by Light Metal » Fri Jul 31, 2020 7:26 pm
- Motto: "Rule number one: there are no rules."
- Weapon: Double-Barreled Solid Sonic Energy Blaster
Getaway
Allegiance: Autobot
Sub-group: Diplomatic Corps
Function: Shock Trooper
Alternate Modes: White Ford Mustang
Weapons: Double-barreled Plasma Shell Shotgun
Height: 28ft/ 8.54m
Quote: “Run hot, but always keep your cool."
Strength: 4
Intelligence: 8
Dexterity: 8
Speed: 6
Endurance: 10
Courage: 10
Firepower: 6
Accuracy: 8
Melee: 8
Tech Skill: 8
Charisma: 7
Rank: 7
Profile: Getaway is a survivor who uses everything at his disposal to get out of dangerous situations. He’s passionate and daring when it comes to his cause, but his greatest asset is his ability to stay absolutely cool under pressure. In situations that would have other Autobots pulling out their own wires in a panic, Getaway calmly and confidently takes stock of things and weighs the pros and cons of every course of action until he comes up with the optimal solution. He does this so quickly that witnesses just attribute his success to intuition and pure luck, but Getaway knows that neither of those is as useful to a soldier as logic and a little finesse. Although he prefers to think his way out of tough spots, Getaway can also rely on his physical attributes to help him cheat death; in the past, he has been blasted, blown apart, and lost limbs, but still somehow remained functional. Getaway doesn’t mind that his style and toughness have made him a legend, even among Decepticons.
This reputation was born on the battlefield in what has come to be known as the Armornecking Incident: Getaway was leading a routine patrol on the Titanium Turnpike on Cybertron when he and his fellow Autobots momentarily paused to witness a spectacular traffic accident on the other side of the highway. While the Autobots were armornecking (the Cybertronic term for slowing down to see an accident), a troop of Decepticons that had secretly staged the accident swooped down upon them and attacked. The ambush left the Autobots in tatters, leaking fuel and leaving body parts all over the road. Getaway had all four tires blown out, lost vision in his right headlights and most of his left, and lost the use of his plasma-shell shotgun. Despite his condition and the Decepticon barrage, he coolly and cleverly led a tactical retreat to the nearby Polyhex Toll Plaza. The Autobots paid their energon tolls and went through. But, as Getaway suspected, the Decepticons weren't carrying the proper change and tried to pass without paying. This activated the toll gate security system, which snared the Decepticons before they could leave, giving the Autobots the advantage they needed to defeat the Decepticons and Getaway his well-deserved reputation.
Getaway joined the Diplomatic Corps. He also has an escape kit concealed within a hidden compartment in his heel that he can reach even when bound. He also has an accent strikingly similar to the Earthen New Zealand accent.
Abilities: Subject is an expert at tactical and strategic planning, and his fast-working cerebro-circuitry can access this information in mere moments. He is an accomplished lock-pick and escape artist; his uniquely jointed limbs are incredibly flexible and allow him to escape a variety of bonds or physical holds. Subject has average strength, and his main defensive strengths are bulletproof windows and shell-resistant outer armor plating. High endurance and numerous redundant systems in his design allow him to take enormous physical damage and continue functioning. He wields a double-barreled shotgun that shoots explosive plasma shells.
Weaknesses: Subject exhibits no known weaknesses.
Sample post:
Getaway didn’t have much time on his side. He had even less luck. That sounded about right, given the predicament he was in. It didn’t take a genius to solve that equation, but it did take a genius to solve that equation. The difference, while subtle, was vitally important.
But moving along because time can’t be spared any longer.
The Decepticons had him surrounded. The Decepticons, also – and obviously – had him outgunned. Six versus one. Getaway was encased in a circle of death.
They looked quite pleased with themselves, the ‘Cons. Where there were face plates, there were smiles to be found. Big sadistic grins stretching from audio receptor to audio receptor. Yes, these gentlemechs were indeed a happy bunch, and if they could’ve patted each other on the back for trapping Getaway, the shock trooper would’ve placed a hundred thousand shanix on it immediately.
“Hey, slagger!” one of the ‘Cons – who shall now be referred to as Tin Can – shouted. “Ya think you’ll be gettin’ away from us?”
Make that two hundred thousand.
Raucous laughter trailed after the remark. Getaway did his best to suppress a shiver. It was bad enough having a multitude of weapons being aimed at him, let alone having to endure awful puns like that. In all fairness and as an act of justice, the ‘Cons should have turned on their comrade and shot him.
“Well, yes,” Getaway said to Tin Can. “I’ll certainly be taking my leave.” He pointed a digit at the pile of rusty nuts. “And it’ll begin with you, my dear friend.”
They weren’t sure how to interpret that. It was too serious, too matter-of-fact. It contrasted to the situation like passing clouds enveloping the sun, thieving the brightness of the day. Getaway knew what happened when Decepticons didn’t understand things all that well. They tended to let their bullets do the speaking for them.
So moving along.
He’d already assessed and created his escape route. It was going to cost him some pain, but for a lot of freedom, the price was still considered to be a bargain.
What the shock trooper had said before was true: it began with the superbly clever Tin Can. And once he’d been disposed of, the rest would fall as easily as a straight line of dominoes – one, two, three, four, five, down and out.
“Who wants to see a cool trick?” he asked them.
Again, their interpretive skills failed them. But he was confident they wanted to see a cool trick – everybody wanted to see a cool trick – so Getaway showed them.
Honestly, who didn’t love a good disappearing act?
Dead End
Allegiance: Decepticon
Sub-group: Stunticons
Function: Warrior
Alt. mode: Porsche 911 model year 2011
Weapons: Compressor Air Rifle, Trunk-Mounted Double-Barreled Compressed Air Cannon
Special Abilities: Dead End emanates a radar signal that allows him to detect the movements of any vehicle or robot within a 200-mile radius as well as map surrounding terrain.
Height: 26 ft / 7.93 m
Quote: "We are all just food for rust."
Strength: 7
Intelligence: 6
Dexterity: 8
Speed: 7
Endurance: 7
Courage: 9
Firepower: 5
Accuracy: 7
Melee: 7
Tech Skill: 6
Charisma: 3
Rank: 5
Profile: The most encouraging thing Dead End is capable of saying before combat, is that he hopes he doesn't suffer too much when his inevitable death comes. Pessimism is a way of life for Dead End, whose reliably dour mood has become a source of humour among his fellow Stunticons, particularly the mean-spirited Motormaster. He'll tease Dead End about his incessant moping and bizarrely intense maintenance and beautification routines, which only serves to further crush Dead End's broken spirit. Dead End likes to keep himself looking and feeling perfect so that when the end does arrive, he'll leave an attractive corpse to let everyone know what they'll be missing. He finds conflict pointless since everyone will wind up dead eventually, but he becomes a surprisingly fearless and ferocious fighter when stirred to combat. That's the only time his outlook improves because it focuses Dead End on his desire to live: he may be convinced he'll become inoperative eventually, but he doesn't want to do it anytime soon.
Abilities: Subject possesses significantly above-average strength and above-average intelligence. Once roused to fight, he's a highly effective warrior. As a vehicle, he can reach a top speed of 220 mph. His internal radar system allows him to track the movements of vehicles and robots within a 200-mile radius; he can use the information to map terrain, enemy positions, and troop movements. He can use this knowledge to lead enemy combatants into traps before they can figure out the lay of the land. Subject can deploy a double-barreled compressed air cannon as a vehicle; in robot mode, he uses a handheld compressed air rifle. Even the smaller rifle is capable of delivering 40,000 psi of pressure.
Weaknesses: Subject is extremely difficult to motivate into fighting, often requiring a direct verbal or physical assault (from the Autobots or even Motormaster) before he answers the call to arms.
Sample post:
Faltering his step, another gust of wind whipped Dead End, continuing the merciless succession of lashes slowly but most assuredly stripping the paint from his chassis. Had it not been for the sand, mixed heavily into the gusts, he’d have tolerated the conditions a little better. Emphasis on little; this miserable planet, even minus the vast supply of sand and wind it stocked, was a nightmare manifested from the dark recesses of his mind.
The morose Stunticon sighed and stopped walking. He was determined to prohibit his thoughts – already plunged into the depths of his usual negativity – to descend any further into the abyss. Woeful, indeed, was this mission, and Dead End couldn’t afford to fortify its awfulness by having his mood dictate to him any more than it currently did.
Pressing on, the warrior’s advance was immediately resisted by a strong gust: slapped with its grittiness, he felt it scour him, as if the desert was attempting to erase his presence from its expanse. He sighed, louder this time. That would not surprise him, considering the viciousness of the winds.
“Never mind,” Dead End said. “It doesn’t matter. It does not matter.”
It did, he had to admit, but his concentration was needed elsewhere – specifically here, in this exact spot, as he trekked onwards. He couldn’t see more than a mecha-metre in front of him, so thick was the golden brown sand congesting the air. Swirling and shifting, obscuring then revealing the landscape only to conceal it again, it deceived his sight, forcing the warrior to walk carefully. There were strange rock formations – ranging from small to massive, their sizes varied dramatically – populating the desert, and he had no desire to smack into one. He had to be vigilant.
And there was energon nearby, apparently on the surface. Dead End didn’t ask how that came to be. The fact that it made their mission more bearable by a degree or two quelled his curiosity. He also didn’t care.
But his curiosity did return to enquire as to why the Stunticons had been selected for this mission. Knowing there were others more suitable, he wanted to pry Motormaster for an answer, but his leader’s temper had been exceptional of late. Wildrider had learned the hard way. So Dead End maintained silence, and now here he was, stuck in a horrible desert as the Stunticons had separated to search for energon deposits.
Although he’d been equipped to deal with the harsh terrain, travelling via his alternate mode was an option he dismissed. The rock formations were many – he’d lost count of the amount he’d passed – and to speed along with such limited visibility for guidance was to invite an injury he’d rather avoid. His paint job, curse it, was ruined and that rankled. He would not risk the chance of something worse occurring.
At least the Stunticons had been bounced in the vicinity of the energon. A piece of good news salvaged from this mess of a mission. If it was to be believed, then it meant Dead End was closer to finding it than not.
He didn’t believe it. His suspicions dismantling his optimism, his quest for energon would be arduous – was arduous since an appeal for Dead End’s satisfaction had yet to be granted. Glancing at his arm confirmed that. Patches of bare metal riddled the maroon.
“Well, isn’t that droll.”
It wasn’t.
Dead End kept walking.