenge, but it was still something—a couple of fragments of the two. Considering the luck he'd been exposed to of late, which realistically amounted to zip, zero and zilch—what a surprise!—this moment possessed a significance Wildfly had not known for several vorns. Or, perhaps, even longer.

He wasn't sure how long it'd truly been. The first millennium of incarceration had sabotaged his ability to accurately judge time.

But he always knew when it was time to split this joint and flee this barren rock of a planet.

Wildfly smiled to himself, impressed with his quip. A winner, without a shadow of a doubt. He stashed that gem away in the vault of his memory banks. He could hardly wait to tell his fellow Monstercons that one during the next activity period in which he would catch up with them.

Spree returned with the ration, the moment having finally arrived. Victory at last.

Whirl took hold of the ration, that weird clawed actuator of his grasping it. Wildfly felt his optics involuntarily grow large. He waved the cube in front of the viewing panel, moving it from left to right and back again, sustaining its motion for a few astroseconds. Wildfly subdued his compulsion to reach out and try to swipe it, even though he could achieve no such thing.

Then it went all downhill from there.

“Here’s what you’re gonna do to get that spilled slop up." The Senior Guard paused for a moment just to be sure he had the ‘Con’s complete attention, “You’re gonna get down on your hands and knees, lower your head down really, really low… see, that way you’ll be in the perfect position to lap it up. Every last drop of it."

A powerful numbness travelled through Wildfly's frame as though an anaesthesia had been administered to him, freezing him to his spot. Whirl's words echoed in his audio modules, leaving a bitter ring to pursue them in their wake. Rigid and silent as a statue, he stood at the door.

“Now, where was I? Ahh, yes—"

The numbness abated to the point where mobility was granted again. Without a single syllable exiting his oral cavity, Wildfly turned and shuffled towards his cot, each laboured step bringing him closer. He needed to sit down, to comprehend the event that had just transpired.

"—Gest you get to work. I'm mighty thirsty."

He sat on the cot's edge. Gaze lowered to the cold steel floor, he said nothing and did nothing.
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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Wreck 'n Rule » Fri Feb 15, 2013 4:02 am

Motto: "I can totally prove that I'm not a zombie! Just lean over hear, and let me take a little nibble out of your brains."
Weapon: Double Barrelled Shell Launcher
Rung's Office

Armor Aid kept his optics looking down to the floor in front of Rung. He shook his head as his fingers tapped the armrests of the chair faster, his intakes becoming heavy and uneven. The psychoanalyst tried to convince him that he'd done everything he could to save his mentor, but the acting CMO still refused to believe it.

There was PLENTY I could have done to prevent his death..... if I hadn't hurt my shoulder and showed up early....... if I hadn't pushed him to confront Maximus...... If I hadn't stayed behind....... Slaggit I could have survived that blast! I'm built to take that kind of laser fire, Lancet wasn't! And he sure as slag could have fixed me up if I'd been hit that bad.....

As Rung tried to gain the paramedic's attention, Armor Aid tried to fake his way by looking around the small mech's face without looking directly into his optics.

"PTSD?", he mumbled, "Fine, whatever you say. I got PTSD, sure....."

Slaggit I need my cy-gar-8's! Just say what you need and let me out of here already!

Between having to recount the tragic death of Lancet, and the absense of chemicals to numb his emotional circuitry, Armor Aid was finding it hard to stay seated. He could barely listen to what Rung was saying as he tried hard to concentrate on stopping the tapping and twitching of his body. Then the orange mech asked about the paramedic "self-medicating", and his eyes widened.

Oh, slag no.

The paramedic shut his optics for a few astroseconds, taking several deep intakes as he tried to calm his nerves. Slowly, hesitantly, he looked Rung in the optics, while his hands took an even harder grip of the armrests in an effort to control his involuntary twitching.

"I don't have a problem.", he answered in a calm, but defensive tone, "I have a cy-gar-8 every once in a while to calm my nerves."

He looked away from Rung again, taking several uneven intakes. He felt like the psychoanalyst was probing him deeply with harsh, judging optics.

"Hey, Lancet used them and he didn't have a problem. And he was a fully trained physician who could actually save most of his patients!"

Astroseconds felt like mega-cycles to Armor Aid as he could still feel Rung's optics looking at him.

How dare you judge me.... I never wanted all this..... I didn't want Lancet dead..... I didn't want to know about corrupt guards and prisoners running things..... I sure as slag didn't want to kill my patients, even if most of them were Decepticon criminals.....

"Maybe some of us need a little help to deal with the energon on our hands.....", he mumbled.

Finally Armor Aid stood up.

"Maybe you can live with all the dead mechs on your hands!", he pointed to Rung accusingly, "But some of us need a little help just trying to get through the day!"
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Re: Elba System - Garrus-9 Penitentiary

Postby Foxfire13795 » Sun Feb 17, 2013 4:51 am

Motto: "Broken Autobots never mend."
Weapon: Magnetic Repellor-Attractor
Southern Wing - Cell Block B

"I remember what life was like before the war. I was young then. I hadn't been online for very long yet. If I really strain my processors...I think I can remember the last dying gasps of the golden age of Cybertron. I can clearly remember the civil unrest. All of the Decepticon rallies...And the outbreak of the war. It's all still so vivid."

Umbra reclined, leaning on her cot as she awaited Scowl's next move patiently. Her thoughts flicked to the past, thoughts of better days. There had been a few good ones. Although, her time in Garrus-9 was almost as good as those days had been. It was because she had still had a home to go back to Umbra figured. Maybe...Maybe Garrus could serve as a new home for her.

"I remember Cybertron's fall especially. It was the last major event that had happened before I went into stasis for Primus knows how many vorns. Megatron sure was relentless. Always striving to reshape the world as he believed it should be. But now...there's no more world to reshape. No home to go back to anymore. When I woke up, I thought the war would be over, or at least, Cybertron would be restored."

Umbra paused for a moment considering Cybertron.

"I guess not. I wonder when acceptable losses will stop being acceptable."

Umbra examined the game board and started fiddling with one of the game pieces. Icepick had said something about Slog being an artist. Maybe she would ask him to make her a proper game piece one day. She looked forward to someday meeting the rest of the Monstercons. Umbra smiled as she heard Icepick's response to her last statement.

"Thanks Icepick. I'd like that. Time certainly does tend to crawl in here, but its not all bad."
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