- Motto: "Victory needs no explanation, defeat allows none."
- Weapon: Nuclear Charged Fusion Cannon
Allegiance: Decepticon (albeit with severely shaken loyalties)
Function: Aerospace fighter
Alt. mode: Fighter jet
Weapons: Arm-mounted photon blasters
Special Abilities: -
Height: 26 ft (8.5 meters)
Quote: "You can't strive for what you can't believe in."
Tech Skill: 5
Profile: A long time ago, before the war that eventually devastated Cybertron had started, Stingray lived her life in the dilapidated slums along the borders of Kaon. Wandering aimlessly with a gang of young mechs in the shadows of run down, barely functional hab-blocks, they harassed and bullied all the scattered, helpless dropouts of society unfortunate enough to get in their way. Violent brawls, clashes with rival gangs or the law enforcement were just everyorn practices. Routines. Hatred for anyone blessed with a better life, standing higher in the social hierarchy or possessing even a few energon-chips more of wealth was taken for granted.
Then came the rise Decepticons. Proclamations of a dawn to a new era, of removing the ruling echelons of Cybertron's society won many of the poor and the desperate to the cause that had emerged from the gladiatorial pits and soon expanded to revolutionary proportions. Street gangs, thugs, low-lives, all the drifters and outcasts heeded the call of the Decepticons' well placed and prepared iterator agents by the scores. They saw their chance to pay back the many vorns of suffering to the originators of their misery. Stingray and her fellows were no exception, either. And as Kaon fell to Megatron and Sentinel Prime lay dead, it was no question that the storm of change everyone had felt coming finally arrived.
War raged across Cybertron and an arms race unfolded between the opposing sides. Specialized training facilities were established. The Decepticons formed the soon grown to be well recognized and feared elite aerial units, the Seekers. Stingray was drafted as a cadet, along with most of her former associates. The training regimes they were subjected to were rigorous and unforgiving. Not every one of them survived to active duty. But in the end, Stingray felt reborn; strong, capable, disciplined and most importantly, respected for her status.
As the great battles spread to other worlds as well, Stingray got a real taste of war. Injuries, comrades lost, near-death traumas and the remorseless ravages upon alien cultures were leaving imprints on her psyche. Slowly, doubts arose in the young femme about the righteousness of the cause she had been fighting for. Cruelties she witnessed in labor and disintegration camps prompted her to look deeper into her own conscience.
On one particular occasion during a raid on a supply convoy, Stingray attempted to hold back one of her squad mates from torturing one of the surviving crew personnel to death. She couldn't say why she did it, it just occurred to her. Surprised and angered at her actions, the other Seeker called Stormtalon shot her in the chest section with a full powered, point blank burst. The last thing Stingray heard before she collapsed and went into stasis lock was the scornful snicker of her comrades.
She came to in an Autobot medical and repair facility, several orns later. She was soon informed that she had been taken captive and brought back to operational condition for questioning. She was frightened, having remembered what a Decepticon prison camp was like, not to mention the memories of being forsaken by her former squad mates. After a thorough check-up she was taken away for interrogation. An interrogation that consisted of no torture, no brain module probing and no surgery in a woken state. Only thorough cross-examination and application of pressure through conversation. The officer conducting the whole process was not exactly kind but clearly had no desire to humiliate or hurt his charges purely for entertainment. After it was all over and she was led to a cell, Stingray found a multitude of questions coming forth from her thoughts about why things had happened the way they had. She had a lot to think about.
Incarcerated and later transferred to the Garrus Penitentiary, Stingray has ever since tried to come to terms with the conflict within her spark.
Abilities: Stingray is a well-trained, disciplined and agile warrior. She was drilled in for all aerial basic tactical configurations, formations and maneuvers. All of which she can execute near flawlessly while in the air. In jet mode, she can reach the speed of Mach 3.5. Her effective range is 4000 kms (~2500 miles ). Both in jet and robot modes she carries two photon blasters, which have an effective range of 2000 meters (1,250 miles). The photon charges are not able to pierce through heavy armor, but can do significant damage against joints and soft spots if aimed correctly.
Weaknesses: Stingray is a lithe femme, edged for speed and maneuverability. With no space around, she's unlikely to slip away from attack. Also, she has no real protection against heavy firepower and while her close combat skills are adequate, she couldn't hold her ground in prolonged fight.
Stingray was led by two guards into a dully lit room. It was empty, save for a crooked, stumpy chair set up in the center. A damp smell nagged at Stingray's nasal receptors, as if the place hadn't had air circulation for several mega-cycles. Patches of rust were creeping up the the bland iron walls, eating away at giant bolts that held exposed support girders in place. A deep, mechanical murmur was issuing from the background, like running machinery in the distance.
One of the guards turned to some sort of control panel on the wall as they entered and manipulated the switches. Additional lights flickered to life. Stingray narrowed her optic ridges as it took her visual systems an astrosecond to adjust to the new brightness levels. She was shoved into the chair in the center.
"Stay here," one of the guards said and jabbed a finger at Stingray to emphasize the point. The young femme didn't reply. The two mechs strode out of the chamber, through the door they had come in. A metallic clank and a strong hiss indicated that it went shut behind them and the pressure seals engaged to make sure it stayed that way.
Stingray was left alone. Apart from the background noise, she was surrounded by eerie silence. She began to survey her surroundings. At the opposite side of the chamber, she was looking at another door, similarly heavy-looking as the one she had been admitted through. But apart from that, no other hatches, no venting ducts, nothing. An entirely closed section of the autobase. Stingray suspected that she had been brought down several levels below ground.
She weighed her options. Manual actuators cuffed, a transformation inhibitor scrambling all electric impulses incoming to her T-cog mag-locked on her back, her chances for escape were barely more than negligible. Even if she could somehow get free off the cuff and remove the inhibitor, her wings had been detached, practically rendering her alternate mode useless.
It seemed her best option, her only option, to stay put.
She sat there under the flickering lights for a time that to her felt immensely long. Her chron unit wasn't working so closed away in the damp chamber she had no means of judging how long had passed. She began to feel edgy. She wasn't exactly sure what would happen to her now, but had a few not to reassuring ideas.
Suddenly, Stingray was startled by a creaking noise. The door in front of her was thrown open with a protestingly loud, metallic whine and a mech entered. He was not a regular brig guard. He walked with a composed bearing and his optics flickered with silent determination. Stingray looked up at him warily.
The mech came closer, stopped in front of her and looked her straight in the optic. Stingray felt a shiver run down her spinal cord.
"So, your name is...?" he said and glanced at the datapad he carried in his hand. His voice was curiously calm, devoid of any hostile or threatening intent.
"Designation: Stingray," the femme said tensely. "Serial number: 16249147458." It was a basic training reflex. Whenever interrogated by the enemy, recite only trivial information. Easy to deflect verbal probing but very unlikely to have any use against physical means of extraction. Just how much, Stingray thought she would find out soon enough.
"I'm Pointblank," the mech said calmly. "I'll tell you how this is gonna go, kid. I know you don't know much since if you did, they wouldn't have left you behind like that. And not with..." He pointed at Stingray's chest which still bore scorch marks where she had been shot and scars from medical refit.
Stingray looked away. She felt the betrayal again. Being shot by her own comrades and then abandoned, left to die amidst the smoldering ruins of the supply convoy.
"So why don't you tell me what little you've got?" Pointblank continued. "How many of you were there? Where's the base of operations you launched from? Why attack a convoy that carried civilian supplies?"
A brief pause. Then, Stingray looked at him again, confused but defiant.
"Designation: Stingray," she said. "Serial number: 16249147458."
Pointblank frowned and let out a long sigh. He leant down and bore his gaze into hers.
"Is it really worth it? Is really standing out for those slaggers worth it?" he asked. His voice hardened.
Stingray didn't answer. She didn't know what the mech was driving at but she had a feeling he was going to say something she really, really wouldn't want her audio receptors to pick up. Her pump rate quickened.
"That convoy was practically defenseless. They had nothing that would end you up in the state you were in when we found you," Pointblank said, slowly, measuredly. "So that's gotta mean it was your pals who took care of you."
Stingray's optics widened a few a microns. She was still looking up at the Autobot in defiance.
"It was them, wasn't it? Why did they do it? Quarrel over an energon-chit? Or argue over who shot more of the poor sparks? You said or did something they didn't like?" His voice took on a slightly mocking tone.
The edge of her mouth compartment twitched.
"They wrecked you up and you still hold your back for them. You really wanna convince me that's just right? Is that really where you wanna stand?"
Long silence followed. Only the distant machine noises in the background were heard.
"Stormtalon. Our squadron leader. And there were six of us," Stingray said slowly, gritting her teeth.
"That's better," said Pointblank and input the information to the datapad.