CorridorsWhen they, at last, arrived at the scene, it seemed the worst of the trouble had passed. Not that Sparkstalker was particularly complaining. Quite the contrary. But still, it did leave the question of what to do with their cadre of Autobot prisoners. Especially, considering their latest orders. With Lord Scorponok bustling past them with purpose, not even bothering to spare them a glance, Sparkstalker’s optics fell on Cyclonus. Best to leave it to a superior’s judgement, and, as the High Commander seemed preoccupied, his second in command would do.
Approaching the two-horned devil with his escort of Insecticons, Sparkstalker cleared his throat and gestured to catch Cyclonus’s optic.
“Cyclonus, sir,” he stated flatly, “These Autobots were caught attempting to escape the mines. May I leave them to your…tender mercies? I thought it prudent to ask rather than begin summary execution.”
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When the battle reached a rather sudden conclusion with the cessation of the gestalt and Scorponok’s arrival, Slog began the business of ensuring that all of his men were on their feet and headed in the right direction. Icepick was the first up and off. Glancing cursorily at Cyclonus who seemed to be left in charge, Slog shrugged and gathered up the rest of his own, making steps to leaving their cage and home for the past four million years.
It was then he noted an innocuous shape scurry over to Icepick’s side. Ah, the femme. He had lost track of her during the conflict with the gestalt. Well, it was good to see that she didn’t seem too damaged. Moving along in their wake, he kept a watchful optic on his own.
Umbra, for her part, was praying to any deity that would listen that she didn’t get seen by someone who knew her true allegiance. Whether that be Bludgeon, the Terrorcons, or even the other Autobots. Stormwrecker would be fine. Stormwrecker could hide her if she positioned herself right. For now, she went to one of her only true allies and friends. Icepick.
“You sure you’re alright? Let me help,” she uttered, trying to keep the edge of fear out of her voice. She was surrounded by Decepticons, and while she seemed like one currently, she really didn’t want to test her position.
“That was…something, huh? Different from you guys,” she muttered, trying to make casual conversation, “I thought my number was up for the umpteenth time this cycle, hah.”
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Deaf to the world.
That was what Blot was as he gnawed on the combiner’s leg. Shouts and orders were completely missed. The only thing that could pierce it was well, his master’s voice, and it currently was in a rage. That meant Blot did not let go for anything. At least, that was his intent. Until a rather painful zap shocked him. The pain was incredible.
So much so that he loosed his grip on the leg as the combiner toppled and went to pieces. He staggered back, dazed. Dizzy. His vision was weird and fuzzy.
It was only when it cleared that he saw his master laying in a heap against a wall. He stumbled toward Hun-Grrr.
“Master…what happened?”
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When Snaptrap heard it, he made way. There was only one thing that sound could be. And lo and behold, it was Lord Scorponok, come to put an end to this farce. He delivered the order to retreat. Their vengeance was nigh. And good riddance. Snaptrap washed his hands of it. This prison. Its prisoners.
Seeing no need to repeat orders issued by the commander, Snaptrap merely approached one of the Technobots, scooping them up and unceremoniously tossing them over a shoulder. He cast a glance over to where Hun-Grrr resided with a cold gleam in his optic. Having to be put down by the commander, how embarrassing.
Turning his attention to the path before him, Snaptrap disappeared down a side corridor, making his way to the hangar with a longer route. He had no intention of being at fault for yet another unplanned gestalt combination. The first was aggravating enough.
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“Primus…” Synapse moaned, cursing his bad luck for the umpteenth time. It was a small miracle that it hadn’t gotten him killed. “Botheration…” Picking himself up off the floor, Synapse walked a few steps forward, dripping energon from his wounds. He did his best to stem the flow of energon. Didn’t want to leave a mess for others to slip on.
It seemed they were off to the hangar now. Lovely, lovely. He mustn’t tarry here then and keep Scorponok and the rest waiting. His vision was oddly fuzzy, but he was sure that he could muddle through. Just keep walking. One foot after the other…
One foot after the other…
One foot…
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Stranglehold had tagged along with Cyclonus. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. Octopunch was all dramatic about it, and that made Stranglehold crack a twisted kind of smile. Yeah. Sure. They were clean up. Nothing fun or glamorous about that. Still, it was like a field day for Octopunch.
“Yeah, yeah, you just wanna pick the scraps clean.”
As they got to where it seemed masses of Decepticons had converged, Stranglehold surveyed it, taking in orders from Cyclonus as they did. Seemed like the Butcher was taking one of the Technobots. Could be fun to lug an Autobot around. He could maul them if they did anything funny.
“Hey, ‘Punch, over here,” he called as he hefted one of them onto his shoulder. “Grab one of these Technos. I saw the Butcher go off a different way with one of ‘em, so we can just carry the rest back the same way.” Grabbing another and tossing them over his shoulder like a sack of parts, he grinned at Octopunch.
“Shame the boss wants them or you could pick them clean for all those high tech gizmos they’re famous for.”