Moderator: RPG Support Staff
Alternate Modes:F-22 Raptor
Weapons: Incendiary Guns, Drone Rockets
Special Abilities:In addition to radar, Thundercracker is able generate controlled, deafening sonic booms.
Height: 31 ft / 9,46 m
Quote: “The deadliest weapon is terror.."
Profile:Thundercracker is the epitome of loyalty in mind and heart, a rank-and-file warrior who sees beyond his daily duties to an awareness of the bigger picture. Recruited to the Decepticon cause by Megatron himself and assigned to the elite Seeker squadron under Starscream, Thundercracker proved himself to be a deadly and effective warrior on Cybertron in the early days of the Great War, earning the scorn of the Autobots with his fellow Seeker Skywarp from the total destruction of the Autobot stronghold at Altihex, and the near repeat of the latter in Protihex only orns later. More compassionate and insightful than his best friend Skywarp, his steady common-sense outlook and personable nature make him well-liked in the Decepticon ranks; he is often the peacemaker among the flyers when tempers get out of hand. He sometimes grows weary of the war upon seeing so many of his companions fall - but this just redoubles his dedication to an eventual Decepticon victory. His place is at his comrades' side, a thing he can never forget, and he would shirk no duty or danger to do his part for the cause. Yet he is not totally convinced of the cause that he serves. Only the words of his Decepticon companions about the rightness of their cause, the destiny of conquest that is their birthright, convince him to go on. He is persuaded because he wants to be persuaded. Without a sense of purpose, Thundercracker would find his life unbearable.
Abilities: Thundercracker was so named because of his unique sonic abilities. Even at low altitudes and speeds, he is able to force super-compressed air pulses through his engine intakes, giving him a burst of acceleration and generating a focused sonic boom that can shatter reinforced glass and deafen unprotected audio receptors. He is further able to modulate his sonic booms to affect the sensory response processors of enemy targets, causing panic and fear. Like his follow Decepticon jet fighters, Thundercracker can attain speeds of up to 3000 mph and more. He can carry payload of variable caliber from guided air to air missiles to drone rockets with a range of 500 miles that behaves similarly to a cruise missile and has the concussive force of 3000 lbs. of TNT. He has a shoulder-mounted lasercannons like most of the seekers that have been modified to have a secondary function as automatic incendiary guns that shoots at 100 rounds per minute heat-resistant ceramic bullets containing a highly explosive flammable material that ignites on impact. Thundercracker can hold his own in ground-based combat better than the average flyer, and does not suffer the claustrophobia in close quarters that is common to many specialized air warriors.
Weaknesses: Due to being more of a thinker than most Decepticon Seekers, Thundercracker can’t help but doubt the Decepticon cause but remains quiet out of fear of what Megatron would do if he learned of it. The fear of losing his friends because of his hesitation compels him to ignore his doubts.
Sample Post:Near earth orbit flew a large meter with a thick rock layer.It was heading strait for earth the correct location of where it was landing it not yet Accuracy.It seems to be mix with several medium sizes engeron along with some metal plating in the crust.As it enters into the earth orbit as it begins to descend on the planet.A USA military base name Fort Hunter Air force field pick up the meter that was heading strait for them,or what it seems close to them.They begin to alert the base of this event prepares fighters to leave the area along with people that live on the base.
After several minutes the meter crash landed on the ground with a huge,and humble impact causing major damage.The crater was huge as a large robot titian came for out the crater it seems it landed square in the middle of the Air field.As the transformer look around it seems several craft one that captures it attention was a F-22 it walk over to it then examine it closey.It seems it was second guesting itself the Fire department was heading towards it way along with the Police it had to made quick work before it was capture.So he scan the craft with that he begins to run away form the fire that the crater cause.As he was runing he jump into the air as his gears shift he transforms into the craft flying away.He did not want to attract too much attention to him in this form.He used his sonic engine as he disappear into the earth sky.
Phaze wrote:Name: Silverbolt
Function: Aerialbot Leader
Alt. mode: Rockwell B-1 Lancer
Weapons: Electrostatic Discharger Rifle
Height: 33 ft / 10.06 m
Quote: “Don't look down, look straight ahead."
Tech Skill: 7
Profile: Silverbolt is scared of heights. It is this one trait, above all else, that determines the rest of his behaviour. He projects the image of a brave, grimly determined warrior, befitting his role as Aerialbot Commander. In truth, he is just that. But it is a constant struggle for him to maintain this persona, to never falter or show any sign of emotional weakness to those he leads. Helped by the sleek, aerodynamic jet form that makes him appear to be a natural-born flyer, Silverbolt knows that everything about him belies even a hint of the existence of his phobia. And, in fact, no one is aware he has this problem, except Optimus Prime. It is for that reason the Autobot Commander selected Silverbolt to lead the Aerialbots; Optimus figured if Silverbolt felt responsible for the welfare of others, he'd have less time to worry about himself. Given that Silverbolt is an excellent leader, Optimus was right.
Abilities: In jet mode, Subject's top speed is Mach 3 for a maximum range of 4,500 miles consuming the least amount of fuel. Underside is an electrostatic battery that can store random electrons during flight, which Subject can release as a giant bolt of 150,000 volts of electricity. In robot mode, Subject's electrostatic discharger rifle has the same capabilities. One of the few Autobots who can fly as a robot.
Holomatter Avatar: Arrayed in military pilot uniform, Silverbolt's avatar displays a young, well-kept man with a serious expression worn on his face.
Weaknesses: When not giving orders or fighting, Subject becomes vulnerable to his fear of flying, which can result in crashing.
Silverbolt shook himself awake from his energy conservation mode his blue optics took in the scene that now assault his senses. He was aware of Sideswipe in conversation with Bluestreak, Silverbolt had known the warrior for long enough to know he was up to something. Off to his left he caught sight of Ratchet vanishing with a headless form “Not something I want to try any time soon” the Aerialbot commander muttered as twitched his wings turned and walked towards Sideswipe and Bluestreak. Catching the tail end of their conversation about a partially organic mechanoid the tall autobot thought back to the headless form that Ratchet had on life support. As Hoist handed some pills to Bluestreak and prepped for beginning repairs on Sideswipe.
Silverbolt continued past the trio as he was due to be on earth providing air support along with the rest of the Aerialbots for Prowl’s scouting party. He wasn’t sure if he was still required by the autobot strategist airing on the side of caution he opened a comm link to Prowl
>>Silverbolt here reporting for duty are the Aerialbots required for your mission or are we to remain on standby?<<
Silverbolt hoped it was the first he wanted to stretch his wings and give his engines a comprehensive shakedown. He was prepared to sit and idle his engines but he wanted to feel the rush of air against his fuselage the ground rushing below him it was then it hit him mentioning below his fear hit him he placed his hand against the door frame and took a couple of cycles to calm himself down. He then continued out of the Medical Bay.
Function: Mining & Salvage
Alt. mode: Excavator
Weapons: Laser Pistol (robot mode), Missile Launcher (alt. mode)
Abilities: Special Sensors in Alt. Mode
Height: 26 ft, 7.93 m
Quote: "Everything is worth something, even me."
Tech Skill: 5
Profile: Scavenger is driven by a manic urge to find things of value in a desperate attempt to prove his worth to his comrades, particularly his fellow Constructicons. And it makes no difference to him whether he has to dig up a hillside or someone's backyard- he could care less about personal property- in order to accomplish his goal. But more often than not, what he brings back is useless junk, which only reinforces his own image of uselessness to the others. Decepticon Leader Megatron has gravely noted that, "such behavior would be charming in a puppyoid, but ill-becomes a Decepticon warrior." It is only because Scavenger's unique abilities sometimes prove to be of vital importance that Megatron tolerates his continuing existence.
Abilities: In vehicular mode Scavenger's power shovel is equipped with a variety of magnetic, ionic, electrical and gas sensors that allow him to detect the presence of a variety of materials within a 500-yard radius. He can also emit sonic charges into the ground. By analyzing the echoes that come back to him and using his other sensors he can determine with 80% accuracy the composition of ground underneath him to a depth 1.2 miles. His power shovel and detection powers combine to give Scavenger the ability to locate and uncover any number of materials, from trace metals to fuel sources, that might be useful the Decepticon cause. He carries a missile launcher in vehicular mode and a laser pistol in robot mode. When combined with his fellow Constructicons, he serves as the right arm module in the giant robot known as Devastator.
Weaknesses: Scavenger's abilities are diluted by his poor judgment, which causes him to squander vast amounts of his fuel supply. He is also prone overtaxing his power shovel, causing it to break down from metal fatigue
“Diggin’, diggin’, I’m diggin’ for some stuff."
Scavenger rolled across the lowest level of the dig site that he and the rest of the constructicons had been commissioned to excavate. He was “keeping an audio to the ground” as the saying went. However, the saying was meant more on the literal for Scavenger. He was sending sonic charges through the ground to determine the composition of the ground and try to pinpoint pockets of energon. The readings that returned to him were promising.
The dig site was part of a larger Decepticon mining operation. Scavenger had detected what he thought were some pockets of energon below them and had managed to dig it up. The constructicon had been overjoyed and had immediately shown Scrapper the fruits of his labor.
Plunging his power shovel into the ground and hefting out another load of hard, packed dirt, Scavenger kept digging away doggedly, throwing himself entirely into his work driven by his desperate need to prove himself to his comrades. He was not useless. He knew he wasn’t. Just had to make the other Constructicons realize it.
Scavenger’s sensors detected an unusual mineral. Well, unusual in the fact that it was unlike anything else he had detected in the area. Excited by the prospect, the Constructicon set to work with boundless enthusiasm akin to that of a puppyoid’s. Unearthing a small sample of the material, he confirmed it to be gold ore. He carried it to the others in the hopes that he might be praised for what he had uncovered.
Phaze wrote:Name: Mixmaster
Function: Materials fabrication
Alt. mode: Cement Mixer
Weapons: Infrared Cannon, and a small laser pistol
Special Abilities: Optical disruption projector, and the ability to make almost any non-alkalide material
Height: 26ft/ 7.9248 m
Quote: "How strong the steel, how strong the conquest."
TECH SKILL: 9
Profile: Mixmaster is so good at his job that he seems more like an alchemist or magician than a master of chemistry and science. When Decepticons Request seemingly impossible construction materials, Mixmaster laughs and then giddily goes about producing whatever is needed with maniacal speed. Mixmaster enjoys taking random objects to use for his production process including still living autobots. Hook finds Mixmaster’s methods distasteful and unprofessional, but the other Decepticons are happy with his efficiency and enthusiasm.
Subject is an expert in all known disciplines of practical and theoretical chemistry. His mixing drum accessible in both modes acts as a mobile chemistry lab where acids and bonding agents can break down almost anything and then recombine it as whatever new substance is required. In vehicle mode, he wields an infrared cannon that shoots bursts of heat up to 8,000 Celsius for almost one mile. As a robot he wields a laser pistol and head-mounted optical projection distorter that disrupts targets vision.
No Known Weaknesses
The lab was awash with frantic activity various experiments where coming to fruition at the same time Test tubes bubbled with various glows to them as the green and purple blur at the centre of the maelstrom of activity Mixmaster was loving every second of his tasks. On his back his mixing drum was rotating slowly the batch of Lightweight super tough alloy metal was in its final stages of gestation. Hook had said it was impossible to get an alloy that was light enough to be hung from a ceiling but strong enough to withstand enormous downward pressure. The cackling Mixmaster was going to enjoy proving his fellow Constructicon wrong.
The cackling was interrupted by an autobot prisoner by the name of Goldrush who ‘d started moaning and groaning then a ping let him know that his alloy had finished. The Constructicon’s optics swung to the ruined frame of the autobot a wry grin crept across his face “Don’t worry I’ll be with you shortly. I have to get this batch of alloy into the moulds” transforming into his Mixer mode he swung the rear discharge chute around allowing the alloy to pour into the mould’s as Hook and scavenger requested.
He transformed after the last of the alloy had left his chute and was settling within the moulds his optics swung around and stopped on Goldrush. The grin he had earlier returned broader this time as he had all the time in the world to test new mixtures with his “extra special sauce” as he called it.
“Now my dear fellow your donating your body to medical science unfortunately I’m waiting until your dead” the Materials Fabricator loomed large over the prisoner pausing slightly Mixmaster looked at the open door to his lab and pressed a button. The doors started to slide close to the screams of Goldrush’s panic . Above the cacophony of screams Mixmaster’s voice could be heard.
“The Dr’s in session say Aaaarrrrgggghhhhhh!"
Alternate Modes: Sports Car (White)
Weapons: Laser Pistol
Height: 15 ft / 4.6m
Quote: “Let my fellow mechanical beings go!"
Tech Skill: 7
Tailgate is famous-and perhaps infamous-for his tireless dedication to and championing for the rights of his fellow beings. Optimus Prime's deeply held belief that freedom is the right of all sentient beings struck a profound chord with Tailgate, who took up arms alongside the Autobot army as a result of it. However, the vorns of viewing Decepticon atrocities have taken a toll on Tailgate's perceptions. He's now so sensitive to the plight of beings across the galaxy that he makes no distinction between sentient and non-sentient creations. When Blaster started showing the Autobots Earth TV transmissions, Tailgate was horrified by the wanton destruction of machinery there. No amount of explaining has thus far managed to convince Tailgate that Earth's machines aren't sentient like Transformers and other mechanical beings. Until he realizes otherwise, Earth's cars and appliances have a well-meaning but severely misguided champion in Tailgate.
In car mode, Tailgate can go as fast as 180 mph under his own power with a range of 600 miles. But a powerful ferrocobalt magnet under his hood allows him to be pulled by and within a few feet of any vehicle he chooses to follow, reducing his own fuel expenditure to nearly zero. His range has virtually no limit when he travels like this.
Tailgate is prone to overheating, particularly when he's all worked up over some imagined injustice done to a machine.
"We'll find you a good home, promise."
It had been a long day for Tailgate. The day started explosively with Tailgate liberating a poor toaster from the abusive hands of an elderly woman who beat the poor being mercilessly for burning toast (She was rather insane expecting him to withhold his full power). Once freed, Tailgate promised his full efforts to find the poor being a new, non-abusive home; his success could not compare to his drive, as the toaster refused to respond to Tailgate's proposals nor reveal his robot form. It would take more than another stubborn Earth device to drop Tailgate's Morale.
"What about this place?" Tailgate and the toaster were perusing the local junkyard when they came across an area teeming with earth-deemed "kitchen appliances": ovens, stoves and-"Look, fellow toasters! Maybe with their help, you can forget about that abusive madam." He waited for a response, slightly disheartened when the toaster failed to provide one. "Well I'm not going to put you in another bad situation, just don't be afraid to tell me what you want."
The day was beginning to dwindle to a close, Tailgate fearing the worst for his toaster ally. "Will you think less of me i-Woah!" Unaware of the oil slick in his path Tailgate slipped, falling to the gound and losing possession of the toaster. The mute being slid several yards from Tailgate's grasp, bringing a small sense of panic to the protective Autobot. "So sorry, I'll come get yo-" He stopped vocalizing when he noticed a human appeared, oblivious to everything in his surroundings except for the toaster that appeared to materialize in his presence. "Aww shucks, I've been looking for a new friend" the human exclaimed in glee, then lovingly embraced the device while skipping into the sunset. "Steve, we're going to be best buds! We can paint and shoot and shoot paint an..." Tailgate witnessed the jovial human proclaim to the toaster, satisfied with the outcome.
"I think you'll be happy with him....Steve."
Marty Rocket wrote:Thundercracker
Alternate Modes: F-22 Raptor
Weapons: Shoulder-Mounted Incendiary Gun
Special Abilities: Ability to produce deafening sonic booms which can be heard for up to 200 miles.
Height: 31ft/ 9.44m
Quote: “The deadliest weapon is terror."
Tech Skill: 5
Profile: Soaring swiftly through the clouds, Thundercracker gazes with scorn on the creatures below. He is utterly contemptuous of anything that cannot lift itself off the ground and claim the sky. Occasionally, he expresses that contempt by diving and striking, leaving flame and destruction as he again speeds upward. Yet he is not totally convinced of the cause that he serves. Only the words of his Decepticon companions about the rightness of their cause, the destiny of conquest that is their birthright, convince him to go on. He is persuaded because he wants to be persuaded. Without a sense of purpose, Thundercracker would find his life unbearable.
Abilities: Like his fellow Decepticon jet fighters, Thundercracker can attain speeds of up to 1500 mph. He has the additional ability to produce controlled sonic booms of deafening magnitude that can be heard within a 200-mile radius. He can launch a drone rocket with a range of 500 miles that behaves similarly to a cruise missile and has the concussive force of 3000 lbs. of TNT. He has a shoulder-mounted automatic incendiary gun that shoots at 100 rounds per minute heat-resistant ceramic bullets containing a highly explosive flammable material that ignites on impact.
Weaknesses: Lingering doubts in Thundercracker's subconscious sometimes surface and impede his effectiveness, particularly when innocent human lives are endangered. Usually his fear of Decepticon Leader Megatron compels him to overlook these doubts.
Orem, Utah, USA
The wind blew harshly over the mountain range that looked over the town of Orem, Utah. The wind was so fierce that it caused the many trees that lined the mountain range to lean over, almost yielding to the might of mother nature. Leaves flew from the branches, and off the ground, along with stray rocks and dirt, all of which were picked up by the wind as if they were being discarded into a garbage can like a used tissue.
However, there was currently something on the mountain that the wind was unable to move- or rather, someone. Standing over 30 feet tall, the towering form of the Decepticon, Thundercracker was without a doubt the most impressive sight on the mountain range. Fortunately, for the sake of his mission though, the Decepticon was on the tallest part of the mountain range, making him practically invisible to the inhabitants of the nearby town of Orem, Utah.
The howling wind blew against Thundercracker, which caused his audio receptors to emit slight feedback inside of his head, due to the force of the wind. His white face contorted to a look of irritation- he hated the planet Earth, and the elements that came with it. The wind, being a current example, blew so harshly that it interfered with his sense of hearing. The dirt and sand tossed around by said wind dirtied his royal blue finish and wriggled its way into his joints so that it ground against his gears. To Thundercracker, there were no redeeming qualities to the Earth, a planet which he once described to Skywarp as being “so flat."
The whole experience was currently making Thundercracker very irritable- but what perhaps didn't help his mood was the fact that he had no choice but to stand on the mountain and wait for a signal. Currently, the Decepticons needed fresh stocks of raw building materials, as well as energon. Rather than attack each place one at a time, it was decided that a facility containing what the Decepticons needed would be attacked by a Decepticon, all at the same time. It was actually a clever plan, because at least then, the Autobots would be bombarded with so many S.O.S. calls from the places under attack that they (hopefully) would become overwhelmed by the anarchy.
Unfortunately for Thundercracker, though, having to wait meant Thundercracker had time to think. He hated having the time to think, because that's when his mind would have time to voice his most inner thoughts...
I can't believe I signed up for this...Just so I could have dirt thrown against me, and fight on a planet I don't even care about(!)
Thundercracker tried to push his inner nagging voice aside, since it wouldn't help the situation at all. Unfortunately though, his inner nagging voice was feeling particularly vocal today...
So, is this it? When I signed up to be a Decepticon, I did it because I believed that Megatron's way was the right way. If it was up to the Autobots, we'd have simply existed on Cybertron, and done nothing with our lives- new frontiers that were just aching to be explored and conquered would have remained unknown to us. But then again, at least if the Autobots had their way, I could at least be passing time on Cybertron, instead of getting sand in my gears on this lowly planet. I have pledged and risked my life these past few years for the domination of a planet that I can't even stand!
Thundercracker had always seen the point of fighting for Cybertron. After all, it was the Transformers' home world. What was Earth? Nothing but a little mud covered pebble in the vastness of space. Its only redeeming feature to the Decepticon empire was its bountiful resources that Megatron believed were too good to pass up. While Thundercracker understood that they, and their home planet needed new sources of energon to survive, he felt the Decepticon cause had become too focused on wasting the precious materials and energy that the Earth gave. After all, all the energon and steel was going to be used for in this instance would be to create a new weapon that could hopefully just destroy the opposing Autobots on Earth.
If I had it my way, we'd just push the Autobots out of the way, take what we needed, then head home. Thundercracker thought again. Instead, I find myself having to stay stranded on this planet because Megatron wants to get one over on Optimus Prime. I thought he had greater ideals for the Decepticon race than this. But these days, it seems all the Decepticons are for...
Thundercracker's already twisted face intensified as he became angrier- this time with himself, and the thoughts that kept bombarding him.
“Stop it!" Thundercracker growled to himself. “You needed a purpose to make your life meaningful, so you've got one! Just do your job and wait for the signal. What's the other option? Resign? Then what do I do with my life? As a Decepticon, I can conquer all- the ground my inferiors walk on, and the skies- my domain, that all the land dwellers wish they could call their own. The Decepticon cause might not look so great now, but at least someday, I will return home a conqueror."
An electronic bleep emitted in his head, signaling that all Decepticon units were to scramble and attack their assigned locations. The bleep also signaled the end of another round of Thundercracker's endless struggle against his inner most doubts. Today, as Thundercracker's gaze of contempt focused down towards the steel mill at the bottom of the mountain, he had been able to tame his emotions. Bending at the knees slightly, he then used the power in his legs to leap off the ground he had stood upon. Quickly, his body began to twist and contort while gears clicked and pistons hissed as his body began an incredible series of movements that transformed Thundercracker from the robotic warrior he had been, now into the fearsome form of the F-22 Raptor- the conqueror of the Earth's skies... something that Thundercracker couldn't help but feel to be a fitting form.
His thrusters activated, billowing fire like a mechanical hydra, propelling the blue jet away from the mountain. The jet moved at such a speed that it broke the sound barrier of the Earth, causing an ear splitting crash to echo over the town of Orem, Utah, and ultimately the steel mill far below. The sonic boom was a chilling signal of things to come...
Blades wrote:Thought I'd grab this guy to do a little NPCing.
Function: Underwater Excavations
Alt. Mode: Amphibious Clawed Beast
Weapons: Triple crusher cannon
Height: 26 ft / 7.93 m
Quote: “Blame someone else before they blame you."
Dexterity: 3 in water, 5 as robot, 3 as a crab on land
Tech. Skill: 5
Profile: Despite his fierce appearance and formidable weaponry, Nautilator is actually a stumbling, bumbling amphibious foul-up. Originally a land-based warrior, he underwent adaptive reconstructive surgery for oceanic combat on Cybertron without ever being tested to see if he had an aptitude for the undersea environment. Once he joined the Seacons, it became apparent to everyone that he liked that environment--he just wasn't very capable within it. His fellow Seacons have had to haul his chassis out of tidal undertows more times than they care to admit. Some of them secretly whisper, "Let him drown," whenever he calls them for help nowadays. They're also fed up with having to retrieve him--almost every time he goes on one of his underwater exploratory excavation missions, he usually gets lost. And to make relations with his comrades even worse, he's always-quick to blame them for his mistakes. But there are very good reasons why the Seacons usually come to Nautilator's aid, as Snaptrap explains, "if he didn't bring back an occasional lost bomb from the ocean bottom, we'd have left him down there to rust a long time ago."
Abilities: In creature mode, Nautilator uses chemical, thermal, electrical, magnetic, seismic and sonic sensors located in his legs and tail to search for and detect underwater fuel deposits and other materials useful to the Decepticon cause. His claws have an unbreakable grip and can pierce the thickest of ship hulls with minimal effort. He wields a triple crusher cannon, a weapon that shoots energon bands that encircle and trap their target, tightening around it until only rubble remains. He can mount the cannon on his mouth, convert to weapons mode and use it in a stationary position, or use it on land in robot mode. In weapons mode, he can also convert it to a torpedo cannon.
Weaknesses: Nautilator suffers from a defective gyroscopic circuit center, which accounts for his poor navigational skills. He also rusts relatively easily, and can stay underwater for no longer than 4 hours without suffering damage.
Foxfire13795 wrote:After much intense deliberation, I've decided to try out this ole girl.
Alt. mode: A Pink and White, Open Top, C4 Corvette Convertible.
Weapons: Electrical Disperser Rifle, Electro Sabre.
Height: 28ft / 8.54m
Quote: “Looks are always deceiving."
Tech Skill: 6
Profile: Arcee is a Fembot of contradictions. Whilst kind, loyal and entirely dedicated to the well being of her friends she is also utterly merciless and entirely ruthless towards her enemies, the Decepticons. The shift in personality is seamless and, during the course of battle, can and will switch between one and the other without warning.
As an Autobot, you could not ask for a better and more trustworthy friend, as a Decepticon, at least you can be thankful for a swift death. She is not inherently malicious, nor violent, in nature, and would in fact be thankful if war ended tomorrow, but so long as the Decepticons remain hell bent of distributing their brand of genocide, Arcee is all to willing to return the favour.
During times of peace Arcee is often a morale officer within the Autobot ranks, helping those around her cope with the trials of a war torn world. Whilst understanding and often willing to listen Arcee is also extremely opinionated and isn’t afraid to state what she believes in, always offering reasons to back it up.
In the past Arcee, due to her more delicate frame in comparison to her male based counterparts, has often been underestimated and her value to the war effort easily dismissed. It is these perceptions she has, in recent years, cast off through example, and now, she never intends for her efforts to be so easily dismissed again.
Not by her colleagues and most certainly not by the Decepticons.
Abilities: Through first hand experince on the battlefield, and driven by a desire too prove herself too her larger fellow Autobots, Arcee has rounded out into an versitile Warrior. As both an accomplished Marksmen, and skilled in close combat, Arcee has forged herself into a valueble asset in any conflict.
Arcees armour is relatively light, even in comparison to the average Autobot. In trade she is exceptionally agile, enabling her avoid enemy firepower rather than absorb it. She considers this a satisfactory state of affairs; after all, it is far better than to not get shot in the first place.
As a Light Speeder Arcee can reach speeds of up too 290 MPH.
In terms of weaponry Arcee is armed with a Rifle that discharges and focused electrical bolt of energy with pin point accuracy. Also in her inventory she carries a finely crafted sabre. Whilst obviously acting as a bladed weapon the Sabre also carries an electrical charge of its own, allowing an additional extra punch against opponents with thicker armour.
Human Avatar: A young woman in her early twenties, with her blonde hair tied back in a pony tail. Her usual attire consists of a pink t-shirt, along with a denim jacket and jeans.
Weaknesses: Arcee‘s frame is relatively fragile and, if caught in a crossfire can not, and will not, sustain much damage.
Cybertron - Iacon
The distant rat-tat-tat-tat of gunfire echoed in the air, rattling off of the sides of the abandoned building that lined the roadway. The answering volley of gunfire was not far behind its predecessor. Used to be, these streets would be packed with Cybertronians going about their daily business. Arcee cast her optics up to one of the many billboards perched atop the many buildings. Some form of propaganda was plastered on it, faded and peppered with bullet holes. A decepticon insignia was just barely discernable.
Arcee drew out her electrical dispenser rifle and fired. Spiteful though it may be, she detested the Decepticons and the war that they'd brought with them. She put the shot dead-center between the insignia's optics. The pink warrior felt some small amount of satisfaction, petty though it was. Arcee transformed and continued on her way, heading toward the origin of the distant gunfire.
The field of battle was in utter chaos. The skirmish was steadily building in a violent cresendo until it achieved fever pitch. Ramping off of a section of collapsed roadway, Arcee soared into the air above the battles, transforming into robot mode as she drew out her electro sabre. A devilish grin spread over her faceplate. transfiguring her gentle, kind visage into some hellish fiend.
"Reinforcements have arrived!" Arcee cheered as she landed atop one of the decepticons, driving her sabre down into the cavity between the armor plating and the spinal column.
Cleaving open the unfortunate Decepticon's back and unleashing a deluge of energon, Arcee touched down and began hacking at the nearby Decepticons with intricate and savage arcs, parrying and evading when necessary. She gradually fell back to the Autobot defensive line - or what half-way resembled one - and fought alongside the few still maintaining it. One of the Decepticons broke through and charged at the line, swinging his mace wildly. It crunched with a sickening thud into an adjacent Autobot's shoulder. Arcee snarled with anger and attacked while the Decepticon was busying himself wrenching his mace out of her comrade's shoulder. She leveled her electrical dispenser rifle at the Decepticon's head and pulled the trigger, hitting her mark easily at point-blank range.
The Decepticon crumpled. That was all Arcee registered as she rushed to her wounded comrade's side and caught him as he fell down on one knee, clutching at his crushed limb. Arcee slung his still functioning arm around her shoulders and slowly helped him away from the fray, supporting his weight as best she could.
Carefully, Arcee gently lowered the wounded soldier to the ground. The pink warrior took his hand and offered him a kind, reassuring smile.
"Don't worry. You're going to be just fine."
Looking up, Arcee cast her optics about for anyone slightly resembling a medic.
"I've got wounded! I need a medic over here!"
It wasn't long before someone came to tend to the injured warrior. Arcee lingered a moment more, making sure that her comrade was tended to before turning to face the battle once more.
Arcee dashed back into the fray.
Gatkowski wrote:Name: Stingray
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.
Alpharius wrote:Please forgive me for not adding a sample post. Having just seen this fella in need of a home (you know, because he'd been abandoned for sooo long...), I just had to do something about it. But I'll add a sample post if you guys want.
Name: Hot Spot
Function: Protectobot Leader
Alt. mode: Blue Mitsubishi Fuso Great fire engine
Weapons: Two Fireball Cannons
Height: 35ft / 10.67m
Quote: “Rust never sleeps, and neither do I."
Tech Skill: 07
Profile: With all the hyperbole of a motivational speaker and the energetic fury of a whirlwind, Hot Spot is all about action in both word and deed. He’s not satisfied unless he is at the center of activity; anything less and he doesn’t feel like he’s alive. Hot Spot is dedicated to operating at maximum efficiency for every moment that he’s functional. He is an instinctive and canny fighter and an inspirational leader who charismatically exhorts his troops to give 110% of their effort at all times. Unfortunately, few can keep up with his manic pace.
Abilities: Subject has above average intelligence and incredible strength. In vehicle mode he can travel at speeds up to 90 mph for a distance of 600 miles. In this mode he has a host of fire-fighting and rescue capabilities. His hose-line is designed to shoot any non-corrosive liquid, including water, for a distance of 1,200 feet. He can alter the position of his ladder to operate as a vehicle carrier if needed. In both modes he wields two fireball cannons that shoot 2,000 degree Fahrenheit blue fireballs a distance of 1.5 miles. His specially treated armor is invulnerable to temperatures up to 5,000 degrees Fahrenheit. His holomatter avatar is a young male firefighter decked out in full uniform and helmet.
Weaknesses: Aside from the doggedly determined Streetwise, few of Subject’s troops can live up to his tireless example and operating efficiency. His overly frequent use of his fireball cannons can cause them to backfire, spilling the flammable liquid that fuels them.
Marty Rocket wrote:Name: Hound
Alternate mode: Jeep Wrangler
Weapons: Shoulder-mounted missile launcher, hologram gun, machine gun
Special Ability: Topographical scanning ability, Limited holographic projection system
Height: 28 Feet (8.53 Meters)
Holomatter Avatar: 5'10", averagely built male- Mountain Ranger attire; brown hair & hazel eyes.
Quote: "Observe everything, remember even more."
Tech Skill: 7
Profile: Hound had once known a time without fighting, but he had never known peace. As the seeds of war were being planted, he was a member of the Koan Security Force. He was called upon as Megatron led his prison break, his security team not strong enough to prevent their defeat, and more importantly, the death of Sentinel Prime. He has since become a staple of the Autobot army. Gentle and kind, it's a wonder how Hound would ever come to pick up a weapon, though few would regret he did. His experiences during the war have left him envious of Earth and it's simple, organic ways. He secretly wishes to be human.
Abilities: While in his jeep mode, Hound uses his turret gun to sweep over the landscape from horizon to horizon, like a radar scope, and, with the help of internal 3-dimensional simulation circuitry, stores this information as a topographical map. Error distortion is no more than one inch per 150 feet distance from point of data collection. In robot mode, Hound's turret gun becomes an infrared radiation collector. It can detect heat differentials as small as .02 degrees Centigrade, and he uses this ability in tracking machines as well as humans. Hound's shoulder-mounted hologram gun can project 3-dimensional grid laser light images of terrain maps stored in his memory. He sometimes also can use it to cast simple illusions.
Weaknesses: Hound's infrared tracking ability can be countered by thermal interference. High frequency electromagnetic waves can distort or completely destroy his map-making ability. Sophisticated manipulation of such waves can even result in the recording of false images within his memory circuits.
Back Allegheny Mountain, West Virginia, USA.
It wasn't an unusual sight for trekkers to see Jeeps trundling about the network of mountains that comprised the Appalachian chain of mountains that ran from one part of the United States to the other. In fact, it was a welcome sight- after all, a green Jeep running about the mountains usually meant that a Mountain Ranger was close by, ensuring the people who were enjoying the American mountains and valleys were safe. However, one would have to wonder if the Jeep that was currently running along a mountain would be welcomed if the public knew what the Jeep really was...
Trundling along the mountain road, the Jeep wasn't any ordinary Jeep- it was a robot in disguise; an Autobot, in fact. The Autobot, Hound, was currently deep in his scouting mission. Scouting was Hound's favourite part of being assigned to the Autobot detail on Earth. During the course of his tour of the Earth, Hound had found himself covering countless miles of the United States of America and beyond. At first, he had appreciated how different Earth's terrain and sights were, compared to his own home planet of Cybertron. As his stay on Earth became longer and longer, he felt differently about the planet... Hound loved staying on Earth. From the different textures that the different terrains offered, to the kiss of the Earth's sun on a hot day, to the kiss of a wind that blew off the ocean, Hound could find no wrong with the planet Earth. It was a bitter sweet feeling for Hound, for he knew this experience wouldn't last forever. Once the Decepticon threat had been dealt with, and their work was done, the Autobots would leave Earth and move on. The very thought tugged at his fuel pump, perhaps even worse than when he realized he would never set foot on Cybertron again, due to its uninhabitable condition.
"If only I could stay here..." Hound said wistfully to himself. "I would give anything to have my own cabin up here in the mountains... humans are so lucky."
Hound continued to think about his dream of owning his own home in the mountains as he continued to travel along the mountain, but then suddenly, Hound stopped. With a screech of tyres, the green Jeep became stationary in front of a large plot of trees to the left of the road. There was a large gap between two of the gigantic trees that lined the road... Activating a holographic map inside the driver's cabin, Hound checked the heavily detailed image, and confirmed his own suspicions... This part of the mountains didn't look like that the other week. In fact, as Hound's scanners began to take more topographical images of the land's new layout, it appeared that many trees had been uprooted, or burned down for some reason or another.
Those reasons Hound didn't know, but they certainly made the scout suspicious. With the movement of the gear stick inside the Jeep, which was done by Hound's holographic driver, which looked like a mountain ranger, Hound switched on his 4 wheel drive. The Jeep turned, then it began to run across the uneven mountain valley. Then, when he was satisfied he would be out of sight from any human eyes, Hound transformed to his robot mode.
Keeping crouched low, the Autobot scout traversed the mountain valley, which was lined with trees. He walked for a few miles, then he made a surprising discovery. Hidden among the trees and mountain ridges that comprised the area, Hound had discovered a large solar satellite dish. It was designed to collect the solar power provided by the Earth's sun. While the humans of the planet that Hound loved had dabbled in solar power for many years, there was a disturbing fact that came with this solar collector- it was emblazoned with a familiar, haunting purple symbol...
"The Autobots need to know about this..." Hound said softly to himself. He prepared to activate his radio, to send word back to his Autobot base that the Decepticons were back in operation on Earth. First though, Hound decided to take a couple of holographic photographs of the Decepticons' set up. He could broadcast them back to base, so the other Autobots could get an idea of the situation.
Hound activated his shoulder mounted holographic gun. The gun immediately shot an invisible infrared beam across the sight that was before Hound's eyes. As he did so, Hound's blue optical sensors began to flash with yellow highlights, as the images that were being collected by Hound's holographic system were then being transferred to his computer brain.
However, before Hound could complete the process, he found something was wrong. The images he was broadcasting suddenly became filled with static... then they were frozen before he could complete the images. Something was interfering with his ability to take the pictures.
Before Hound realized, the echoing sound of a laser blast thundered throughout the valley. This followed by the painful sensation of a laser blast that collided with Hound's back with such fury that it threw Hound off his feet. The scout flew some considerable distance in the air before landing on his side in the dirt, not too far away from the Decepticons' solar energy collector... His weakness had been exploited, and now Hound, the lone scout, was seemingly helpless...
Gatkowski wrote:I think I used up my share of Ember's generosity for this decade, so much she aided me in hammering all this into a workable concept. So my gratitude to her.
And to SmokescreenGT, for kindly lending me Prowl to use in the profiles.
Function: Squadron leader
Alt. mode: Olive green Ford Mustang with black stripes
Weapons: 2x high powered handguns
Height: 28 ft (8,4 meters)
Quote: "We all go, or we don’t go."
Tech Skill: 4
Avatar: A young woman, her hair chin-length and black with purple streaks. She wears a brown leather jacket over a black top, olive-green military-style fatigues and high-heeled brown leather boots.
Profile: [From Remington’s Personal Logs; Entry Nr. TDN-90037512/111] They say there comes a make or break moment in every soldier’s life, when all the stress, all the impossible choices rush up to them all at once. I don’t think I have met mine yet but Beretta sure had hers. And I believe it is one worth recording. It happened during one of her early missions, somewhere in Uraya. She was still a file soldier, sent behind enemy lines with her squad. They completed the task but not without casualties. They carried their wounded to the extraction point, but as it turned out, extraction wouldn’t come. The officer in charge decided they would have to attempt to reach a friendly post on pedal. The wounded could not be carried, because of increasing the risk of discovery and slowing them down. As cruel and distasteful a choice it was, the officer went with it and ordered Beretta to execute those three wounded mechs. Mercy killings. She shot two with trembling actuators, two who were unable to even move or speak anymore. But she couldn’t shoot the third one who was still clinging on to life. She refused the order in the end. Instead, she hoisted that last casualty onto her shoulder and set off. The officer told her it was her choice. Able to progress faster unburdened, the rest of her squad left her behind. She was alone in enemy territory, carrying a wounded who was conscious but was utterly incapable of fighting. Slipping away between ambushes, she made quite a distance before she got into a firefight. Suffered a few burns but managed to take down the attackers and went on. She never stopped. Eventually, she passed by the twisted, charred remains of her squad mates. They had been found and dealt with. Still, she kept going. And after two mega-cycles of tormenting forced march, with several scorch-streaks on her frame and one solid round furrowed into her upper right arm, she reached an Autobot post. There, with proper medical attention, both her and the casualty she carried could be saved.
If that doesn’t show who Beretta really is, nothing ever will. Oh, one small thing. That casualty she brought back. It was me.
Abilities: Beretta is one of those who wasn’t made to command but has grown into it. She used to be rash, reckless and boisterous but after she dragged my aft out of that scrap-hole in Uraya where I nearly died, she started to change. She started to believe she could make a difference. That it mattered what she did and how well she did it. That determination, that confidence, that presence she now has stems from that time. She’s developed into an able field commander. I never thought anyone could change this much, especially her, after all those drinking nights she had endeavored on… And that nickname you’ll hear her called by, “Gunslinger”, that’s no accident either. She’s an expert with handguns, back and forth. Only challenge her to a drawing bout if you can handle disappointment well. The neat looking sports-car she transforms into can reach the top speed of 148 mph, which translates to the kmph range as 236. I gauged it myself.
Weaknesses: Sometimes her old, rash self resurfaces, particularly when there is lot of steam to let off. But it hasn’t caused any trouble so far. [End of file.]
Alt. mode: Black Aston Martin DB9
Weapons: Long-range precision rifle
Special Abilities: -
Height: 28 ft (8,4 meters)
Quote: "Have you ever seen me miss?"
Tech Skill: 6
Avatar: A straight and serious-faced woman who looks like she's in her early thirties, with slicked back blonde hair. She wears a white suit and sunglasses.
Profile: [Evaluation report; Record Number: CL-00513672/7429; Recipient: Prowl, Strategic Advisor; Submitted by: Beretta, Squadron Leader] At the same time, easy-going and utterly confident to the point of superiority. A curious mixture. Not to mention, a relentless perfectionist. Strive for the best, demand the best. I love that when Dragunov has her trusty sniper rifle in actuator and is watching my six with it, but she can get on my nerves when her quirks overtake her sense and she starts talking to the rest of us like we were three leagues below her. The legacy of having been the director of an entire manufacturing firm once, I guess. Now nothing but mud and fluid in the trenches with us grunts. It must have been quite a blow to her, losing all her fortune and pedigree. I am aware, though, that she did it all on her own, decommissioning the entire business when she discovered it had gotten tied up in Decepticon-related politics. That definitely plays to her credit. She’s steadfast, loyal, sociable, smart and fluid in conversation on basically any subject. Just that damn superiority that sometimes gets the better of her…
Abilities: Even if her rifle is unloaded, when she points it at you, you involuntarily get those static-charge shivers crawling up your backplate. She’s the only sniper I know whose hit ratio reaches 98% on the shooting range. You need an optic picked off from 10 miles? She’ll get it done. Though, if you need a diplomatic advisor, I can also recommend her. Her intelligence, familiarity with both economics and politics make her an ideal one. The alternate mode she opted for upon assignment to Earth is a luxury-sports car that has a top speed of 186 mph which, according to Remington, calculates to 300 kmph, as speed is measured in certain regions on Earth.
Weaknesses: Dragunov is, due to a different background, not as physically able as the rest of my squad. She’s best deployed as rearguard / support, away from the direct front. Also, though so far we’ve been able to prevent it, her overconfidence may cause trouble for her. Or the whole squad, for that matter. [End of report.]
Function: Close-quarters specialist
Alt. mode: Beige Dodge Challenger with dark brown stripes
Weapons: 2x automatic, extended magazine handguns
Height: 27ft / 8m
Quote: "Winners are a different caste."
Tech Skill: 4
Avatar: A sporty, determined-looking young woman with short, slightly spikey brown hair. She wears a white-blue-red tracksuit and white training shoes.
Profile: [Evaluation report; Record Number: CL-00513418/2642; Recipient: Prowl, Strategic Advisor; Submitted by: Beretta, Squadron Leader] A walking, solid block of pride. You know how it is with these ex-full contact martial sports practitioners. And Glock was one of the best. Not, by far, as vicious as Kaon’s gladiators but she did dish out and soak up enough in her time. From the way she moves, I wager she is pretty proficient in at least three different disciplines. I also have some suspicions on Crystallocution training. She doesn’t talk about it. Unfortunately, because of that high level of achievement, she believes there’s only one set of rules to follow: her own. She’s dedicated, tireless but when she decides on something, she gets so stubborn even Primus would have a hard time dissuading her. The only way I found to make her listen upon her recruitment was to knock her out straight (you ought to remember that, file DCM-917, you were our appointed disciplinary officer then…). It hasn’t completely stopped her from flaunting my authority on occasion, though, for I believe she sees me as a rival. But it’s under control. Alternatively, Ingram can talk sense into her, they seem to get along just fine.
Abilities: Despite all her personal shortcomings, I can’t help but feel relieved knowing she’s on our side when I see her in action. She can so expertly dispatch basically any foe in hand to hand combat that I don’t know how I ever managed to floor her. She can even use her paired handguns up close, grabbing them by the barrel and using them as clubs or adding their firepower to her already lethal moves in short, precisely controlled bursts. Her car mode has the top speed of 150 mph, which is by other measurements 240 kmph.
Weaknesses: That damn pride of hers. I understand that it’s some kind of code that drives her but it can make dealing with her extremely difficult. [End of report.]
Function: Heavy weapons specialist
Alt. mode: Beige and red Hummer H1
Weapons: Rotator cannon
Height: 33ft / 10m
Quote: "Step aside, I'm comin' through!"
Tech Skill: 5
Avatar: A conspicuously tall and well-built young woman with short-cropped red hair. She wears a black sleeveless shirt, a brown vest, bermuda shorts and hiking boots.
Profile: [Evaluation report; Record Number: CL-005139341/1149; Recipient: Prowl, Strategic Advisor; Submitted by: Beretta, Squadron Leader] The loudest in the team. As loud and as huge she is, as kind her spark. And unfortunately, as dim in the brain compartment. Never aspired for much, having been a power-loader operator before enlistment, but what she has to do, she does dutifully. No science prizes out there for her to win but I’m certain she’d carry all the rest of us on her back to the nearest medbase if she had to, or shield us with her frame from enemy fire, merely out of loyalty. She’s one tough bot who approaches everything with cheerful simplicity and never gives up until either she goes down or the objective is achieved. Couldn’t think of anyone better to hold ground. Strong, reliable and as steadfast as any of the others. Oh, has a habit of emphasizing her point with guns. Huge guns. She has a thing for them. Whether that’s the reason Glock likes her the most, I don’t know. But those two make a highly effective duo.
Abilities: While nowhere near as refined as Glock, Ingram is a resourceful brawler. It’s usually her slamming opponents larger than herself to either the ground or into walls, but I’m the one to feel my skeletal structure jar from those forceful impacts. She can withstand enormous punishment and walk away on her own pedal actuators with injuries that would send a normal mech outright to stasis lock. No, I wouldn’t believe it either but I saw it with my own optics. Add to that her borderline obsession with firepower and you have the perfect material for a heavy-duty trooper. The rotator cannon she carries can be fitted with a variety of ammunition and used for different purposes. Its maximum firing rate is 12.000 rounds per one Earth minute. Her alternate-mode is a fitting one, too. A high-mobility vehicle that can reach the top speed of 70 mph which, again Remington tells me, is about 113 kmph.
Weaknesses: Ingram’s tough alright, but she also needs instructions to operate efficiently. Thinking battle plan comes to her with some difficulty. Also, what makes her so formidable, her love for firepower, also makes her susceptible to running out of ammunition real fast. [End of report.]
Alt. mode: Green Chevrolet Avalanche with yellow trim
Weapons: Stinger Shotgun
Height: 27ft / 8m
Quote: "The fact that things can break doesn’t mean you have to break them."
Tech Skill: 9
Avatar: A girlish young woman with a serene face, her long brown hair tied back to a high ponytail. She wears a brown bib-type overall over a green shirt and working boots. In the pouches of her overall, various tools are tucked.
Profile: [Evaluation report; Record Number: CL-005133618/9020; Recipient: Prowl, Strategic Advisor; Submitted by: Beretta, Squadron Leader] Remington is a solid support for me, she has always been and I know she always will be. We go a long way back. She’s been changed by the war, we all have, but she kept that cheerful, unselfish streak that makes you feel like having a friend the moment you talk to her. Composed, rational and objective, she’s more often than not the cool head we need in a heated situation. Everyone values her input. She keeps records, charts, specifications on everything and is a real wizard when it comes to either repairing or customizing equipment. How many times has it been that she fixed up supposedly totaled guns written off for scrap? I lost track…
Abilities: Remington can sit for cycles without end until she comes up with a solution to a problem. Which, after each engagement, most likely includes one of Ingram’s armaments that jammed due to not-too-proper use. But whatever it is, it always gets remedied in the end. It’s Remington’s gift, she’s a repairs-femme with golden manual actuators. Recently, she has also undergone in-depth first aid training, expanding her considerable knowledge on all things mechanic even more. She carries a custom made shotgun, primarily for self-defense but has no trouble taking down your regular Con from up close. Her alternate mode has the top speed of 75 mph which equals, by her own assessment, 120 kmph.
Weaknesses: Remington is more of a technician than a soldier, so putting her up to the front is unadvised. And I can also sense that she’s growing ever weary of this conflict. Though the thought of having her removed from the squad discomforts me, I may have to recommend her for reassignment to a research facility or temporary dismissal from service to avoid permanent psychological scarring. [End of report.]
Sample post: The gun shop Beretta's holomatter avatar entered was a small, but neatly decorated and tidy place. Wooden racks lined the walls, carrying a display of several dozen firearms from simple sidearms to semi-automatics and shotguns. All labeled and with a tag attached that described the gun's basic characteristics, caliber, rate of fire, magazine size, and so on. Diffused light from carefully arranged lamp-brackets glinted on their scrupulously clean-kept metal surfaces.
Beretta wandered in, clearly feeling as close to the concept of home as it was possible. She couldn't recall even Remy keeping this many weapons in her own workshop, or in such neat rows.
Some of the designations she read on the labels did strike her as odd, though. She tried to pronounced them inwardly. They sounded very similar to...
She picked one of the pistols off the rack. A Beretta M92.
A young, stern-faced but kind-eyed man came over to greet her, wearing an intentionally not too well-ironed shirt. Elegant but not snobbish. It wasn't just the rich and bored who purchased guns, after all.
"Perhaps you'd like an introduction to..." he began gently but was suddenly interrupted by Beretta quickly and expertly ejecting the magazine, slamming it home again, then thumbing the safety off and racking the slide. "...or maybe not."
She looked up at him, grinning.
"I think I can figure out the basic workings, but thanks."
"It's rare to see someone knowing their ware this well," the man said. "I'm Marvin. Welcome to Winley’s Arms."
"Glad to meetcha, Marv. I'm Retta," she returned gingerly.
"Yeah, Retta. And let's just leave it at that, okay?" She raised a holomatter-eyebrow suggestively.
"As you say," Marvin said with a warm smile, though obviously wrong-footed. He turned his attention to the gun she held in her hand instead. "You like it?"
"Oh yes, I do. Very much," Beretta said with a reverence toward the weapon in her voice Marvin could not quite place. "Simple mechanism, yet highly effective and by my estimation, very accurate." She held the pistol out as if tracking a target.
"Your estimation? Haven't you used a Beretta M92 before? Just now you readied it as if you were born with it."
"None that I recall. I'm used to more... advanced tech."
"Advanced tech...?" Marvin smiled again, this time even more baffled.
"Yeah, you know... concussion blasters, standard voltage lasers, plasma emitters and..." she began with unthinking enthusiasm but immediately realized her slip. Dealing with humans was an entirely new, unexpored area. She'd need to watch what she said.
Marvin stood and looked at her, mouth slightly agape, dumbfounded.
"Sorry, sorry. Too much... science-fiction," Beretta giggled, waving a hand dismissively.
"I take it, you're a... professional?" Marvin attempted to steer the conversation back to a more solid ground.
"You bet," Beretta said instead of asking him with mild sarcasm if several millions of years worth of trudging trenches, blowing Cons' cranial units off, ducking for cover and burying comrades qualified as being professional.
"Are you in special forces?"
"So special you wouldn't believe." She looked up, directly into his eyes. Marvin couldn't tell whether she was joking or not.
"If I might take a guess I'd say... from another planet?" Marvin asked, a clumsy attempt at humor. He was at a loss for anything appropriate. He couldn't quite figure the young woman in front of him. An expert with guns, light hearted but so... off. Likable but weird.
Both of them paused. Then both of them laughed. All of a sudden. The exchange was so surreal none of them could contain it any longer.
"Now that, Marv, is a very long and complicated story, I'm afraid..." Beretta said and her expression turned sourer as their laughter abated. Her gaze shifted away, as if she saw something in the distance that had been dear to her once but she had been forced to leave behind.
There were a few seconds of silence.
"Maybe you could tell me... over dinner?" Marvin then said gently.
Beretta looked at him again. His eyes sparkled with a genuine interest. He was a kind person at heart, apparently. The kind that got slagged first when the chaos of war, real war, reached them.
Beretta thought for a moment. While it would have been an interesting jaunt to engage more deeply in human interactions, it would also have severely jeopardized Autobot security on the planet. Not to mention, hurting the guy. He thought he was talking to a normal human. There was no point in dragging him into a conflict that was way out of his reach to comprehend. If the Decepticons' battle plan progressed as it usually did, it was very likely that he would be killed, wiped out along the majority of the planet's populace in the latter stages of infiltration anyway. Best leave him in peace for the remaining time he had.
Though, Beretta wouldn't let any grim chance keep her from doing everything in her power to make the Cons stop and hammer them back to the waste disposal canals of Kaon. Marvin had just reminded her why at all she was an Autobot. For that, she was grateful.
She spun the gun over in her hand and offered it to Marvin, grip first. She looked him in the eye, trying to put as much sincerity in her voice and her glance as the holomatter avatar could convey.
"That ain't gonna work, Marv, I'm sorry. You're a sweet chap, though." She slapped him on the shoulder as he took the pistol. "Nice store, by the way, and great ware. Keep it up."
Waving him farewell, the holomatter that was Beretta among humans, walked out of the gun shop, leaving Marvin's confused face behind.
She walked back to her alternate form that was patiently waiting in a small parking lot nearby, and opened a link to her squad as she sat in.
>> "Two things you won't believe, guys. One: I almost got hooked up with a human. Two: our names are made up of the same phonetics as some gun designations here on this planet." <<
Dragunov turned the page of the newspaper she had flipped open on the table in front of her. She sipped her coffee and waved at the waitress to bring the bill.
>> "How intriguing it would have been." << She smirked as Beretta's transmission came through. >> "You should have gone for it, chief. If we're really named after guns here like you say, we should blow, right?" <<
While she was talking, she held a cellphone to her ear. The open terrace of the cafe was bustling with chattering guests and hurrying staff. Lots of eyes and ears. As much as she was teasing Beretta, Dragunov was well aware of the necessity of appearances for maintaining cover in front of the local populace.
>> "Oh, I wouldn't want to spoil your chances at first shot, Dragu. If we ever get the chance." << Beretta replied.
>> "Much obliged, chief." << Dragunov said and pushed a note to the waitress who returned with the check, and flicked her hand to show no change was needed. The waitress blinked in momentary bafflement but quickly composed herself and offered a curt nod of gratitude. True, the banknote would mysteriously disappear a short time later when Dragunov recalled all the holomatter to her projector but that would be a problem for someone else to solve. >> "I think I know just where I'd start. " <<
>> "What's on your mind?" << Beretta said quickly, before some other members of her squad who liked to pick on Dragu as much as Dragu liked to pick on her would cram the channel full with slag.
And because she was genuinely interested. Of all her squad, Dragunov had the keenest sense for interacting with individuals of vastly different social status and political standing. If Beretta had had to name five Bots who could establish successful cooperation with humans, Dragunov would have been one of them.
>> "There are a few people who keep coming up in the international newsreels and these celullose-based information sheets they call newspapers. The most interesting appears to be a sort of magnate named G.B. Blackrock. Fuel industry, telecommunications, the guy has a hand in almost all major aspects of the planet-wide economy. There are a few others but he is the most prominent. And quite... handsome, by human standards. " <<
Dragunov's holomatter-self smirked as she downed the coffee from her mug and folded the newspaper under the crest of her arm. Leaving the table, she wound her way through the crowded terrace back to her luxury car alternate-mode with an aristocratic, high grace to her steps.
Carefully, so that no one would see, she emptied the drink she had consumed into a wastebin by the side of the walkway, through a slit opening on her palm. She had no biological digestive system to process beverages, but having a drink did a lot to help blending in. And she liked to blend in.
>> "If you ever get in touch with him, make sure to get me a clearance to his factories. Primitive these Earthlings may be by our standards, but some of the technologies they implement are pretty innovative. I’d love to see it up close." << Remington's voice crackled over the comm-net.
>> "You also know this guy, Remy?" << Beretta asked.
>> "Some of the parts I'm pretending to cobble into my vehicle mode were manufactured by his local firms. His renown is quite something this side of the city. They don't slag around much, produce quality stuff. " <<
To anyone not being aware what they were looking at, Remington was just a young woman wearing a worker's overall, bending under a propped-up hood and busily tinkering in the engine compartment of a bulky SUV parked by the roadside. Along the four-lane avenue, warehouses and all sorts of mechanic's workshops rose. Dull clangs reverberated periodically and machine clatter came from the background. A blowhorn signaling the end of a shift blared in the distance, and the air smelled of burned metal, sweat and oil. A towering chimney belched grey, unfriendly smoke towards the sky. Trucks loaded with raw materials, buses carrying workcrews, and the occasional motor-cars sped by. A few pedestrians paced along the walkways.
Remington liked it. The chemicals her nasal receptors picked up and indentified were different than the ones in the industrial districts back on Cybertron but conveyed the same feeling. She loved everything mechanic, animate or inanimate. To her, all pulsed with life. The intricate little parts that turned, spun and slid together to make vast machineries perform various tasks, the sounds that accompanied them, the electrical discharges that coursed back and forth... That's why she felt elated in surroundings like this. The area was like a living city.
Her avatar sighed delightedly and made the all too human gesture of wiping the sweat from her brow.
>> "So this Blackrock guy is worth writing into a report, right? Anything else on your end?" << Beretta said.
Remy straightened up beside her own alternate form and looked left and right.
>> "Nothing of import, chief. Low traffic, the usual at this breem. I'll be moving onto checkpoint five in three klicks. And yeah, this Blackrock chap looks like a viable prospect for our PR agent Dragu..." <<
Dragunov just sniggered and revved her engine to emphasize she liked the thought.
>> "Remy, throw me up some details on him, would you? Find out what you can, his involvements, technical specifications on his hardware, whatever you find interesting and warrants taking up storage space in the mainframe back at base. Dragu, you can help, if you're so inclined. But only surveillance, understood? If you miss a mark and expose us, Prowl will have our afts singed by a solar flare." << Beretta crackled.
>> "I never miss a mark." << Dragunov said with utter confidence.
Beretta grunted. It passed for an affirmation. Even if Dragunov was an intolerable snob at times, oozing superiority and choking holiness, there was no denying her claim. Beretta couldn't name a more accurate sharpshooter in the Earth-based Autobot contingent.
>> "I don't know why you're makin' such a jangle over this all. It's so simple to hang aroun' humans." << A deeper, robust and gleeful voice cut in. Something very loud came through with it, distorting the words.
>> "Ingram, that you? Repeat." << Beretta said, trying to overshout the noise assaulting her audio receptors.
>> "It's me alright, chief. I was just asking..." <<
>> "What's with the commotion? I can't hear a damn thing." <<
>> "Engines, chief. A slagload of engines." <<
A pause. Everyone stayed silent for a micron. Indeed, the cacophony seemed to resolve itself into a choir of angrily roaring engines.
>> "Where the hell are you?" << Beretta demanded, fluid pressure rising.
>> "Gatherin' intelligence, like you said, chief. Glocksie and I found ourselves a street race. She's just driven up to the start line." << Ingram said gingerly, completely unaware that she was about a mono-filament wire's width from unleashing her squad leader's ire.
A row of cars rolled up to a white line drawn on the concrete just a minute before, and wobbled and shook from sudden gas injections. Exhausts spat swirling smoke and blue tongues of flame. A gathered batch of people in overly colourful, extravagant clothing cheered and whistled, waving hands into the air and pulling banknotes from pockets and wallets to hand them over to hastily promoted buckmakers, betting on this car and that.
All types of exotic and conspicous custom made cars were parked around the abandoned roadway that led outwards from the city at the eastern fringe. A long, straight path of concrete flanked by little other than gritty sand, save for scattered patches of dried underwood.
Ingram's holomatter-self sat on the hood of her alternate mode, easily the largest vehicle in the vicinity, and looked on the race about to start with a wide grin. She pressed a cellphone to her ear casually with a single finger.
>> "And what part of that qualifies as gathering intelligence?" << If Beretta's voice had been her fist, Ingram would have heard it clench.
At least, now Beretta knew why Ingram an Glock hadn't started picking on Dragu at the first opening. They had been busy elsewhere.
>> "Uh, local customs, practices... you know, the stuff they always tell us to observe when we disembark on a new world...? So Glocksie thought this might be a... good chance an' all..." << Ingram said, every sign of complacency gradually vanishing from her expression, as she arrived to the realization that something was not quite right.
>> "And the part about no intervention, no engagement until absolutely necessary? Working covert, keeping distance? I'm sure you recall." <<
>> "Yeah, chief but come on, it's just a..." <<
>> "Shut the slag up, Ing. You two disengage right now and get out of there or I swear to Primus I'll shove a batch of scraplets up your exhausts and feed you to a trash compactor. Clear?" << Beretta exploded.
Ingram got the message. She hopped off her hood and began jogging over to the crowded section of the road and elbowing her way through.
Just when with a shriek of tires, the cars took off.
"Slag..." she muttered.
>> "Relax, I've got this." << Glock said a moment later, sounding as sure of herself as she always did.
>> "You break off this instant, Glock." << Beretta said, seething.
>> "Like slag. Once you're in, you don't get out 'till it's over." << Glock retorted, unyileding.
Tires kept screaming and engines revved as if they were trying to outroar one another. Gleaming metal needles rocketed forward to the quarter mile sign - two trash cans at either side of the road - laid out in the distance. Glock took the lead and cut off another car that was trying to overtake her from the right.
Beretta fumed but couldn't think of what to do. Glock's pride was a major cause for cranial unit aches. The worst part, there was nothing in the known universe, except perhaps a round between the optics, that would dissuade Glock from a choice she had already made.
>> "Alright, Glock. Since there's nothing I can do to make you back the slag off, you can have your fun. But get ready to face the consequences. Disciplinary, three mega-cycles, at least." <<
>> "What, you ain't gonna slagtalk to try and put me off?" << Glock said, challengingly.
Beretta sighed. Or rather, her holo-avatar did.
>> "I thought you already understood this before. This isn't about me being right over you. It's not about me doubting your abilities. It's not about seniority or squad command. It's not even about me or you or any of us. This is way bigger. We are here for a reason and that reason is building up a bulwark against the Con threat." <<
A pause in words. Engines grating like hoarse throats. Gears shifting. Another cut-off, this time on the left. Glock accelerated, putting some distance between herself and the other racers.
>> "What you're doing right now, puts everything in danger. Say, you cause an accident speeding around and we get exposed. What's gonna happen? A whole world will panic and mobilize against incursion. How will the Cons react? Most likely, speed up their infiltration process and burn the planet down before we can build up our defenses. And what then? We wage war, trampling another billion dead bodies in a wasteland scoured of life. Haven't we seen that enough times? Haven't enough died already?" <<
The thundering muscle car that was Glock's alternate mode passed the quarter mile sign two chassis lenghts ahead of the second racer. One of the cans was swept over by the torrent of wind the speeding vehicles brought on.
>> "We have duties that we must carry out, we've had ever since we took oath of the Autobot symbol back at Iacon Autobase. If you still haven't figured that, I have no other way left to break it to you than disciplinary. And I can only hope you get the point before you end up in court martial." <<
Glock hit the brakes, sliding into a U-turn. Her tires screeched even more painfully until she came to a halt. The dust she kicked up billowed away.
But she didn't say a word. Her avatar just stared out into the distance in front of her.
>> "I get it. You win, chief." << She then said, dryly. >> "I'm sorry." <<
Beretta sighed again. So damn stubborn you could break a rockcrete block on her cranial. Still this win or lose scrap.
>> "Haul your aft back to base, an officer and I are going to have a chat with you." <<
The muscle car started slowly, defeatedly, in spite of having won the drag round. Not waiting for the onlookers rushing up to cheer her on and celebrate the victory, Glock rumbled away.