The Energon Pub

Name: Cyanide
Allegiance: Autobot
Sub-group:
Function: Warrior
Alt. mode: Corvette Z06
Weapons: Missiles, retractable blades at each wrist
Special Abilities: Camouflage
Height: An antenna short of 25 feet (7.62 meters)
Quote: Fear most what cannot be seen.

Strength: 4
Intelligence: 6
Dexterity: 7
Speed: 7
Endurance: 4
Courage: 7
Firepower: 5
Accuracy: 6
Melee: 9
Tech Skill: 4
Charisma: 6
Rank: Determined by the staff.

Profile: Cyanide is shorter than many bots though her height is still considered normal. Her frame is feminine and lithe, built for agility rather than strength. Bright yellow coats her armor, the bold color only submitting to a few subtle stripes of black and silver. Based on first appearances, many have assumed her to be pretty decoration rather than an actual asset in battle. Tired of being told to stay behind and care for the injured, she finally wiggled her way into a training program. After years of hard work she was finally able to prove her worth in battle. She accomplished much, but not without the help of the others whom she called family. Life was looking up for the promising warrior until a nasty ambush left her without her family and without memory. A blow to her processor would ensure that most of her past would be forgotten. What was left of her fragile memory were mere fragments. Bits and pieces of who she was and where she belonged.

She wandered endlessly, still carrying the banner of the Autobots, thankfully she had not forgotten what side she was on. It wasn’t until recently that she came upon another band of Autobots. She has yet to approach them, instead she stays to the shadows and watches, waiting for a moment when she might prove her worth to them and in return, hopefully earn a place among the group. When in a casual setting, Cyanide can be sociable, supportive, and has a tendency to use pet names on those she befriends, her flirtatious nature is to blame. She is fiercely loyal and her determination knows no end, though some may deem that trait as stubbornness instead. She has a bad habit of being a smart mouth, sometimes not knowing when to give it a rest. Despite this, she knows when to show respect and whom to. She is known to be a bit of a hothead but typically reserves her anger for the enemy. In battle, she is eager, sometimes a bit too trigger happy. While a decent warrior, she tends to leap before looking, resulting in a situation that is sometimes over her head.

As of late, she has taken up a practice known as meditation, hoping it will bring a sense of calm to her. During such sessions it is not uncommon to hear her sigh out of boredom or let out a growl of frustration. Obviously, she hasn’t got the handle on the concept quite yet. She holds tightly to the ideals of the autobots, the most important of which is freedom for all. Beyond her desire to be of worth to her fellow combatants, she strives to belong again. While the memory of her family was robbed from her, she still feels a sense of loss, as if she knows she shouldn’t be alone, that something just isn’t right. Rather than feel sorry for herself, she is currently trying to better her situation. With any luck, she’ll be right at home again with a new family.

Abilities: To some, she may appear weak. She no doubt lacks the obvious signs of brute strength that many others own. Her lack of bulk is made up by her lean, agile frame. She specializes in the art of close combat. She attempts to compensate her small build with speed and well placed hits. When time is a luxury, she can often determine what an enemies’ weakness is, if they have one. A dented panel, a gap in the armor, or the deteriorating state of a joint can speak volumes to observant optics. When fist to fist combat takes a bad turn, she will bring out her retractable blades, one from beneath her left hand and one from above her right, each dagger claiming her wrists as their home.

When close combat is not an ideal situation, she relies upon her missiles. They can effectively hit a mark at a medium to short range away though anything further may result in less than satisfactory accuracy. While her bright yellow colors can be spotted easily, she can camouflage her paint, allowing herself to blend into the background when the situation calls for it. While it may appear that she only has one color, she actually has four layers that work together to produce more color options. The outside layer has two kinds of color panels, red and the yellow that she typically displays. Beneath that layer are two additional color panels which reflect light, one reflects blue light and the other white. This innermost layer is responsible for the pigment granules which alter the size of each color panel along with the adjustment of the desired amount of reflection. This ability takes a decent amount of concentration. First she must identify the pattern that she must reproduce. Should she miss a single speck of color, her position could be discovered. Once the pattern is acquired and replicated, it takes even more focus to maintain the illusion. A single twitch of an antenna or flick of a pinky could make her color panels alter. Because of this, once she has established her position, she must remain there until her mission is complete. She can maintain a pattern for a maximum of twenty minutes but is not able to imitate patterns that are too complex, such as plaid.

Weaknesses: She has difficulty with enemies that are taller than average and also with those who are quicker than she is and who also have more strength. Since she relies so heavily on speed, if the enemy has that advantage as well, while also being stronger, there is little chance she could defeat them. She has poor memory and might fall prey to manipulation. If, for example, they claim something to be true from her past, she will likely believe it since she doesn’t actually remember. Finally, her left shoulder gives her trouble at times, resulting in weaker hits and less concentration should it be damaged further.

Sample Post: It was a quiet night. The moon, amidst scattered clouds, had only begun to kiss the sky fully. The soft hum of tires were barely audible, hidden by the load roar of her engine as she pushed her pace forward, aiming to break her last record she had set two weeks ago. This was her favorite road, one that she called her own. She knew every curve, every dip, and every angle, as well as a lover might know their beloved. As she sped up, the air tickled her hood and lashed against her sides, luring her to go even faster. Feverishly, she willed herself to meet the winds’ request. This was life. The pound of an engine, the sharp clicks of gears, and the dusty scent left behind a warm road.

Lost in her thoughts, she hardly noticed the vehicle that had been trailing her. When at last she caught its’ shadowy glare in her mirror, the figure was already a telephone poles’ distance behind her. “Someone is on my road…Probably just someone going home.” She comforted herself, not willing to give into the thought of that someone being less than innocent. Normally she welcomes the chance of combat, always eager to prove herself to any who wish to test her. Tonight, however, she simply wanted to enjoy her midnight drive. It was a large silver truck, its’ make was unfamiliar to her. She had never taken the time to memorize every piece of machinery that happen to come into existence. Information like that just isn’t of value, she once reasoned. Impressively, the truck gained on her. Its’ speed nearly matching her own until at last , it managed to pass her. Its’ crimson lights glowed eerily before her until they vanished as the truck darted around a sharp corner.

“I must be needing repairs if a truck managed to dart around me like that…” She sighed at the thought as she made the same sharp turn, not willing to slow by much. The road was now covered in shadow, large trees towered above the ground. Branches crossed and stretched above her, reaching for one another, as if they longed to greet the tree that held residence across from them. A large gust of wind rushed downwards, forcing a mass of leaves to trickle hastily to the ground. Distracted by their fluttering dance, she didn’t see the mass ahead of her until it was nearly too late. Spotting the truck in a dead stop she urged herself to halt, her tires shrieking out against the pavement as she glided ever closer to the motionless vehicle. With a quick sideways turn, she managed to still herself, afterwards she cast her gaze to the truck, sweeping her optics across its’ cab in search of a driver. Finding none, she slowly began to reverse. A low cackle emitted from the truck as it creaked and swayed, bending and twisting until at last, his true shape was revealed to her. “And what have we here?” His voice was more of a growl than anything else. Not willing to turn back, she swiftly transformed, eager to show the stranger his mistake. “You’re in my way you old heap of scrap!” She narrowed her optics on him as she approached. The stranger was easily five feet taller than herself, not that it mattered to her. As she spit out her insult, the stranger merely laughed, a low rumble of a chuckle. “Tsk, tsk. Is that how you treat someone you’ve just met?” He questioned her in a condescending voice as he slowly strolled around her in a steady circle, studying her carefully. After a long moment of silence he released a sigh of disappointment. “I need a challenge, not a warm up. Maybe I ought to throw you back in the pond and try for a bigger bot.”

Cyanide clenched her jaw, anger evident as her expression as she held her hands into two tight fists. “I will treat you as I see fit.” She took a step closer to him, lifting her chin upwards in challenge. “You want a fight? I’ll give you more than you can handle, rust bucket.” Without warning, she drove her fist upwards, slamming it directly into the crook of his neck just beneath his chin. His head snapped back a few inches as his optics widened, astonished by the haste of her attack. With a loud roar he shoved forward, forcing her to stumble back a few feet. Without delay, he drew back his left fist and pummeled her left shoulder, the harsh crash of metal against metal rang out in the still night. At the strong impact, she let out a sharp gasp, her shoulder throbbed from the hit. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you, sweetheart? Let me try to fix it…” A cruel smirk toyed upon his lips as he drew back another fist, aiming for the same shoulder. She swiftly rushed forward and dived between his legs, successfully avoiding the second hit. “Stay still!” He growled in frustration as his target had managed to slip away from his swing. “Let me think about that one…” She murmured as she swiftly swiped her leg forward, kicking his legs out from beneath him. As he thudded loudly to the ground she planted herself atop him. Her fist clenched against his chest plate as she lifted her other hand upwards. A sharp blade edged forward from her wrist until its’ tip dangled above his right optic. “One more inch and you’ll look even more ridiculous than you already do.” She growled through her teeth. “Do you yield?” She questioned him, her tone firm and unwavering. With a heave of a sigh, the figure beneath her muttered. “For now….” She led the tip of her blade to his cheek, slowly tracing its’ subtle curve. “Don’t pick fights you can’t win.” She swiftly retracted her weapon and leapt off the figure. She gave him a long glare before taking two steps forward and transforming into a bright yellow corvette, its’ sides etched with black and silver lines. Tires squealed and her engine thundered, moments later she vanished into the embrace of the night.

Cyanide25 wrote:Name: Cyanide
Allegiance: Autobot
Sub-group:
Function: Warrior
Alt. mode: Corvette Z06
Weapons: Missiles, retractable blades at each wrist
Special Abilities: Camouflage
Height: An antenna short of 25 feet (7.62 meters)
Quote: Fear most what cannot be seen.

Strength: 4
Intelligence: 6
Dexterity: 7
Speed: 7
Endurance: 4
Courage: 7
Firepower: 5
Accuracy: 6
Melee: 9
Tech Skill: 4
Charisma: 6
Rank: Determined by the staff.

Profile: Cyanide is shorter than many bots though her height is still considered normal. Her frame is feminine and lithe, built for agility rather than strength. Bright yellow coats her armor, the bold color only submitting to a few subtle stripes of black and silver. Based on first appearances, many have assumed her to be pretty decoration rather than an actual asset in battle. Tired of being told to stay behind and care for the injured, she finally wiggled her way into a training program. After years of hard work she was finally able to prove her worth in battle. She accomplished much, but not without the help of the others whom she called family. Life was looking up for the promising warrior until a nasty ambush left her without her family and without memory. A blow to her processor would ensure that most of her past would be forgotten. What was left of her fragile memory were mere fragments. Bits and pieces of who she was and where she belonged.

She wandered endlessly, still carrying the banner of the Autobots, thankfully she had not forgotten what side she was on. It wasn’t until recently that she came upon another band of Autobots. She has yet to approach them, instead she stays to the shadows and watches, waiting for a moment when she might prove her worth to them and in return, hopefully earn a place among the group. When in a casual setting, Cyanide can be sociable, supportive, and has a tendency to use pet names on those she befriends, her flirtatious nature is to blame. She is fiercely loyal and her determination knows no end, though some may deem that trait as stubbornness instead. She has a bad habit of being a smart mouth, sometimes not knowing when to give it a rest. Despite this, she knows when to show respect and whom to. She is known to be a bit of a hothead but typically reserves her anger for the enemy. In battle, she is eager, sometimes a bit too trigger happy. While a decent warrior, she tends to leap before looking, resulting in a situation that is sometimes over her head.

As of late, she has taken up a practice known as meditation, hoping it will bring a sense of calm to her. During such sessions it is not uncommon to hear her sigh out of boredom or let out a growl of frustration. Obviously, she hasn’t got the handle on the concept quite yet. She holds tightly to the ideals of the autobots, the most important of which is freedom for all. Beyond her desire to be of worth to her fellow combatants, she strives to belong again. While the memory of her family was robbed from her, she still feels a sense of loss, as if she knows she shouldn’t be alone, that something just isn’t right. Rather than feel sorry for herself, she is currently trying to better her situation. With any luck, she’ll be right at home again with a new family.

Abilities: To some, she may appear weak. She no doubt lacks the obvious signs of brute strength that many others own. Her lack of bulk is made up by her lean, agile frame. She specializes in the art of close combat. She attempts to compensate her small build with speed and well placed hits. When time is a luxury, she can often determine what an enemies’ weakness is, if they have one. A dented panel, a gap in the armor, or the deteriorating state of a joint can speak volumes to observant optics. When fist to fist combat takes a bad turn, she will bring out her retractable blades, one from beneath her left hand and one from above her right, each dagger claiming her wrists as their home.

When close combat is not an ideal situation, she relies upon her missiles. They can effectively hit a mark at a medium to short range away though anything further may result in less than satisfactory accuracy. While her bright yellow colors can be spotted easily, she can camouflage her paint, allowing herself to blend into the background when the situation calls for it. While it may appear that she only has one color, she actually has four layers that work together to produce more color options. The outside layer has two kinds of color panels, red and the yellow that she typically displays. Beneath that layer are two additional color panels which reflect light, one reflects blue light and the other white. This innermost layer is responsible for the pigment granules which alter the size of each color panel along with the adjustment of the desired amount of reflection. This ability takes a decent amount of concentration. First she must identify the pattern that she must reproduce. Should she miss a single speck of color, her position could be discovered. Once the pattern is acquired and replicated, it takes even more focus to maintain the illusion. A single twitch of an antenna or flick of a pinky could make her color panels alter. Because of this, once she has established her position, she must remain there until her mission is complete. She can maintain a pattern for a maximum of twenty minutes but is not able to imitate patterns that are too complex, such as plaid.

Weaknesses: She has difficulty with enemies that are taller than average and also with those who are quicker than she is and who also have more strength. Since she relies so heavily on speed, if the enemy has that advantage as well, while also being stronger, there is little chance she could defeat them. She has poor memory and might fall prey to manipulation. If, for example, they claim something to be true from her past, she will likely believe it since she doesn’t actually remember. Finally, her left shoulder gives her trouble at times, resulting in weaker hits and less concentration should it be damaged further.

Sample Post: It was a quiet night. The moon, amidst scattered clouds, had only begun to kiss the sky fully. The soft hum of tires were barely audible, hidden by the load roar of her engine as she pushed her pace forward, aiming to break her last record she had set two weeks ago. This was her favorite road, one that she called her own. She knew every curve, every dip, and every angle, as well as a lover might know their beloved. As she sped up, the air tickled her hood and lashed against her sides, luring her to go even faster. Feverishly, she willed herself to meet the winds’ request. This was life. The pound of an engine, the sharp clicks of gears, and the dusty scent left behind a warm road.

Lost in her thoughts, she hardly noticed the vehicle that had been trailing her. When at last she caught its’ shadowy glare in her mirror, the figure was already a telephone poles’ distance behind her. “Someone is on my road…Probably just someone going home.” She comforted herself, not willing to give into the thought of that someone being less than innocent. Normally she welcomes the chance of combat, always eager to prove herself to any who wish to test her. Tonight, however, she simply wanted to enjoy her midnight drive. It was a large silver truck, its’ make was unfamiliar to her. She had never taken the time to memorize every piece of machinery that happen to come into existence. Information like that just isn’t of value, she once reasoned. Impressively, the truck gained on her. Its’ speed nearly matching her own until at last , it managed to pass her. Its’ crimson lights glowed eerily before her until they vanished as the truck darted around a sharp corner.

“I must be needing repairs if a truck managed to dart around me like that…” She sighed at the thought as she made the same sharp turn, not willing to slow by much. The road was now covered in shadow, large trees towered above the ground. Branches crossed and stretched above her, reaching for one another, as if they longed to greet the tree that held residence across from them. A large gust of wind rushed downwards, forcing a mass of leaves to trickle hastily to the ground. Distracted by their fluttering dance, she didn’t see the mass ahead of her until it was nearly too late. Spotting the truck in a dead stop she urged herself to halt, her tires shrieking out against the pavement as she glided ever closer to the motionless vehicle. With a quick sideways turn, she managed to still herself, afterwards she cast her gaze to the truck, sweeping her optics across its’ cab in search of a driver. Finding none, she slowly began to reverse. A low cackle emitted from the truck as it creaked and swayed, bending and twisting until at last, his true shape was revealed to her. “And what have we here?” His voice was more of a growl than anything else. Not willing to turn back, she swiftly transformed, eager to show the stranger his mistake. “You’re in my way you old heap of scrap!” She narrowed her optics on him as she approached. The stranger was easily five feet taller than herself, not that it mattered to her. As she spit out her insult, the stranger merely laughed, a low rumble of a chuckle. “Tsk, tsk. Is that how you treat someone you’ve just met?” He questioned her in a condescending voice as he slowly strolled around her in a steady circle, studying her carefully. After a long moment of silence he released a sigh of disappointment. “I need a challenge, not a warm up. Maybe I ought to throw you back in the pond and try for a bigger bot.”

Cyanide clenched her jaw, anger evident as her expression as she held her hands into two tight fists. “I will treat you as I see fit.” She took a step closer to him, lifting her chin upwards in challenge. “You want a fight? I’ll give you more than you can handle, rust bucket.” Without warning, she drove her fist upwards, slamming it directly into the crook of his neck just beneath his chin. His head snapped back a few inches as his optics widened, astonished by the haste of her attack. With a loud roar he shoved forward, forcing her to stumble back a few feet. Without delay, he drew back his left fist and pummeled her left shoulder, the harsh crash of metal against metal rang out in the still night. At the strong impact, she let out a sharp gasp, her shoulder throbbed from the hit. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you, sweetheart? Let me try to fix it…” A cruel smirk toyed upon his lips as he drew back another fist, aiming for the same shoulder. She swiftly rushed forward and dived between his legs, successfully avoiding the second hit. “Stay still!” He growled in frustration as his target had managed to slip away from his swing. “Let me think about that one…” She murmured as she swiftly swiped her leg forward, kicking his legs out from beneath him. As he thudded loudly to the ground she planted herself atop him. Her fist clenched against his chest plate as she lifted her other hand upwards. A sharp blade edged forward from her wrist until its’ tip dangled above his right optic. “One more inch and you’ll look even more ridiculous than you already do.” She growled through her teeth. “Do you yield?” She questioned him, her tone firm and unwavering. With a heave of a sigh, the figure beneath her muttered. “For now….” She led the tip of her blade to his cheek, slowly tracing its’ subtle curve. “Don’t pick fights you can’t win.” She swiftly retracted her weapon and leapt off the figure. She gave him a long glare before taking two steps forward and transforming into a bright yellow corvette, its’ sides etched with black and silver lines. Tires squealed and her engine thundered, moments later she vanished into the embrace of the night.

Approved. Rank 5. You can start her out on the Guardian as requested.

//Mah Fifth character? WOW!

//EDIT: Please tell me if the speed is too much, for I was going by the speed on his tech specs when I saw the Speed Template, so I changed accordingly.

Nightbeat

Allegiance: Autobots
Function: Detective
Alternate Modes: A blue Porsche 959 with flame detailing.
Weapons: Two Photon Pistols, High-Powered Plasma Blaster
Special Abilities: Enhanced Audio and Visual sensors
Height: 29ft/ 6.096m
Quote: “Truth is revealed in the smallest detail.”


Strength: 5.0
Intelligence: 8.0
Dexterity: 8.0
Speed: 10.0
Endurance: 6.0
Courage: 9.0
Firepower: 7.0
Accuracy: 8.0
Melee: 7.0
Tech Skill: 6.0
Charisma: 8.0
Rank: 7.0

Profile: Nightbeat is a tough, no-nonsense type who is not afraid to break the rules to get what he wants. And usually what he wants is the solution to some complicated mystery and he'll go anywhere to get it. He feels as comfortable driving down a dark alley as he does cruising along a six-lane superhighway. He has an intuition for finding the truth that defies all known theories of programming. In trying to account for Nightbeat's remarkable talent, Optimus Prime suspects that the circuitry in the digital detective's logic center may accidentally have been wired in a way contrary to accepted robotic engineering procedures. But the Autobot Leader is still at a loss to explain why Nightbeat thinks the way he does. Nightbeat prefers to work alone. Most partners don't understand his methods and his reasoning, and often wind up hindering his investigations more than helping them. But being a good soldier, he doesn't complain about his fellow Autobots... instead he tries to compensate for their investigatory deficiencies by working even harder.

Abilities: Nightbeat carries two photon pistols and a high-powered plasma blaster with infra-red sight. He also has enhanced audio and video sensors that aid in his investigatory work. From five miles away, he can hear a screw fall and count the threads on it. In car mode he can travel at speeds of up to 620 miles per hour and has a range of 1500 miles.

Weaknesses: Nightbeat's overconfidence in his abilities typically persuades him that he can handle almost any situation by himself. Given his preference for working alone, he often suffers damage that a more team-oriented Autobot might avoid.

Sample-Post:

Farstar - Corridors

Nightbeat was reading through some case files in his quarters when a blast shook him out of his seat, now he was on the way to the bridge to find out what that blast was. He jogged past a recharge bay with a blue Mech getting inside, he didn't have time to stop and talk, or far that matter, stop and look. He had business to attend to on the bridge.

But suddenly over the intercom came an order that Nightbeat didn't want to hear. It was an Abandon Ship order. The facts seemed prominent to him that they were under attack and that is why there were blasts around the ship.

Nightbeat turned from his present course and jogged over to the nearest Escape Pod he could find, he didn't want to be on the Farstar when it exploded. Nightbeat looked around the crammed room and found there to be open spaces for other Mechs.

I shouldn't be selfish or cowardly, Nightbeat decided, I shall wait here for others to come.

And as if an answer to his thoughts, Four Mechs jogged into the open Escape pod, carrying with them, a crumpled body of a screaming Mech.

They took seats around the space, closed the hatch, and released the module from the Farstar. Shortly thereafter, the burners ignited and it sent the Escape pod on the correct path down to Nebulos.

However, something was bugging him.

"How did your friend get like this?" Nightbeat asked, leaning forward from his seated position.

"An... Explosion." A blue, small mech answered.

"Were you all there to witness this?" Nightbeat said, eyes darting around the occupants.

"No, Steampunk, Nimbus and I were in the viewing lounge when Ronin barged in with him in his hands." A green mech motioned towards the Mechs around the room as he spoke the names and continued, "Why do you want to know?"

Nightbeat looked hard at the fallen Mech and saw the burns were not consistent of just an explosion, but more Plasma Knife oriented.

"Because these wounds are not of just an explosion, but of a stabbing," Nightbeat said as he pointed to the markings, "And that means the culprit is either on the Farstar exploding as we speak, or on an Escape Pod, or worse."

"Worse?" A small brown mech who was identified as Steampunk asked with a gulp.

"Right here in this very pod." Nightbeat's words sunk in as a stone in a pond might, and Nightbeat quickly made notes of their reactions.

Guilt was present on the black mech named Nimbus, however the look of a smirk was on that of Ronin who brought the Victim. The Green Mech had a look of horror seemingly plastered on his face, and the expression of suspicion was on Steampunk.

"Nimbus, where were you before you were at the Observation Deck?" Nightbeat said, breaking the silence.

"I was in my quarters, digging out the sand from a previous mission still stuck in my joints." Nimbus moved his arm, creating an awful cracking noise.

"Tell me, why is there sand on the Vic?" Nightbeat picked up some of the sand that was on the groaning body and held it up to the light.

"Well, there is a shipment in the cargo hold with sand in it. You know, to make cement for a base?" Nimbus answered as he looked down at the body with guilt, "I just wish there was something I could have done."

"He isn't dead yet!" Ronin angrily said.

He said "Yet". Was that him hoping that our Vic would die soon to prevent him from saying who killed him? Nightbeat thought, rubbing his chin.

"Ronin, isn't it true that you work in the Cargo Bay? You would have seen the attempt on his life if you were there." Nightbeat asked Ronin, listening for any detail that might prove his suspicion.

"If you're asking if I did it, then no. I was taking a much needed recharge at the time. And I haven't seen any such shipment that had any sort of Sand in it." Ronin said and then glared at Nimbus.

"LIAR!!!" Nimbus broke out, shoving his first digit in the Faceplate of Ronin.

"Easy!" Nightbeat said as he shoved himself in between the two, hoping to calm the situation.

"I saw that shipment with my own two optics!" Nimbus said, "Nightbeat, you gotta believe me!"

Nightbeat pulled himself back to his seat and rubbed his chin once more.

"You, where were you before the Observation Deck?" Nightbeat pointed to the Green Mech.

"I was in Engineering, cleaning up Oil and Grease under the Generators," He said as he lifted his arm, revealing Oil still on his arm, "See?"

Nightbeat took a second before addressing Steampunk, for he was looking at the slowly fading Mech before him. He then looked behind him at the window and judged the distance to be closing when they would land.

"Steampunk, where were you before the Observation deck? And do you, perhaps, have a knife on you?" Nightbeat asked as he leaned forward at the victim.

"I was the first one on the Observation deck, there before all of the others," Steampunk said as he laid his hand to his hip, "And I don't have a Plasma Knife on me."

Specific. Too specific. Nightbeat thought.

"Then why are you touching you storage compartment?" Nightbeat asked as he moved the hand away from Steampunk's storage compartment.

He opened it to reveal a hilt to a Plasma Knife in the compartment, recently used. He picked it up with ease and activated it. A stream of plasma came from the hilt and lit up the chamber.

He sat up as his mind raced through the thoughts and facts; only seconds later did he speak.

"Alright. The Criminal is in this very room, and I know who it is," Nightbeat said as he leaned back in his seat, "Is it Nimbus? No, he showed guilt in not helping our friend here. The sand covering our dear fellow is not sand at all, but a white version of Gunpowder, made to look like sand.

Is the vile criminal our green friend over there? No, if there was a struggle with the victim -- Which there was, judging from the defensive wounds on our victim -- The Oil and Grease, known to be especially sticky when let be, would have rubbed off onto him.

What about the grumpy Cargo Worker who carried the Victim onto the Observation Deck? No, for he took a recharge while the attack was happening. Which I know about because my quarters is next to the Recharge Chambers, and I saw him come and recharge on my way to the Bridge.

What is this? This only leaves our good friend Steampunk. Did he do it?"

He let his words sink as he eyed Steampunk.

"Yes. Here is what happened: This mech is a Decepticon Spy, sent to plant explosives and take out the Technobots before they reached Nebulos and uncovered the Decepticon Armada. His mission was simple, but things got complicated when the Victim walked in on the explosives being planted and he said he was going to report Steampunk. Steampunk couldn't have this, he lashed out and tried to stab him, our Victim resisted, and the bag full of the Explosives was punctured, letting it leak all over him. Our Victim tried to run, and suddenly, after being stabbed countless times, the Explosives ignited, exploding our Victim and the explosion was written off by an attack by the Decepticons. Which it was, but in a different way. Steampunk washed up, and returned to the Observation Deck just before the others arrived." Nightbeat explained as he pointed one of his pistols at Steampunk.

"This is preposterous! What evidence do you have of this accusation?" Steampunk yelled out.

"All I need." Nightbeat said as he pushed Steampunk forward and grabbed hold of Steampunk's back and yanked.

The paint peeled off to reveal... A Decepticon Insignia.

The crew gasped at this sight as Nimbus' mouth dropped open. Steampunk snarled as he knocked away Nightbeat's hand and grabbed his Plasma Knife, and slashed at Nightbeat. The Knife ate away at his armor and cut at his upper arm. Nightbeat yelled as he threw a left hook at Steampunk, striking Steampunk in the upper jaw. Steampunk grabbed at the controls and pushed them forward, sending he pod slightly off course. Nightbeat looked out the window and saw a mountain approaching quickly, if he didn't act fast, they would crash into it, and there would be no survivors.

He pointed his pistol at the chest of Steampunk and fired point-blank several times. Steampunk screamed as his life was reduced to nothing as the blasts had been directly at his spark chamber.

Nightbeat jumped to the controls and pulled up as much as he could to prevent them from hitting the mountain, but it was too late, the damage was already done. They crashed into the top of the mountain, sending the pod into a forward spin, and the occupants tumbling about. Nightbeat struggled to stay at the controls as the window showed only a dizzying display of movement, and then, darkness.

And then, momentary stasis.

Let it be known before I go any further that I'm new to this and this is my first attempt, I decided to try and create my own...

Name: Sprints
Allegiance: Autbots
Function: Recon/Warrior
Alt. Mode: 2011 Chevrolet Corvette Z06, bright silver
Weapons: 2 Forearm-mounted rapid-fire machine guns (1 per arm), 1 shoulder-mounted targeting missile, exceptionally hard plating on hands/fists
Special Abilities: Low fuel consumption
Height: 22 ft/6.7m
Quote: "C'mon, let's go scrap some Decepticons!"

STRENGTH: 6
INTELLIGENCE: 7
DEXTERITY: 7
SPEED: 8
ENDURANCE: 4
COURAGE:7
FIREPOWER: 6
ACCURACY: 5
MELEE: 7
TECH SKILL: 4
CHARISMA: 5
RANK:

Profile: A relatively young and inexperienced Autobot, Sprints has already proven himself both valuable and impetuous. Quick both to roll out to face his foes and to ignore orders in favor of improvising the battle, Sprints often gets a combination reprimanding/congratulating at a fight's end. Sprints is a bit like an adrenaline junkie among the Transformers, always searching for the next bit of excitement, be it racing down the road at high speed or taking down a Decepticon.

Abilities: Sprints is very fast and agile, with quick thinking and quicker reactions. He can reach speeds upwards of 250 mph and retains much of his reaction speed and driving ability while doing so. With his low fuel consumption, Sprints can travel at high velocity for a day or more before having to stop. His forearm-mounted machine guns fire high-temperature armor-piercing rounds that can punch through the average Transformer's armor at a range of nearly half a mile. Sprints's targeting missile can lock on to practically anything he can focus his vision on, but it really only has an effective range against moving targets of a few miles, even less for ones with evasive abilities. However, Sprints tends to fight in close quarters more often than at range, and the special plating on his fists makes only makes his pit fighing technique that much more lethal.

Weaknesses: Sprints tends to be fast-acting and impetuous, and often winds up in situations that are a bit more than he can handle by himself. His weapons are less advanced than many other Transformers' and have shorter range, and his armor is thinner and weaker than normal to allow for his speed and agility.

Sample Post

A Skirmish With The Enemy

The group's leader pointed off to the distance. "There are our targets-- a group of Decepticons, all ground-based. Looks like the same size as our group."

The other Autobots nodded grimly, save one-- a slightly shorter Autobot, gleaming silver. This one grinned as well, but eagerly.

"Perfect." Sprints started jumping up and down lightly, shaking out his limbs and getting ready for the upcoming fight. "About time we found some of those slag-"

"Sprints." The leader, whose name Sprints hadn't bothered to learn, looked at the impatient bot. "Remember, you need to exercise restraint and mercy. If the Decepticons should surrender, I expect you to accept and honor it, rather than what you did last time..."

"Aw, come on, man. Chill." Sprints dropped his gaze and kicked at the ground. "That guy was asking for it. I swear he pulled a gun on me."

"Indeed." It was apparent that the leader didn't believe a word of it, nor did he believe Sprints was truly that remorseful. "In any case... Alright. Autbots, roll-"

"Yeah, yeah, roll out. I know," Sprints interrupted him, already diving forward to switch to his Corvette form.

As he'd said, it was about time he got to scrap again.

#Sideways# wrote://Mah Fifth character? WOW!

//EDIT: Please tell me if the speed is too much, for I was going by the speed on his tech specs when I saw the Speed Template, so I changed accordingly.

Nightbeat

Allegiance: Autobots
Function: Detective
Alternate Modes: A blue Porsche 959 with flame detailing.
Weapons: Two Photon Pistols, High-Powered Plasma Blaster
Special Abilities: Enhanced Audio and Visual sensors
Height: 29ft/ 6.096m
Quote: “Truth is revealed in the smallest detail.”


Strength: 5.0
Intelligence: 8.0
Dexterity: 8.0
Speed: 10.0
Endurance: 6.0
Courage: 9.0
Firepower: 7.0
Accuracy: 8.0
Melee: 7.0
Tech Skill: 6.0
Charisma: 8.0
Rank: 7.0

Profile: Nightbeat is a tough, no-nonsense type who is not afraid to break the rules to get what he wants. And usually what he wants is the solution to some complicated mystery and he'll go anywhere to get it. He feels as comfortable driving down a dark alley as he does cruising along a six-lane superhighway. He has an intuition for finding the truth that defies all known theories of programming. In trying to account for Nightbeat's remarkable talent, Optimus Prime suspects that the circuitry in the digital detective's logic center may accidentally have been wired in a way contrary to accepted robotic engineering procedures. But the Autobot Leader is still at a loss to explain why Nightbeat thinks the way he does. Nightbeat prefers to work alone. Most partners don't understand his methods and his reasoning, and often wind up hindering his investigations more than helping them. But being a good soldier, he doesn't complain about his fellow Autobots... instead he tries to compensate for their investigatory deficiencies by working even harder.

Abilities: Nightbeat carries two photon pistols and a high-powered plasma blaster with infra-red sight. He also has enhanced audio and video sensors that aid in his investigatory work. From five miles away, he can hear a screw fall and count the threads on it. In car mode he can travel at speeds of up to 620 miles per hour and has a range of 1500 miles.

Weaknesses: Nightbeat's overconfidence in his abilities typically persuades him that he can handle almost any situation by himself. Given his preference for working alone, he often suffers damage that a more team-oriented Autobot might avoid.

Sample-Post:

Farstar - Corridors

Nightbeat was reading through some case files in his quarters when a blast shook him out of his seat, now he was on the way to the bridge to find out what that blast was. He jogged past a recharge bay with a blue Mech getting inside, he didn't have time to stop and talk, or far that matter, stop and look. He had business to attend to on the bridge.

But suddenly over the intercom came an order that Nightbeat didn't want to hear. It was an Abandon Ship order. The facts seemed prominent to him that they were under attack and that is why there were blasts around the ship.

Nightbeat turned from his present course and jogged over to the nearest Escape Pod he could find, he didn't want to be on the Farstar when it exploded. Nightbeat looked around the crammed room and found there to be open spaces for other Mechs.

I shouldn't be selfish or cowardly, Nightbeat decided, I shall wait here for others to come.

And as if an answer to his thoughts, Four Mechs jogged into the open Escape pod, carrying with them, a crumpled body of a screaming Mech.

They took seats around the space, closed the hatch, and released the module from the Farstar. Shortly thereafter, the burners ignited and it sent the Escape pod on the correct path down to Nebulos.

However, something was bugging him.

"How did your friend get like this?" Nightbeat asked, leaning forward from his seated position.

"An... Explosion." A blue, small mech answered.

"Were you all there to witness this?" Nightbeat said, eyes darting around the occupants.

"No, Steampunk, Nimbus and I were in the viewing lounge when Ronin barged in with him in his hands." A green mech motioned towards the Mechs around the room as he spoke the names and continued, "Why do you want to know?"

Nightbeat looked hard at the fallen Mech and saw the burns were not consistent of just an explosion, but more Plasma Knife oriented.

"Because these wounds are not of just an explosion, but of a stabbing," Nightbeat said as he pointed to the markings, "And that means the culprit is either on the Farstar exploding as we speak, or on an Escape Pod, or worse."

"Worse?" A small brown mech who was identified as Steampunk asked with a gulp.

"Right here in this very pod." Nightbeat's words sunk in as a stone in a pond might, and Nightbeat quickly made notes of their reactions.

Guilt was present on the black mech named Nimbus, however the look of a smirk was on that of Ronin who brought the Victim. The Green Mech had a look of horror seemingly plastered on his face, and the expression of suspicion was on Steampunk.

"Nimbus, where were you before you were at the Observation Deck?" Nightbeat said, breaking the silence.

"I was in my quarters, digging out the sand from a previous mission still stuck in my joints." Nimbus moved his arm, creating an awful cracking noise.

"Tell me, why is there sand on the Vic?" Nightbeat picked up some of the sand that was on the groaning body and held it up to the light.

"Well, there is a shipment in the cargo hold with sand in it. You know, to make cement for a base?" Nimbus answered as he looked down at the body with guilt, "I just wish there was something I could have done."

"He isn't dead yet!" Ronin angrily said.

He said "Yet". Was that him hoping that our Vic would die soon to prevent him from saying who killed him? Nightbeat thought, rubbing his chin.

"Ronin, isn't it true that you work in the Cargo Bay? You would have seen the attempt on his life if you were there." Nightbeat asked Ronin, listening for any detail that might prove his suspicion.

"If you're asking if I did it, then no. I was taking a much needed recharge at the time. And I haven't seen any such shipment that had any sort of Sand in it." Ronin said and then glared at Nimbus.

"LIAR!!!" Nimbus broke out, shoving his first digit in the Faceplate of Ronin.

"Easy!" Nightbeat said as he shoved himself in between the two, hoping to calm the situation.

"I saw that shipment with my own two optics!" Nimbus said, "Nightbeat, you gotta believe me!"

Nightbeat pulled himself back to his seat and rubbed his chin once more.

"You, where were you before the Observation Deck?" Nightbeat pointed to the Green Mech.

"I was in Engineering, cleaning up Oil and Grease under the Generators," He said as he lifted his arm, revealing Oil still on his arm, "See?"

Nightbeat took a second before addressing Steampunk, for he was looking at the slowly fading Mech before him. He then looked behind him at the window and judged the distance to be closing when they would land.

"Steampunk, where were you before the Observation deck? And do you, perhaps, have a knife on you?" Nightbeat asked as he leaned forward at the victim.

"I was the first one on the Observation deck, there before all of the others," Steampunk said as he laid his hand to his hip, "And I don't have a Plasma Knife on me."

Specific. Too specific. Nightbeat thought.

"Then why are you touching you storage compartment?" Nightbeat asked as he moved the hand away from Steampunk's storage compartment.

He opened it to reveal a hilt to a Plasma Knife in the compartment, recently used. He picked it up with ease and activated it. A stream of plasma came from the hilt and lit up the chamber.

He sat up as his mind raced through the thoughts and facts; only seconds later did he speak.

"Alright. The Criminal is in this very room, and I know who it is," Nightbeat said as he leaned back in his seat, "Is it Nimbus? No, he showed guilt in not helping our friend here. The sand covering our dear fellow is not sand at all, but a white version of Gunpowder, made to look like sand.

Is the vile criminal our green friend over there? No, if there was a struggle with the victim -- Which there was, judging from the defensive wounds on our victim -- The Oil and Grease, known to be especially sticky when let be, would have rubbed off onto him.

What about the grumpy Cargo Worker who carried the Victim onto the Observation Deck? No, for he took a recharge while the attack was happening. Which I know about because my quarters is next to the Recharge Chambers, and I saw him come and recharge on my way to the Bridge.

What is this? This only leaves our good friend Steampunk. Did he do it?"

He let his words sink as he eyed Steampunk.

"Yes. Here is what happened: This mech is a Decepticon Spy, sent to plant explosives and take out the Technobots before they reached Nebulos and uncovered the Decepticon Armada. His mission was simple, but things got complicated when the Victim walked in on the explosives being planted and he said he was going to report Steampunk. Steampunk couldn't have this, he lashed out and tried to stab him, our Victim resisted, and the bag full of the Explosives was punctured, letting it leak all over him. Our Victim tried to run, and suddenly, after being stabbed countless times, the Explosives ignited, exploding our Victim and the explosion was written off by an attack by the Decepticons. Which it was, but in a different way. Steampunk washed up, and returned to the Observation Deck just before the others arrived." Nightbeat explained as he pointed one of his pistols at Steampunk.

"This is preposterous! What evidence do you have of this accusation?" Steampunk yelled out.

"All I need." Nightbeat said as he pushed Steampunk forward and grabbed hold of Steampunk's back and yanked.

The paint peeled off to reveal... A Decepticon Insignia.

The crew gasped at this sight as Nimbus' mouth dropped open. Steampunk snarled as he knocked away Nightbeat's hand and grabbed his Plasma Knife, and slashed at Nightbeat. The Knife ate away at his armor and cut at his upper arm. Nightbeat yelled as he threw a left hook at Steampunk, striking Steampunk in the upper jaw. Steampunk grabbed at the controls and pushed them forward, sending he pod slightly off course. Nightbeat looked out the window and saw a mountain approaching quickly, if he didn't act fast, they would crash into it, and there would be no survivors.

He pointed his pistol at the chest of Steampunk and fired point-blank several times. Steampunk screamed as his life was reduced to nothing as the blasts had been directly at his spark chamber.

Nightbeat jumped to the controls and pulled up as much as he could to prevent them from hitting the mountain, but it was too late, the damage was already done. They crashed into the top of the mountain, sending the pod into a forward spin, and the occupants tumbling about. Nightbeat struggled to stay at the controls as the window showed only a dizzying display of movement, and then, darkness.

And then, momentary stasis.

Approved. Just bring his speed back down to 7.

Brinakron wrote:Let it be known before I go any further that I'm new to this and this is my first attempt, I decided to try and create my own...

Name: Sprints
Allegiance: Autbots
Function: Recon/Warrior
Alt. Mode: 2011 Chevrolet Corvette Z06, bright silver
Weapons: 2 Forearm-mounted rapid-fire machine guns (1 per arm), 1 shoulder-mounted targeting missile, exceptionally hard plating on hands/fists
Special Abilities: Low fuel consumption
Height: 22 ft/6.7m
Quote: "C'mon, let's go scrap some Decepticons!"

STRENGTH: 6
INTELLIGENCE: 7
DEXTERITY: 7
SPEED: 8
ENDURANCE: 4
COURAGE:7
FIREPOWER: 6
ACCURACY: 5
MELEE: 7
TECH SKILL: 4
CHARISMA: 5
RANK:

Profile: A relatively young and inexperienced Autobot, Sprints has already proven himself both valuable and impetuous. Quick both to roll out to face his foes and to ignore orders in favor of improvising the battle, Sprints often gets a combination reprimanding/congratulating at a fight's end. Sprints is a bit like an adrenaline junkie among the Transformers, always searching for the next bit of excitement, be it racing down the road at high speed or taking down a Decepticon.

Abilities: Sprints is very fast and agile, with quick thinking and quicker reactions. He can reach speeds upwards of 250 mph and retains much of his reaction speed and driving ability while doing so. With his low fuel consumption, Sprints can travel at high velocity for a day or more before having to stop. His forearm-mounted machine guns fire high-temperature armor-piercing rounds that can punch through the average Transformer's armor at a range of nearly half a mile. Sprints's targeting missile can lock on to practically anything he can focus his vision on, but it really only has an effective range against moving targets of a few miles, even less for ones with evasive abilities. However, Sprints tends to fight in close quarters more often than at range, and the special plating on his fists makes only makes his pit fighing technique that much more lethal.

Weaknesses: Sprints tends to be fast-acting and impetuous, and often winds up in situations that are a bit more than he can handle by himself. His weapons are less advanced than many other Transformers' and have shorter range, and his armor is thinner and weaker than normal to allow for his speed and agility.

Sample Post

A Skirmish With The Enemy

The group's leader pointed off to the distance. "There are our targets-- a group of Decepticons, all ground-based. Looks like the same size as our group."

The other Autobots nodded grimly, save one-- a slightly shorter Autobot, gleaming silver. This one grinned as well, but eagerly.

"Perfect." Sprints started jumping up and down lightly, shaking out his limbs and getting ready for the upcoming fight. "About time we found some of those slag-"

"Sprints." The leader, whose name Sprints hadn't bothered to learn, looked at the impatient bot. "Remember, you need to exercise restraint and mercy. If the Decepticons should surrender, I expect you to accept and honor it, rather than what you did last time..."

"Aw, come on, man. Chill." Sprints dropped his gaze and kicked at the ground. "That guy was asking for it. I swear he pulled a gun on me."

"Indeed." It was apparent that the leader didn't believe a word of it, nor did he believe Sprints was truly that remorseful. "In any case... Alright. Autbots, roll-"

"Yeah, yeah, roll out. I know," Sprints interrupted him, already diving forward to switch to his Corvette form.

As he'd said, it was about time he got to scrap again.

A very solid start. You'll need to choose between reconnaissance and warrior, can't have both. I'd like you to expand on his profile section. I wanna know more about his personality, maybe even his past. Expand on it, have fun with it. I would also like you to expand on your sample post. It seems a bit skimpy.

Make the changes then re-post it, and I'll take another look at it.

Alright, I've made the suggested changes as well as a few more I thought good... Also, I'm confused as to whether fan-made Autbots have avatars. If they do, I can resubmit with that detailed, if not, just as well. Just let me know.

Name: Sprints
Allegiance: Autobots
Function: Reconnaissance
Alt. Mode: Lamborghini Aventador, bright silver
Weapons: 2 Forearm-mounted rapid-fire machine guns (1 per arm), 1 shoulder-mounted targeting missile, exceptionally hard plating on hands/fists
Special Abilities: Low fuel consumption
Height: 22 ft/6.7m
Quote: "C'mon, let's go scrap some Decepticons!"

STRENGTH: 6
INTELLIGENCE: 7
DEXTERITY: 7
SPEED: 8
ENDURANCE: 4
COURAGE:7
FIREPOWER: 6
ACCURACY: 5
MELEE: 7
TECH SKILL: 4
CHARISMA: 5
RANK:

Profile:

Unbeknownst to even himself, the Autobot behind the name "Sprints" is one of the oldest of the remaining 'Bots. Forged in the years leading up to the beginning of the Cybertronian Civil War, Sprints's original designation was Steelcore. Possessed of great physical strength and stamina, Steelcore quickly joined up with the Autbots at the war's outset, rising in the ranks as he displayed great skill as a hand-to-hand warrior and strategist. Steelcore, whose alternate form was a futuristic tank-like vehicle, fought some of the "suicidal" battles that no one thought could be won, and yet he always prevailed. Steelcore fought right up to the final collapse of Cybertron. It was at this point that his ragtag group of Autbots was surrounded by a detachment of Decepticons; Steelcore's fellow soldiers were put to the sword (quite literally, as the leader of the Decepticons who captured Steelcore's group wielded a massive Energon sword) and he was deactivated and mindwiped.

The next chapter of Sprints's life was under the name Firebrand, a Decepticon. The Decepticons had attempted at first to extract data from Steelcore's memory banks, but after their attempts were unsuccessful, Megatron decided to have the captured Autbot almost entirely rebuilt and give it a new personality. Firebrand, whose alternate mode was that of a low-flying assault helicopter, served as a demolitions expert for the Decepticons, and he was especially good at his job. Firebrand was almost single-handedly responsible for the deaths of dozens of Autbots over the years, as well as serving "beautifully" in the cause of destroying several planets. However, Firebrand always felt something slightly off in his work; this feeling grew over centuries until finally peaking when he ran into the same Decepticon that had killed Steelcore's group. In the ensuing fight, half brought on by Firebrand's confusing surge of hatred for the other Decepticon, partly because the sword-wielder had a hot temper, Firebrand killed the other bot. Realizing what he had done and what would happen when superiors discovered the altercation and its results, Firebrand fled.

The next several thousand years saw Firebrand drifting as a neutral, an unaffiliated Transformer who wasn't very fit to survive as a solo warrior. Joining and leaving one mercenary company after another, Firebrand served dutifully, if not enthusiastically. One after another group interested and then lost appeal to the ex-Decepticon, who grew disinterested with everything as time went on. This period finally came to an end just two years ago, when Firebrand was attacked by a group of inexperienced, upstart Decepticons. Firebrand, more interested in escape than retaliation, accidentally crash-landed into an abandoned stretch of land in Russia, and entered a period of stasis. A blow to the head just before hitting the ground all but destroyed his memory banks, leaving the bot with no recollection of his past, save occasional flashes of emotion caused by specific sights.

Luckily, Firebrand's husk of a chassis was found by Autbots rather than Decepticons. Since there was no way to tell what faction the body may have belonged to, Optimus Prime decided it would only be just to revive the Transformer, especially when Ratchet discovered the mutilated memory bank. After undergoing extensive reconstruction, the bot was finally reincarnated in its third form, this time as a Reconnaissance Autbot named Sprints. In this form, the former warrior and demolitions expert was a sleek, fast Autobot with lighter weapons. Being that he can recall so little of his past, though, Sprints is perfectly fine fighting like this; indeed, if one asks him about heavy armor and weapons, his response is often, "Heaviness? That's a one-way ticket to the scrap-pile, man. Heavy is for the slag-head Decepticons."

Sprints is, admittedly, rash and impatient, often getting in over his head. He has a reputation for taking dangerous missions and nearly getting himself killed (again). Sprints is a Recon 'Bot, but only in name-- if the gleaming silver Autobot sees a Decepticon or group of 'Cons that he think he can take, he almost always engages. In battle he improvises often, rarely following his leader's plans even close to the letter, but in the end he usually gets the job done.

Abilities:

Sprints is very fast and agile, making use of it in his very mobile fighting style. Having "trained" over the past couple years in pit fighting, he knows the ups, downs, insn and outs of hand-to-hand combat, and is competent against even foes with heavier armor and greater strength than his.

Sprints is equipped with a rapid-fire machine gun mounted to each forearm. These guns are semi-retractable; he generally stores them in a half-in-half-out sort of configuartion on his arms, with only the upper half of the guns showing. The guns fire high-temperature armor-piercing bullets that can puncture light to moderate armor at a respectable distance of almost three kilometers, and can even punch through heavier armor at point blank range. Sprints tends to use these to compliment his melee combat style, often firing the guns into nearby opponents, made possible due to their shortened barrels. Sprints only carries one magazine (yes, these are magazine-based machine guns) for each gun, equating to 60 shots total at a speed of about 100 rpm.

Sprints also has a missile mounted on his left shoulder that is usable while he is in his alternate form. This missile has tracking capability, and while it can conceivably lock onto anything Sprints can see, it only has a truly effective range of some 5-10 km against moving targets, and is somewhat easily evadable by airborne targets.

Weaknesses: Sprints tends to be fast-acting and impetuous, and often winds up in situations that are a bit more than he can handle by himself. His weapons are less advanced than many other Transformers' and have shorter range, and his armor is thinner and weaker than normal to allow for his speed and agility.

Sample Post: A Skirmish with the Foe

Sprints cruised along the road at 200 miles per hour. He loved driving fast; it was part of the thrill of living. Officially, yes, he was supposed to be trying to blend in and perform his general reconnaissance duties, but since he was on his own, Sprints felt no need to follow orders. Who was going to rat him out to his superiors? His dust?

If the Autobot could have grinned, he would have.

- - - - -

<<Base, this is Sprints, do you read?>>

Cherokee glanced up at the terminal. He had been rotated off active duty in favor of this job, and right now, he was hating it. He picked up the communication device and spoke.

<<Sprints, this is Cherokee at base, I read. What's your situation?>>

<<Cherokee, good to hear you, man.>> Any formality that had been in Sprints's tone disappeared when he became aware that it was one of his friends on the line. <<Listen, man, I think I see a Decepticon off a ways, too far for a good hit with my weapons from this range...>>

<<Sprints, don't shoot. You're just on recon duty, you were ordered not to engage, especially after that incident last deca-cycle-->>

<<Aw, man, you know that guy fired first! You believe me on that, right? C'mon Cherokee, you know how those Cons are.>>

<<That doesn't matter.>> Cherokee shook his head at his friend's impetuousness. <<Just don't engage. Do you copy, Sprints? Don't... Oh, what's the use.>>

Sprints had already ended the transmission.

- - - - -

Sprints peered out from around the rock. He may have been somewhat rash and a little too eager for a fight, but he wasn't stupid. He knew enough to get the drop on his enemy if he could.

The Decepticon was just standing there, stupidly. Must be a guard, Sprints thought. Not my problem.

Sprints tensed, then charged out from behind the rock, machine guns blasting away. By the time he'd fired his tenth shot, he was already closed in to his foe. Screaming savagely, he leapt into the air and brought his right fist down heavily into the Decepticon's head even as it swiveled to confront him, pulverizing the plating and circuitry beneath as he continued to fire with that arm's gun. Never one to rest when the battle was won too easily, though, Sprints quickly swept the 'Con's legs out from beneath him and dropped as well, parallel to and just above his foe, ending his fall by slamming his elbow into the 'Con's midriff.

The whole encounter lasted about five nanokliks. The Decepticon never knew what hit him. And it never occurred to Sprints that there may have been a reason that it was so easy.

Never occurred to him, that is, until he heard the scream of several jets and turned just in time to receive a faceful of explosion.

- - - - -

Sprints woke up in the medical bay and was informed shortly thereafter that it had been almost half a mega-cycle since he'd dropped contact with Cherokee. He was reprimanded by the commander at the base and told in no unclear terms that he would be shipped out to a new base soon.

Sprints didn't honestly care. He'd found this base pretty boring, anyway. Not nearly enough good challenging roads or Decepticons around.

On the way to the Recharge Chamber to fill up before leaving, Sprints overheard a couple other Autbots talking about something they'd seen on a base several years before. Sprints reflected that he didn't have much to reflect on-- he himself had no recollection of events previous to his revival at the hands of Ratchet.

Still, it didn't matter.

He'd get to scrap wherever he was headed, with any luck.

OOC: Having a bash with the battlechargers fist up Runabout

NAME: Runabout
ALLEGIANCE: Decepticon
FUNCTION: Shock Trooper
ALT. MODE [Earth]: Black 2012 Ford Mustang Boss 302 with silver hood stripes
ALT. MODE [Cybertron]: Cybertronian Car
WEAPONS: High-Energy Particle Beam Rifle

HEIGHT: 24ft - 7.3152 Meters

QUOTE: “A Pretty Car...Makes An Even Prettier Wreck!”

STRENGTH: 5
INTELLIGENCE: 6
DEXTERITY: 6
SPEED: 7
ENDURANCE: 7
COURAGE: 7
FIREPOWER: 7
ACCURACY: 6
MELEE: 7
TECH SKILL: 5
CHARISMA: 6
RANK: 6

PROFILE: Runabout likes to watch things blow up; the bigger the explosion, the more he enjoys it. If he's not busy hunting Autobots, he'll pass his free time using parked cars for target practice or igniting fuel pumps at a gas station.

A good-sized fireball never fails to bring a mischievous smile to his face. Seemingly driven by an unending supply of evil energy, he avoids even the briefest lulls in activity as if he's terrified that boredom might fatally infect him. As a Battlecharger, Runabout gets more than enough opportunity to stay busy, but he worries about what he'll do with himself after he finishes blowing up all the Autobots, cars, and gas stations on Earth.

He calculates at the rate he's going he'll have to find a new sport within two years.

ABILITIES:
In car mode, Runabout has a maximum speed of 185 mph and a range of 550 miles. He can transform to robot mode in .4 seconds. He uses a particle beam rifle that shoots a high-energy beam of neutrons with devastating results.

WEAKNESSES: Runabout's attention turns to beautiful cars like a young man's turns to beautiful women. In Runabout's case though, the more beautiful the car, the more he craves to destroy it. This often distracts him from his true mission and leaves him vulnerable to attack.

SAMPLE POST:

Maximum Overdrive

The long expanse of road leading across the vast desert of Arizona was, as one would expect, dark and desolate, only the occasional wild animal and the odd ball of tumbleweed were present as a set of lights in the distance were the only indication that there was someone out on the long drive alone.

Actually... it was not someone, but more like... something!

There was a thundering roar of a turbocharged engine as the desert dust was kicked up from the tarmac, leaving a plume of sand in its wake as the black Mustang thundered along the human made structure. It was one of the most well maintained expanses of human roadway as it was the main connector from the hot desert city of Arizona, to all of the other places that the fleshbags inhabited.

Runabout was enjoying thundering over the smooth asphalt – granted it was not the sleek and smooth roadways of Cybertron, and definitely not that of the Iacon Speedway – but it was a great change from that of the stifling corridors of the Decepticon Cruiser Ultrax. By primus that ship was a dump! How any ‘Con could have such a place to reside was beyond him. The mere thought of that ship made Runabout’s energon boil!

He was already pushing over the legal speed limit that the fleshbags imposed on all their main road routes, and the thought of the Ultrax pushed his irritation to the limit and the needle on the accelerometer began to move over the numbers faster and faster – he could engage his charge mode, but that would be breaking with the infiltration protocol, and he would be dragged over hot slag for his indiscretion. Thundering up an empty expanse of roadway would have been pleasure enough for most bots or cons or even the resident fleshbags.

No, that wasn’t Runabout’s style – by the matrix he was beginning to get bored!

‘Argghhh!!! If I don’t get something to do soon...I’m gonna bust a gasket!!!!’ he thought

Runabout dropped his accelerator and his speedometer clocked over 100 earth mph, he wanted to go faster so desperately wanted to floor it...just one more...

‘Huh? The slag is that behind me....?’

The flashing blue and red lights of highway patrol crept up in his wing mirror as the police car began to power after him. The white dodge charger thundered up behind Runabout as a small sliver of panic shot through his core processor.

‘Dammit...how did that nuisance police-bot get me?’ Runabout’s burst of panic was waylaid as the trooper in the highway car began to shout warnings out at him. He gave a sigh of relief – it wasn’t that pest Prowl, it was a nuisance fleshbag trying to tangle with one of the Decepticon’s best shock troopers.

There was a hard screech of rubber against the asphalt as Runabout hit the brakes hard. The highway patrol Charger shot past Runabout as surprise overtook the human driver of the police car. The Charger slid to a halt and stopped over both lanes of the desert highway as Runabout locked down his front brakes and gunned his engine hard, letting his back wheels spin occasionally, small clouds of tyre smoke puffing up from the rubber against the tarmac. The human driver of the police Charger had stalled the engine of the car and looked on in shock as the screeching of the tyres shot up a large plume of smoke as the Battlecharger closed the gap at a sickening rate of speed. The human in the Charger looked on in shock as the incoming Mustang began to shift and alter its shape as metal panels and ram bars reinforced the structural shape of the muscle car before it impacted the Police Charger.

If there was anyone around, there would have been the most deafening bang as the body of the charger buckled, and bent around the altered form of the Battlecharger. Glass windows shattered and metal crushed under the force of the impact. The human in the car was killed instantly – his neck snapping under the force of the whiplash. Runabout hit the brakes hard as he pulled what the humans called “a donut” as the Charger flipped with the force of the impact, gouges and metal scrapes chewed up the asphalt as the ruined hunk of metal came to rest around a large rock. Runabout surveyed his little piece of mayhem. He frowned as there was no big bang.

As the Battlecharger waited, the fractured petrol tank haemorrhaged the fuel as the damaged wiring slowly sparked.

'C'mon..C'mon... where's the boom already?' He was about to break protocol and transform to robot mode. There was a bright spark from the damaged wiring of the car and the petrol ignited.

The fireball shot into the dark night sky and Runabout let loose a sadistic, yet satisfied cackle of glee, and reverting back from Battlecharge mode to his alternate mode as he admired his handiwork. In the distance the lights of the city of Phoenix sparkled, and Runabout had found a new playground, one where he would gladly have fun. A new place to play...

Runabout gunned his engine hard again, his rear tyres spun. The burnout completed, the Battlecharger shot off towards the human city. He hoped that Runamuck wasn’t having as much fun as he was.....

You did say states cannot be lower than 1, right? Man, I hope I did this right and didn't make him a Gary Stu.

___
Quick Strike

Allegiance: Autobots
Function: Scientist/Medic and part-time Sniper.
Sub-group: Special Operations
Alternate Modes: A black, silver, and grey Mazda Miata MX-5 Roadster.
Weapons: Main weapon: Long range sniper rifle, an EMP bomb, and a communications scrambler.
Special Abilities: Enhanced vision and enhanced radar
Height: 28ft/ 3m
Quote: “Those who have the greater will, have the greater life.”


Strength: 5
Intelligence: 9
Dexterity: 6
Speed: 6
Endurance: 7
Courage: 3
Firepower: 7, with Sniper, everything else is a 4
Accuracy: 8
Melee: 3
Tech Skill: 8
Charisma: 4
Rank:

Profile: Quick Strike is an old, noble bot with years of front line experience and more trivia than he knows what to do with,... which would be great if he wasn't a coward.

Quick Strike was born with the designation of Impulse to a middle class mech and femme. He had an average childhood and when the Great War officially started, he had been working as lead scientist at laboratory in Iacon for well over 20 vorns. Originally, he found himself neutral, wanting nothing to do the civil war, however he found himself a Decepticon prisoner ordered to create weapons of destruction. While Impulse tried to deny doing so, when faced with the deactivated bodies of his former associates who had also denied the 'Cons, Impulse quickly agreed to create the weapons.

He stayed there for vorns creating weapons for the Decepticons. It was only when he was freed almost 540 years later did he finally see what his labor accomplished. Horrified, he begged and pleaded to join the Autobots. While was accepted, but remained under watch by the higher ups who were afraid that he would give secrets to the 'Cons. It was only when a bad mission he was on went south did he prove his worth, somehow, not even Impulse completely remembers, he managed to kill most of the 'Cons and got away. While he was fairly traumatized by this event and wanted nothing more than to go back to his warm, safe labs, he found himself recruited into Special Operations under the bot Radio Strike. Under Radio Strike, it was reveled that Impulse had actually killed all those 'bots miles away with a normal low-grade blaster and good aim. Thus, the reluctant Impulse found himself thrown into the special operations as a sniper with the new designation Quick Strike. Though really, Quick Strike didn't mind the new name, he considered it a good start and warily embraced his new life.

However, It was soon re-reveled to his new teams mates that Quick Strike was a coward. He didn't run away from all danger and did know when he had to fight, but you wouldn't catch him volunteering for anything any time soon. As that was an important part of special ops, Quick Strike found that his scientific knowledge gave him the most accurate, knowledgeable, and logical choice to become his teams medic.

Though, he complains routinely on how he wished that he was, once again, a full-time scientist instead of a part time medic, scientist, and, reluctant, sniper, he is perfectly content with his life. Though his team mates really wished he was braver.

Abilities: Quick Strike is a socially awkward mech, he tries to make friends, but never really got the hang of it. While he is on friendly terms with his team mates, he tends to spend most of his free time in his labs where it's nice and quiet, and people don't bother him because they were sparing and shattered their visor again.

He is a good sniper, but prefers to stay out of the field out of fear. And considering he is the best medic that his team has, he's usually obliged. However, that means that he is charged with protecting the base if anyone, unauthorized Autobot or Decepticon, find it. Since it's a small group, special operations were never that big, he tends to get stuck in low-level, but important jobs. Such as monitor duty, communications and such. He just likes his lab more and tends to leave before he gets stuck with more duties.

His sniper rifle can shoot enemies up to 20 miles away and his communications bomb can scramble relays for up to 4 cycles and his EMP bombs last 8 kliks. Since he is bad at close combat, he is rather fast and will run away more than fight, while his endurance allows him to get back to base before he passes out. Though, it's biggest use is when Quick Strike tends to avoid recharge to do other things around the base.

Quick Strike created both his EMP bomb, his communication scrambler, and the program for his advanced radar. While the program works rather well, his bomb and scrambler tend to die after two uses so he has to keep making more since he can't seem to make them last more than two uses without blowing up or melting. While he can engineer, it's purely a miracle that his radar program hadn't corrupted his processor and offlined him. He really does prefer chemistry to auto-mechanics. However, he has had his advanced optics ever since his academy days when he got his first upgrade to be a scientist.

Weaknesses: Quick Strike is fairly cowardly. He can snipe fairly well, enough to be recruited, but his major faults lay at hand to hand and close range combat and his lack of strength, so tends to run when the situation goes sour. Living with Special Operations mechs and living with the Decepticons made him a fair bit paranoid and it can be rather easy to dupe him in the right situations. He also tends to take certain things to seriously and can over-analyze a situation.


Example

Quick Strike sighed, his vents giving off a large burst of the poisonous toxin that was what the current plant's atmosphere was made of. Raising his rifle up, 'Striker felt himself connect with the gun as he plugged in to the ports on the handle. Raising it up to his left he, he looked through the scope at the unfortunate Decepticon who had managed to wander to close to the Special Operations main base. Squeezing the trigger, he watched the mech stutter slightly and fall backwards, another squeeze and Quick Shot stared at the body for a kilk before he idly disconnected himself from the gun. One shot to the spark chamber and another to the helm where his memory banks were stored. He would offline in 3 breems if he wasn't found. Even if he did, he wouldn't know what happened and would most likely need at least a stellar cycle to be fully repaired and able to fight again.

Picking up his rifle, he placed it into subspace and transformed. Within 5 kliks he was at base. Looking around, 'Striker felt himself smile, no alarms, no screaming, nothing. Walking to his lab with a skip in his step that could almost be called jolly, he received a ping. Stopping, his smile gone in a flash. Sighing, he turned on his heal to the med bay. Arriving a klik later, he stared blankly at the neutral Componate. He was sitting on the berth the closest to the door, though how he got there was anyone's guess since his hinges and leg joints were barley connected to his body. Quick Strike didn't even ask and simply left to go grab a scanner, a scalpel, and welder. When he got back into the room, Componate had moved back onto the berth and 'Striker grabbed a rag to clean the wound which was leaking a pleasant mix of coolant, engergon, and oil. Exhaling from his vents, he got to work.

'Striker didn't know how Componate managed to destroy his lower legs when he was the only mech at base, but at this moment the Scientist didn't really care. Snatching his ration of energon, he shot the thing in an astrosecond and turned to leave to his lab. He had 2 free cycles before he was forced to take monitor duty from Componate and all he really wanted to do was spend that time finally doing his original job. When he did finally get to his lab, he shut the and locked the door before scanning his lab. When everything turned up clean, he activated his emergency comms. and disconnected his regular ones. Preparations done, 'Striker grabbed his list from subspace and scanned down it. Getting rid of the list again, he walked over to his chemical storage unit. he had just under 2 free cycles, and Primus help everyone if he didn't manage to complete at least one experiment.

The third time's the charm, and, hey! it's the Autobot known as Sprints's third incarnation!

Name: Sprints
Allegiance: Autobots
Function: Reconnaissance
Alt. Mode: Lamborghini Aventador, bright silver
Weapons: 2 Forearm-mounted rapid-fire machine guns (1 per arm), 1 shoulder-mounted targeting missile, exceptionally hard plating on hands/fists
Special Abilities: Low fuel consumption
Height: 22 ft/6.7m
Quote: "C'mon, let's go scrap some Decepticons!"

STRENGTH: 6
INTELLIGENCE: 7
DEXTERITY: 7
SPEED: 8
ENDURANCE: 4
COURAGE:7
FIREPOWER: 6
ACCURACY: 5
MELEE: 7
TECH SKILL: 4
CHARISMA: 5
RANK:

Profile:

A relatively "young" Autobot with less practical experience than some of his comrades, Sprints was actually an esteemed heavy warrior in his past life. Forged vorns before the start of the Cybertronian Civil War, Steelcore (Sprints's former designation) had worked as a security guard and enforcer before he joined the Autobots. Possessed of great strength and stamina, Steelcore fought on the frontlines of the war, spearheading operations that few other Autobots thought would succeed. Steelcore was among the last Autobots on Cybertron when the planet collapsed; his group was pinned down in enemy territory and was all but annihilated by Decepticons before Steelcore was heavily damaged and entered stasis.

Finally awoken hundreds of vorns later, Steelcore was mindwiped and reprogrammed as a Decepticon. Fighting now as a heavy-weapons and demolitions expert, Steelcore was personally responsible for the deaths of dozens of his former allies. However, he eventually grew bored of the war, thinking none could match his might, and went rogue, slaying Decepticons and Autobots alike, daring any and all to challenge him.

Only so many foolish Transformers on either side dared face Steelcore, and so after just a few dozen vorns he found himself alone and without challengers. Steelcore began drifting, joining and leaving mercenary and bounty-hunter groups, doing anything that promised a good fight. He found disappointment far more often than satisfaction, though, and eventually became disinterested in the goings-on of his race.

Finally, two years ago, Steelcore was attacked by a couple of upstart Decepticons who sought an easy promotion from killing Steelcore. The neutral bot himself was alone at this point, and was unprepared and unaware when the 'Cons unleashed their barrage. Suffering heavy fire, Steelcore entered Earth's atmosphere in an attempt to find a better site on which to fight the 'Cons. However, he suffered a shot to the cranial unit that blew out most of his sensors, as well as his memory banks. All but unconscious, Steelcore just barely managed to fire his missiles and destroy his attackers before crashing into the ground in a massive explosion; he landed deep in the wilderness of Russia.

Luckily, Steelcore's charred remains were found by the Autobots rather than the Decepticons or humans. The Autobot commander who found him decided to have her medical engineers revive Steelcore when she saw that his memory bank was shot; there was no way to tell Steelcore's former allegiance. After almost a month of work, the medical engineers had the Transformer running once more.

In his third incarnation, now called Sprints, the Autobot fomerly known as Steelcore is very different from his haughty, orderly and no-nonsense former self. Sprints is confident to the point of cockiness, yes, but he keeps this superior feeling to himself, almost never openly calling out for challengers. Still, he tends to take any chance to show off that he can. Sprints is also very much a rule-bender/breaker and barrier-tester; if he thinks he can get away with something he'll do it, and may do it even if he doesn't think he can get away with it. For example, while officially a Reconnaissance 'Bot, Sprints often engages with enemy units if he thinks he can win the fight; likewise, he rarely follows orders to the letter, and prefers to get the job done how he thinks it best (after all, in Sprints's mind, the way he thinks it best to do something usually IS the best way). Sprints is also a thrill-seeker, always hoping to get a Transformer's equivalent of an adrenaline rush. His two favorite activities are fighting Decepticons and high-speed racing, especially in tricky environments (this does apply to both), and he also enjoys learning more about Earth and its inhabitants. He doesn't mind not being able to recall anything before being revived by the med team.

Abilities:

Sprints is very fast and agile, with a max speed of close to 300 mph and a range of almost 8000 miles thanks to his low fuel consumption. He makes use of this speed and agility in his very mobile fighting style. Having "trained" over the past couple years in pit fighting, he knows the ups, downs, ins and outs of hand-to-hand combat, and is competent against even foes with heavier armor and greater strength than his.

Sprints is equipped with a rapid-fire machine gun mounted to each forearm. These guns are semi-retractable; he generally stores them in a half-in-half-out sort of configuartion on his arms, with only the upper half of the guns showing. The guns fire high-temperature armor-piercing bullets that can puncture light to moderate armor at a respectable distance of almost three kilometers, and can even punch through heavier armor at point blank range. Sprints tends to use these to compliment his melee combat style, often firing the guns into nearby opponents, made possible due to their shortened barrels. Sprints only carries one magazine (yes, these are magazine-based machine guns) for each gun, equating to 60 shots total at a speed of about 100 rpm.

Sprints also has a missile mounted on his left shoulder that is usable while he is in his alternate form. This missile has tracking capability, and while it can conceivably lock onto anything Sprints can see, it only has a truly effective range of some 5-10 km against moving targets, and is somewhat easily evadable by airborne targets.


Weaknesses:

Sprints tends to be fast-acting and impetuous, and often winds up in situations that are a bit more than he can handle by himself; he also is relatively easy to catch off-guard when he's on patrol for extended periods of time, as he likes to entertain himself. His weapons are less advanced than many other Transformers' and have shorter range, and his armor is thinner and weaker than normal to allow for his speed and agility.

Sample Post: A Skirmish with the Foe

Sprints cruised along the road at 200 miles per hour. He loved driving fast; it was part of the thrill of living. Officially, yes, he was supposed to be trying to blend in and perform his general reconnaissance duties, but since he was on his own, Sprints felt no need to follow orders. Who was going to rat him out to his superiors? His dust?

If the Autobot could have grinned, he would have.

- - - - -

<<Base, this is Sprints, do you read?>>

Cherokee* glanced up at the terminal. He had been rotated off active duty in favor of this job, and right now, he was hating it. He picked up the communication device and spoke.

<<Sprints, this is Cherokee at base, I read. What's your situation?>>

<<Cherokee, good to hear you, man.>> Any formality that had been in Sprints's tone disappeared when he became aware that it was one of his friends on the line. <<Listen, man, I think I see a Decepticon off a ways, too far for a good hit with my weapons from this range...>>

<<Sprints, don't shoot. You're just on recon duty, you were ordered not to engage, especially after that incident last deca-cycle-->>

<<Aw, man, you know that guy fired first! You believe me on that, right? C'mon Cherokee, you know how those Cons are.>>

<<That doesn't matter.>> Cherokee shook his head at his friend's impetuousness. <<Just don't engage. Do you copy, Sprints? Don't... Oh, what's the use.>>

Sprints had already ended the transmission.

- - - - -

Sprints peered out from around the rock. He may have been somewhat rash and a little too eager for a fight, but he wasn't stupid. He knew enough to get the drop on his enemy if he could.

The Decepticon was just standing there, stupidly. Must be a guard, Sprints thought. Not my problem.

Sprints tensed, then charged out from behind the rock, machine guns blasting away. By the time he'd fired his tenth shot, he was already closed in to his foe. Screaming savagely, he leapt into the air and brought his right fist down heavily into the Decepticon's head even as it swiveled to confront him, pulverizing the plating and circuitry beneath as he continued to fire with that arm's gun. Never one to rest when the battle was won too easily, though, Sprints quickly swept the 'Con's legs out from beneath him and dropped as well, parallel to and just above his foe, ending his fall by slamming his elbow into the 'Con's midriff.

The whole encounter lasted about five nanokliks. The Decepticon never knew what hit him. And it never occurred to Sprints that there may have been a reason that it was so easy.

Never occurred to him, that is, until he heard the scream of several jets and turned just in time to receive a faceful of explosion.

- - - - -

Sprints woke up in the medical bay and was informed shortly thereafter that it had been almost half a mega-cycle since he'd dropped contact with Cherokee. He was reprimanded by the commander at the base and told in no unclear terms that he would be shipped out to a new base soon.

Sprints didn't honestly care. He'd found this base pretty boring, anyway. Not nearly enough good challenging roads or Decepticons around.

On the way to the Recharge Chamber to fill up before leaving, Sprints overheard a couple other Autbots talking about something they'd seen on a base several years before. Sprints reflected that he didn't have much to reflect on-- he himself had no recollection of events previous to his revival at the hands of a medical team.

Still, it didn't matter.

With a little luck, he'd get the fight he was hoping for wherever he was headed.

*Please note: Cherokee is another character idea I have; I may or may not be using him as a PC or NPC at some point. Just thought I'd let everybody know.

Baneblade wrote:OOC: Having a bash with the battlechargers fist up Runabout

NAME: Runabout
ALLEGIANCE: Decepticon
FUNCTION: Shock Trooper
ALT. MODE [Earth]: Black 2012 Ford Mustang Boss 302 with silver hood stripes
ALT. MODE [Cybertron]: Cybertronian Car
WEAPONS: High-Energy Particle Beam Rifle

HEIGHT: 24ft

QUOTE: “A Pretty Car...Makes An Even Prettier Wreck!”

STRENGTH: 5
INTELLIGENCE: 6
DEXTERITY: 6
SPEED: 7
ENDURANCE: 7
COURAGE: 7
FIREPOWER: 7
ACCURACY: 6
MELEE: 7
TECH SKILL: 5
CHARISMA: 6
RANK: 6

PROFILE: Runabout likes to watch things blow up; the bigger the explosion, the more he enjoys it. If he's not busy hunting Autobots, he'll pass his free time using parked cars for target practice or igniting fuel pumps at a gas station.

A good-sized fireball never fails to bring a mischievous smile to his face. Seemingly driven by an unending supply of evil energy, he avoids even the briefest lulls in activity as if he's terrified that boredom might fatally infect him. As a Battlecharger, Runabout gets more than enough opportunity to stay busy, but he worries about what he'll do with himself after he finishes blowing up all the Autobots, cars, and gas stations on Earth.

He calculates at the rate he's going he'll have to find a new sport within two years.

ABILITIES:
In car mode, Runabout has a maximum speed of 185 mph and a range of 550 miles. He can transform to robot mode in .4 seconds. He uses a particle beam rifle that shoots a high-energy beam of neutrons with devastating results.

WEAKNESSES: Runabout's attention turns to beautiful cars like a young man's turns to beautiful women. In Runabout's case though, the more beautiful the car, the more he craves to destroy it. This often distracts him from his true mission and leaves him vulnerable to attack.

SAMPLE POST:

Maximum Overdrive

The long expanse of road leading across the vast desert of Arizona was, as one would expect, dark and desolate, only the occasional wild animal and the odd ball of tumbleweed were present as a set of lights in the distance were the only indication that there was someone out on the long drive alone.

Actually... it was not someone, but more like... something!

There was a thundering roar of a turbocharged engine as the desert dust was kicked up from the tarmac, leaving a plume of sand in its wake as the black Mustang thundered along the human made structure. It was one of the most well maintained expanses of human roadway as it was the main connector from the hot desert city of Arizona, to all of the other places that the fleshbags inhabited.

Runabout was enjoying thundering over the smooth asphalt – granted it was not the sleek and smooth roadways of Cybertron, and definitely not that of the Iacon Speedway – but it was a great change from that of the stifling corridors of the Decepticon Cruiser Ultrax. By primus that ship was a dump! How any ‘Con could have such a place to reside was beyond him. The mere thought of that ship made Runabout’s energon boil!

He was already pushing over the legal speed limit that the fleshbags imposed on all their main road routes, and the thought of the Ultrax pushed his irritation to the limit and the needle on the accelerometer began to move over the numbers faster and faster – he could engage his charge mode, but that would be breaking with the infiltration protocol, and he would be dragged over hot slag for his indiscretion. Thundering up an empty expanse of roadway would have been pleasure enough for most bots or cons or even the resident fleshbags.

No, that wasn’t Runabout’s style – by the matrix he was beginning to get bored!

‘Argghhh!!! If I don’t get something to do soon...I’m gonna bust a gasket!!!!’ he thought

Runabout dropped his accelerator and his speedometer clocked over 100 earth mph, he wanted to go faster so desperately wanted to floor it...just one more...

‘Huh? The slag is that behind me....?’

The flashing blue and red lights of highway patrol crept up in his wing mirror as the police car began to power after him. The white dodge charger thundered up behind Runabout as a small sliver of panic shot through his core processor.

‘Dammit...how did that nuisance police-bot get me?’ Runabout’s burst of panic was waylaid as the trooper in the highway car began to shout warnings out at him. He gave a sigh of relief – it wasn’t that pest Prowl, it was a nuisance fleshbag trying to tangle with one of the Decepticon’s best shock troopers.

There was a hard screech of rubber against the asphalt as Runabout hit the brakes hard. The highway patrol Charger shot past Runabout as surprise overtook the human driver of the police car. The Charger slid to a halt and stopped over both lanes of the desert highway as Runabout locked down his front brakes and gunned his engine hard, letting his back wheels spin occasionally, small clouds of tyre smoke puffing up from the rubber against the tarmac. The human driver of the police Charger had stalled the engine of the car and looked on in shock as the screeching of the tyres shot up a large plume of smoke as the Battlecharger closed the gap at a sickening rate of speed. The human in the Charger looked on in shock as the incoming Mustang began to shift and alter its shape as metal panels and ram bars reinforced the structural shape of the muscle car before it impacted the Police Charger.

If there was anyone around, there would have been the most deafening bang as the body of the charger buckled, and bent around the altered form of the Battlecharger. Glass windows shattered and metal crushed under the force of the impact. The human in the car was killed instantly – his neck snapping under the force of the whiplash. Runabout hit the brakes hard as he pulled what the humans called “a donut” as the Charger flipped with the force of the impact, gouges and metal scrapes chewed up the asphalt as the ruined hunk of metal came to rest around a large rock. Runabout surveyed his little piece of mayhem. He frowned as there was no big bang.

As the Battlecharger waited, the fractured petrol tank haemorrhaged the fuel as the damaged wiring slowly sparked.

'C'mon..C'mon... where's the boom already?' He was about to break protocol and transform to robot mode. There was a bright spark from the damaged wiring of the car and the petrol ignited.

The fireball shot into the dark night sky and Runabout let loose a sadistic, yet satisfied cackle of glee, and reverting back from Battlecharge mode to his alternate mode as he admired his handiwork. In the distance the lights of the city of Phoenix sparkled, and Runabout had found a new playground, one where he would gladly have fun. A new place to play...

Runabout gunned his engine hard again, his rear tyres spun. The burnout completed, the Battlecharger shot off towards the human city. He hoped that Runamuck wasn’t having as much fun as he was.....

Approved. Just add in his height in meters. You can start him on the Ultrax.

Brinakron wrote:The third time's the charm, and, hey! it's the Autobot known as Sprints's third incarnation!

Name: Sprints
Allegiance: Autobots
Function: Reconnaissance
Alt. Mode: Lamborghini Aventador, bright silver
Weapons: 2 Forearm-mounted rapid-fire machine guns (1 per arm), 1 shoulder-mounted targeting missile, exceptionally hard plating on hands/fists
Special Abilities: Low fuel consumption
Height: 22 ft/6.7m
Quote: "C'mon, let's go scrap some Decepticons!"

STRENGTH: 6
INTELLIGENCE: 7
DEXTERITY: 7
SPEED: 8
ENDURANCE: 4
COURAGE:7
FIREPOWER: 6
ACCURACY: 5
MELEE: 7
TECH SKILL: 4
CHARISMA: 5
RANK:

Profile:

A relatively "young" Autobot with less practical experience than some of his comrades, Sprints was actually an esteemed heavy warrior in his past life. Forged vorns before the start of the Cybertronian Civil War, Steelcore (Sprints's former designation) had worked as a security guard and enforcer before he joined the Autobots. Possessed of great strength and stamina, Steelcore fought on the frontlines of the war, spearheading operations that few other Autobots thought would succeed. Steelcore was among the last Autobots on Cybertron when the planet collapsed; his group was pinned down in enemy territory and was all but annihilated by Decepticons before Steelcore was heavily damaged and entered stasis.

Finally awoken hundreds of vorns later, Steelcore was mindwiped and reprogrammed as a Decepticon. Fighting now as a heavy-weapons and demolitions expert, Steelcore was personally responsible for the deaths of dozens of his former allies. However, he eventually grew bored of the war, thinking none could match his might, and went rogue, slaying Decepticons and Autobots alike, daring any and all to challenge him.

Only so many foolish Transformers on either side dared face Steelcore, and so after just a few dozen vorns he found himself alone and without challengers. Steelcore began drifting, joining and leaving mercenary and bounty-hunter groups, doing anything that promised a good fight. He found disappointment far more often than satisfaction, though, and eventually became disinterested in the goings-on of his race.

Finally, two years ago, Steelcore was attacked by a couple of upstart Decepticons who sought an easy promotion from killing Steelcore. The neutral bot himself was alone at this point, and was unprepared and unaware when the 'Cons unleashed their barrage. Suffering heavy fire, Steelcore entered Earth's atmosphere in an attempt to find a better site on which to fight the 'Cons. However, he suffered a shot to the cranial unit that blew out most of his sensors, as well as his memory banks. All but unconscious, Steelcore just barely managed to fire his missiles and destroy his attackers before crashing into the ground in a massive explosion; he landed deep in the wilderness of Russia.

Luckily, Steelcore's charred remains were found by the Autobots rather than the Decepticons or humans. The Autobot commander who found him decided to have her medical engineers revive Steelcore when she saw that his memory bank was shot; there was no way to tell Steelcore's former allegiance. After almost a month of work, the medical engineers had the Transformer running once more.

In his third incarnation, now called Sprints, the Autobot fomerly known as Steelcore is very different from his haughty, orderly and no-nonsense former self. Sprints is confident to the point of cockiness, yes, but he keeps this superior feeling to himself, almost never openly calling out for challengers. Still, he tends to take any chance to show off that he can. Sprints is also very much a rule-bender/breaker and barrier-tester; if he thinks he can get away with something he'll do it, and may do it even if he doesn't think he can get away with it. For example, while officially a Reconnaissance 'Bot, Sprints often engages with enemy units if he thinks he can win the fight; likewise, he rarely follows orders to the letter, and prefers to get the job done how he thinks it best (after all, in Sprints's mind, the way he thinks it best to do something usually IS the best way). Sprints is also a thrill-seeker, always hoping to get a Transformer's equivalent of an adrenaline rush. His two favorite activities are fighting Decepticons and high-speed racing, especially in tricky environments (this does apply to both), and he also enjoys learning more about Earth and its inhabitants. He doesn't mind not being able to recall anything before being revived by the med team.

Abilities:

Sprints is very fast and agile, with a max speed of close to 300 mph and a range of almost 8000 miles thanks to his low fuel consumption. He makes use of this speed and agility in his very mobile fighting style. Having "trained" over the past couple years in pit fighting, he knows the ups, downs, ins and outs of hand-to-hand combat, and is competent against even foes with heavier armor and greater strength than his.

Sprints is equipped with a rapid-fire machine gun mounted to each forearm. These guns are semi-retractable; he generally stores them in a half-in-half-out sort of configuartion on his arms, with only the upper half of the guns showing. The guns fire high-temperature armor-piercing bullets that can puncture light to moderate armor at a respectable distance of almost three kilometers, and can even punch through heavier armor at point blank range. Sprints tends to use these to compliment his melee combat style, often firing the guns into nearby opponents, made possible due to their shortened barrels. Sprints only carries one magazine (yes, these are magazine-based machine guns) for each gun, equating to 60 shots total at a speed of about 100 rpm.

Sprints also has a missile mounted on his left shoulder that is usable while he is in his alternate form. This missile has tracking capability, and while it can conceivably lock onto anything Sprints can see, it only has a truly effective range of some 5-10 km against moving targets, and is somewhat easily evadable by airborne targets.


Weaknesses:

Sprints tends to be fast-acting and impetuous, and often winds up in situations that are a bit more than he can handle by himself; he also is relatively easy to catch off-guard when he's on patrol for extended periods of time, as he likes to entertain himself. His weapons are less advanced than many other Transformers' and have shorter range, and his armor is thinner and weaker than normal to allow for his speed and agility.

Sample Post: A Skirmish with the Foe

Sprints cruised along the road at 200 miles per hour. He loved driving fast; it was part of the thrill of living. Officially, yes, he was supposed to be trying to blend in and perform his general reconnaissance duties, but since he was on his own, Sprints felt no need to follow orders. Who was going to rat him out to his superiors? His dust?

If the Autobot could have grinned, he would have.

- - - - -

<<Base, this is Sprints, do you read?>>

Cherokee* glanced up at the terminal. He had been rotated off active duty in favor of this job, and right now, he was hating it. He picked up the communication device and spoke.

<<Sprints, this is Cherokee at base, I read. What's your situation?>>

<<Cherokee, good to hear you, man.>> Any formality that had been in Sprints's tone disappeared when he became aware that it was one of his friends on the line. <<Listen, man, I think I see a Decepticon off a ways, too far for a good hit with my weapons from this range...>>

<<Sprints, don't shoot. You're just on recon duty, you were ordered not to engage, especially after that incident last deca-cycle-->>

<<Aw, man, you know that guy fired first! You believe me on that, right? C'mon Cherokee, you know how those Cons are.>>

<<That doesn't matter.>> Cherokee shook his head at his friend's impetuousness. <<Just don't engage. Do you copy, Sprints? Don't... Oh, what's the use.>>

Sprints had already ended the transmission.

- - - - -

Sprints peered out from around the rock. He may have been somewhat rash and a little too eager for a fight, but he wasn't stupid. He knew enough to get the drop on his enemy if he could.

The Decepticon was just standing there, stupidly. Must be a guard, Sprints thought. Not my problem.

Sprints tensed, then charged out from behind the rock, machine guns blasting away. By the time he'd fired his tenth shot, he was already closed in to his foe. Screaming savagely, he leapt into the air and brought his right fist down heavily into the Decepticon's head even as it swiveled to confront him, pulverizing the plating and circuitry beneath as he continued to fire with that arm's gun. Never one to rest when the battle was won too easily, though, Sprints quickly swept the 'Con's legs out from beneath him and dropped as well, parallel to and just above his foe, ending his fall by slamming his elbow into the 'Con's midriff.

The whole encounter lasted about five nanokliks. The Decepticon never knew what hit him. And it never occurred to Sprints that there may have been a reason that it was so easy.

Never occurred to him, that is, until he heard the scream of several jets and turned just in time to receive a faceful of explosion.

- - - - -

Sprints woke up in the medical bay and was informed shortly thereafter that it had been almost half a mega-cycle since he'd dropped contact with Cherokee. He was reprimanded by the commander at the base and told in no unclear terms that he would be shipped out to a new base soon.

Sprints didn't honestly care. He'd found this base pretty boring, anyway. Not nearly enough good challenging roads or Decepticons around.

On the way to the Recharge Chamber to fill up before leaving, Sprints overheard a couple other Autbots talking about something they'd seen on a base several years before. Sprints reflected that he didn't have much to reflect on-- he himself had no recollection of events previous to his revival at the hands of a medical team.

Still, it didn't matter.

With a little luck, he'd get the fight he was hoping for wherever he was headed.

*Please note: Cherokee is another character idea I have; I may or may not be using him as a PC or NPC at some point. Just thought I'd let everybody know.

Lower his speed a tiny bit so it fits in with his stat. His range is a bit much, lower that to 3,000 miles. Having him be a former Decepticon revived as an Autobot will be very difficult to play out in game. Not many Autobots, if any at all, would trust him or even want to work with him, and now with Prime gone there won't be many who would stand up for him. He also would not have been revived or rebuilt on Earth. There really would have been no one to find and rebuild him.

Drop me a PM if you'd like to discuss him further, I'd really like to get him in the game.

Wooper wrote:You did say states cannot be lower than 1, right? Man, I hope I did this right and didn't make him a Gary Stu.

___
Quick Strike

Allegiance: Autobots
Function: Scientist/Medic and part-time Sniper.
Sub-group: Special Operations
Alternate Modes: A black, silver, and grey Mazda Miata MX-5 Roadster.
Weapons: Main weapon: Long range sniper rifle, an EMP bomb, and a communications scrambler.
Special Abilities: Enhanced vision and enhanced radar
Height: 28ft/ 3m
Quote: “Those who have the greater will, have the greater life.”


Strength: 5
Intelligence: 9
Dexterity: 6
Speed: 6
Endurance: 7
Courage: 3
Firepower: 7, with Sniper, everything else is a 4
Accuracy: 8
Melee: 3
Tech Skill: 8
Charisma: 4
Rank:

Profile: Quick Strike is an old, noble bot with years of front line experience and more trivia than he knows what to do with,... which would be great if he wasn't a coward.

Quick Strike was born with the designation of Impulse to a middle class mech and femme. He had an average childhood and when the Great War officially started, he had been working as lead scientist at laboratory in Iacon for well over 20 vorns. Originally, he found himself neutral, wanting nothing to do the civil war, however he found himself a Decepticon prisoner ordered to create weapons of destruction. While Impulse tried to deny doing so, when faced with the deactivated bodies of his former associates who had also denied the 'Cons, Impulse quickly agreed to create the weapons.

He stayed there for vorns creating weapons for the Decepticons. It was only when he was freed almost 540 years later did he finally see what his labor accomplished. Horrified, he begged and pleaded to join the Autobots. While was accepted, but remained under watch by the higher ups who were afraid that he would give secrets to the 'Cons. It was only when a bad mission he was on went south did he prove his worth, somehow, not even Impulse completely remembers, he managed to kill most of the 'Cons and got away. While he was fairly traumatized by this event and wanted nothing more than to go back to his warm, safe labs, he found himself recruited into Special Operations under the bot Radio Strike. Under Radio Strike, it was reveled that Impulse had actually killed all those 'bots miles away with a normal low-grade blaster and good aim. Thus, the reluctant Impulse found himself thrown into the special operations as a sniper with the new designation Quick Strike. Though really, Quick Strike didn't mind the new name, he considered it a good start and warily embraced his new life.

However, It was soon re-reveled to his new teams mates that Quick Strike was a coward. He didn't run away from all danger and did know when he had to fight, but you wouldn't catch him volunteering for anything any time soon. As that was an important part of special ops, Quick Strike found that his scientific knowledge gave him the most accurate, knowledgeable, and logical choice to become his teams medic.

Though, he complains routinely on how he wished that he was, once again, a full-time scientist instead of a part time medic, scientist, and, reluctant, sniper, he is perfectly content with his life. Though his team mates really wished he was braver.

Abilities: Quick Strike is a socially awkward mech, he tries to make friends, but never really got the hang of it. While he is on friendly terms with his team mates, he tends to spend most of his free time in his labs where it's nice and quiet, and people don't bother him because they were sparing and shattered their visor again.

He is a good sniper, but prefers to stay out of the field out of fear. And considering he is the best medic that his team has, he's usually obliged. However, that means that he is charged with protecting the base if anyone, unauthorized Autobot or Decepticon, find it. Since it's a small group, special operations were never that big, he tends to get stuck in low-level, but important jobs. Such as monitor duty, communications and such. He just likes his lab more and tends to leave before he gets stuck with more duties.

His sniper rifle can shoot enemies up to 20 miles away and his communications bomb can scramble relays for up to 4 cycles and his EMP bombs last 8 kliks. Since he is bad at close combat, he is rather fast and will run away more than fight, while his endurance allows him to get back to base before he passes out. Though, it's biggest use is when Quick Strike tends to avoid recharge to do other things around the base.

Quick Strike created both his EMP bomb, his communication scrambler, and the program for his advanced radar. While the program works rather well, his bomb and scrambler tend to die after two uses so he has to keep making more since he can't seem to make them last more than two uses without blowing up or melting. While he can engineer, it's purely a miracle that his radar program hadn't corrupted his processor and offlined him. He really does prefer chemistry to auto-mechanics. However, he has had his advanced optics ever since his academy days when he got his first upgrade to be a scientist.

Weaknesses: Quick Strike is fairly cowardly. He can snipe fairly well, enough to be recruited, but his major faults lay at hand to hand and close range combat and his lack of strength, so tends to run when the situation goes sour. Living with Special Operations mechs and living with the Decepticons made him a fair bit paranoid and it can be rather easy to dupe him in the right situations. He also tends to take certain things to seriously and can over-analyze a situation.


Example

Quick Strike sighed, his vents giving off a large burst of the poisonous toxin that was what the current plant's atmosphere was made of. Raising his rifle up, 'Striker felt himself connect with the gun as he plugged in to the ports on the handle. Raising it up to his left he, he looked through the scope at the unfortunate Decepticon who had managed to wander to close to the Special Operations main base. Squeezing the trigger, he watched the mech stutter slightly and fall backwards, another squeeze and Quick Shot stared at the body for a kilk before he idly disconnected himself from the gun. One shot to the spark chamber and another to the helm where his memory banks were stored. He would offline in 3 breems if he wasn't found. Even if he did, he wouldn't know what happened and would most likely need at least a stellar cycle to be fully repaired and able to fight again.

Picking up his rifle, he placed it into subspace and transformed. Within 5 kliks he was at base. Looking around, 'Striker felt himself smile, no alarms, no screaming, nothing. Walking to his lab with a skip in his step that could almost be called jolly, he received a ping. Stopping, his smile gone in a flash. Sighing, he turned on his heal to the med bay. Arriving a klik later, he stared blankly at the neutral Componate. He was sitting on the berth the closest to the door, though how he got there was anyone's guess since his hinges and leg joints were barley connected to his body. Quick Strike didn't even ask and simply left to go grab a scanner, a scalpel, and welder. When he got back into the room, Componate had moved back onto the berth and 'Striker grabbed a rag to clean the wound which was leaking a pleasant mix of coolant, engergon, and oil. Exhaling from his vents, he got to work.

'Striker didn't know how Componate managed to destroy his lower legs when he was the only mech at base, but at this moment the Scientist didn't really care. Snatching his ration of energon, he shot the thing in an astrosecond and turned to leave to his lab. He had 2 free cycles before he was forced to take monitor duty from Componate and all he really wanted to do was spend that time finally doing his original job. When he did finally get to his lab, he shut the and locked the door before scanning his lab. When everything turned up clean, he activated his emergency comms. and disconnected his regular ones. Preparations done, 'Striker grabbed his list from subspace and scanned down it. Getting rid of the list again, he walked over to his chemical storage unit. he had just under 2 free cycles, and Primus help everyone if he didn't manage to complete at least one experiment.

Okay, 'Special Operations' is not a sub group so you can drop that. Right now you have three functions; you'll need to pick just one. Also transformers are not 'born' nor do they have mothers and fathers.

I'm wondering why there are two applicants that want their characters to have had multiple former names and complicated background stories. Please simplify his entire background, the whole thing seems rather confusing and unnecessary.

OOC: its drive time hehe

NAME: Runamuck
ALLEGIANCE: Decepticon
FUNCTION: Shock Trooper
ALT. MODE [Earth]: Silver-White 2012 Ford Mustang Boss 302 with black hood stripes
ALT. MODE [Cybertron]: Cybertronian Car
WEAPONS: Friction Rifle

HEIGHT: 24ft - 7.3152 Meters

QUOTE: “The Road is My Playpen....The Cars Are My Toys!”

STRENGTH: 6
INTELLIGENCE: 6
DEXTERITY: 6
SPEED: 7
ENDURANCE: 7
COURAGE: 5
FIREPOWER: 7
ACCURACY: 6
MELEE: 6
TECH SKILL: 8
CHARISMA: 6
RANK: 6

PROFILE: Cackling like a mechanical madman as he streaks down the road, Runamuck is a tumbling, twirling two-lane terror. He shows no regard for drivers sharing the highways with him. His freewheeling, frenzied approach invariably sends them scattering like leaves before a hurricane's winds.

Spreading fear is his favourite pastime.

But there's another, more sensitive side to Runamuck, although he expresses it in a most peculiar fashion: he's fascinated with Earth's junkyards. He can spend hours staring at one rusting wreck after another. In his own twisted way, Runamuck places the same value on these auto-graveyards as humans do art museums. His fellow Battlecharger, Runabout, attributes Runamuck's characteristic soft spot to "one quick-change too many snapping some cerebro-circuits."

Considering Runamuck's personality, that's a diagnosis hard to argue with.

ABILITIES: In car mode, Runamuck's maximum speed is 180 mph and his range is 600 miles. He transforms into his robot mode in .5 seconds. He wields a friction rifle, which shoots a beam that has the effect of dramatically increasing the kinetic energy of the molecules of any target it hits.

Under these conditions, even the slightest movement of the target produces a tremendous increase in friction between its molecules and air molecules or anything else it touches. Flammable objects burst into flame; some metals even melt. The effect lasts for five minutes.

WEAKNESSES: Runamuck's reckless ways often result in his transforming on ill-advised occasions. This leads to disabling injuries sometimes. He's also afraid of heights.

SAMPLE POST:

Scrapheap Moonlighter

Runamuck was a Decepticon first and foremost. Wreckage and mayhem was part of his modus operandi. Together with his twin Runabout, they were two of the most despised Con’s this side of Iacon, and they formed the Battlechargers.

Chaos was their forte and Mayhem was their calling card.

Runamuck was sat in robot mode in the middle of a large scrap-yard somewhere in the City of Phoenix. He had some quiet time to himself, a rare feat considering what was going on. The whole infiltration scenario – whilst keeping tabs on their human replicates, and the refining of the new Ore13, it wasn’t the type of action that Runamuck was used to. Starscream wasn’t doing the situation any favours either! His brash and arrogant bravado was, at times, close to endangering the entire mission.

At least here, amongst the metal detritus of the fleshbags, Runamuck felt at peace – felt at home. Sure there were crushed forms of cars, strands of spindly aluminium, rusting spires of mish mash trash that no other sane bot or con would really bother about. To Runamuck however, it was peace and solace. At least that’s what he led everyone else to think! However, in Runamuck’s mind, the scrap heaps were works of art – conglomerations of red, grey and silver all thrown together in a bent twisted portrait.

“Ah it’s just like those whimsical, weak formed fleshbags to actually make something decent for a change... at least it’s a change from everything else on this mudball...pfha”

A transmission was incoming. Runamuck pressed a digit to the activator over his right audio receptor

++Whaddaya wants Runabout? ++

There was a dark chuckle on the other end of the transmission

++How’d ya guess it was me? ++ came the reply

++Well who else would buzz me when I’m having a moment to myself? ++

++Hah! You’re doing your crazy moonlighting again! How else would you think I could find ya? ++

Runamuck had started to make his way towards the entrance to the large scrap-yard, the lights of the city twinkling away in the background as the large wire reinforced fence came into view. There were going to be humans too, well what little of them anyway that would be up at this late hour in the day. With a thought Runamuck switched from robot mode to his earth mode of a 2012 Ford Mustang Boss 302. He was identical to Runabout, but the difference was in the paintjob, for where his delinquent brother was the colour of onyx, Runamuck was a silvery white colour that put the two at a stark contrast.

Gunning his engine Runamuck shot out from the scrap-yard and along the main interstate back towards the city as Runabout was already inside the city limits and would no doubt wanting to cause some mayhem and chaos. Runamuck wasn’t going to be outdone or left behind by his demented twin.

He gunned his overpowered engine and thundered up the highway towards the main bulk of the city. It was a refreshing uninterrupted charge up the asphalt, but the appeal began to die very quickly.

Something needed wrecked.

Runabout’s demeanour went from grim to gleeful in the flicker of an optic, for up ahead there were a few human vehicles. Runamuck’s scanner identified them as transport vehicles that humans used to move their food and other goods around. There were also a few highway maintenance vehicles in the throng ahead.

‘Ah ha-ha... something to grease the gears a little!’ Runamuck said to himself as he hammered down the throttle, the needle breaching the 100mph mark as he initiated his charge mode, the outer skin of the mustang shifted and slid outwards as ram-plates and ram-bars took precedence.

His speed picked up and the needle shot past 110. It kept climbing 120, 130...pretty soon he was redlining the earth-mode engine. It didn’t concern him as he continued to thunder towards the rear of one of the highway maintenance vehicles. Its occupants not noticing the danger until it was too late.

With a sound like metal tearing at an insane speed, the pickup flipped up end over as Runamuck thundered through, not pausing for a thought.

The pickup crumpled as it hit the ground engine first, a ball of flame incinerating the dead human occupants as he continued his merry little game towards the next target.

Oh he would enjoy mixing it up with the big rig in front of him.

A brief scan of the vehicle revealed it to be a 1988 Mack Bicentennial Super liner, which instantly reminded the Battlecharger of the rather intimidating Contemptor, who he last remembered in threatening Runabout that he would slowly remove his cranial unit from his shoulders for spilling his Energon. There was also, what appeared to be an intercity delivery van in the adjacent lane to the transport rig. Runamuck gave himself a ‘meh’ as he kicked in the overdrive as he rapidly gained on the truck. This would satisfy a little animosity.

The driver saw the headlights in the wing mirror and instantly tried to pull over the large vehicle so that whoever it was could get past, but a cursory glance revealed that the vehicle was nowhere to be seen. The human occupant rubbed his eyes briefly thinking that he was seeing things. He definitely saw the red flash when the maintenance pickup had been destroyed on landing.

“We got ourselves one strange night here beauford!” the driver said to his travelling companion. The dog gave a yowling bark in response.

“Yeap! Thinkin’ we need ta re-evaluate our workin’ options...cos this...”

The driver was cut off as a chilling jolt shot through the entire big rig.

Runamuck was playing bumper!

He slammed into the passenger side of the superliner hard and laughed manically as the rear end began to swing out in an uncontrolled manner as the driver let out a string of curses and tried to bring the rear end of his charge under control. Runamuck, ever the stickler for some carnage, wasn’t going to allow that to happen.

He thundered into the wheels at the back of the trailer, hitting it harder each time forcing the rear end of the truck to slide sharply into the other lane, it crunched into the back of the intercity delivery van, sending it careering into the central division bars and spinning it around a hundred and eight degrees, the driver knocked out as his head hit the windshield.

This was going to be a two for one special! Runamuck laughed even harder as he continued to harass the rig itself, lunching himself at it at a greater speed, slicing the trailer from its mooring on the truck, the metal of the container bursting the back two driver wheels as the truck began to career out of control.

The rig trailer impacted the intercity van, crumpling around it and spilling its contents to the ground, as the rig itself hit the concrete wall, sparks flying as the metal struck the concrete violently, the trucks occupants in a burst of panic as Runamuck started to hammer on the pressure to the truck as the burst rubber of the tires shredded and flew off, the steel rims gouging the asphalt, throwing up more sparks as Runamuck fully engaged his Battlecharge mode.

He hit the truck hard at the rear, lifting it from the road as the impact flipped the truck on its side, causing it to slide dangerously, leaving its guts exposed as Runamuck chased after it.

He hit the underside of the engine housing hard, ripping it from the truck in a shower of sparks and fire.

He slid to a stop, reverting to his alternate mode.

‘Betcha can’t beat that one Runabout!’

Baneblade wrote:OOC: its drive time hehe

NAME: Runamuck
ALLEGIANCE: Decepticon
FUNCTION: Shock Trooper
ALT. MODE [Earth]: Silver-White 2012 Ford Mustang Boss 302 with black hood stripes
ALT. MODE [Cybertron]: Cybertronian Car
WEAPONS: Friction Rifle

HEIGHT: 24ft - 7.3152 Meters

QUOTE: “The Road is My Playpen....The Cars Are My Toys!”

STRENGTH: 6
INTELLIGENCE: 6
DEXTERITY: 6
SPEED: 7
ENDURANCE: 7
COURAGE: 5
FIREPOWER: 7
ACCURACY: 6
MELEE: 6
TECH SKILL: 8
CHARISMA: 6
RANK: 6

PROFILE: Cackling like a mechanical madman as he streaks down the road, Runamuck is a tumbling, twirling two-lane terror. He shows no regard for drivers sharing the highways with him. His freewheeling, frenzied approach invariably sends them scattering like leaves before a hurricane's winds.

Spreading fear is his favourite pastime.

But there's another, more sensitive side to Runamuck, although he expresses it in a most peculiar fashion: he's fascinated with Earth's junkyards. He can spend hours staring at one rusting wreck after another. In his own twisted way, Runamuck places the same value on these auto-graveyards as humans do art museums. His fellow Battlecharger, Runabout, attributes Runamuck's characteristic soft spot to "one quick-change too many snapping some cerebro-circuits."

Considering Runamuck's personality, that's a diagnosis hard to argue with.

ABILITIES: In car mode, Runamuck's maximum speed is 180 mph and his range is 600 miles. He transforms into his robot mode in .5 seconds. He wields a friction rifle, which shoots a beam that has the effect of dramatically increasing the kinetic energy of the molecules of any target it hits.

Under these conditions, even the slightest movement of the target produces a tremendous increase in friction between its molecules and air molecules or anything else it touches. Flammable objects burst into flame; some metals even melt. The effect lasts for five minutes.

WEAKNESSES: Runamuck's reckless ways often result in his transforming on ill-advised occasions. This leads to disabling injuries sometimes. He's also afraid of heights.

SAMPLE POST:

Scrapheap Moonlighter

Runamuck was a Decepticon first and foremost. Wreckage and mayhem was part of his modus operandi. Together with his twin Runabout, they were two of the most despised Con’s this side of Iacon, and they formed the Battlechargers.

Chaos was their forte and Mayhem was their calling card.

Runamuck was sat in robot mode in the middle of a large scrap-yard somewhere in the City of Phoenix. He had some quiet time to himself, a rare feat considering what was going on. The whole infiltration scenario – whilst keeping tabs on their human replicates, and the refining of the new Ore13, it wasn’t the type of action that Runamuck was used to. Starscream wasn’t doing the situation any favours either! His brash and arrogant bravado was, at times, close to endangering the entire mission.

At least here, amongst the metal detritus of the fleshbags, Runamuck felt at peace – felt at home. Sure there were crushed forms of cars, strands of spindly aluminium, rusting spires of mish mash trash that no other sane bot or con would really bother about. To Runamuck however, it was peace and solace. At least that’s what he led everyone else to think! However, in Runamuck’s mind, the scrap heaps were works of art – conglomerations of red, grey and silver all thrown together in a bent twisted portrait.

“Ah it’s just like those whimsical, weak formed fleshbags to actually make something decent for a change... at least it’s a change from everything else on this mudball...pfha”

A transmission was incoming. Runamuck pressed a digit to the activator over his right audio receptor

++Whaddaya wants Runabout? ++

There was a dark chuckle on the other end of the transmission

++How’d ya guess it was me? ++ came the reply

++Well who else would buzz me when I’m having a moment to myself? ++

++Hah! You’re doing your crazy moonlighting again! How else would you think I could find ya? ++

Runamuck had started to make his way towards the entrance to the large scrap-yard, the lights of the city twinkling away in the background as the large wire reinforced fence came into view. There were going to be humans too, well what little of them anyway that would be up at this late hour in the day. With a thought Runamuck switched from robot mode to his earth mode of a 2012 Ford Mustang Boss 302. He was identical to Runabout, but the difference was in the paintjob, for where his delinquent brother was the colour of onyx, Runamuck was a silvery white colour that put the two at a stark contrast.

Gunning his engine Runamuck shot out from the scrap-yard and along the main interstate back towards the city as Runabout was already inside the city limits and would no doubt wanting to cause some mayhem and chaos. Runamuck wasn’t going to be outdone or left behind by his demented twin.

He gunned his overpowered engine and thundered up the highway towards the main bulk of the city. It was a refreshing uninterrupted charge up the asphalt, but the appeal began to die very quickly.

Something needed wrecked.

Runabout’s demeanour went from grim to gleeful in the flicker of an optic, for up ahead there were a few human vehicles. Runamuck’s scanner identified them as transport vehicles that humans used to move their food and other goods around. There were also a few highway maintenance vehicles in the throng ahead.

‘Ah ha-ha... something to grease the gears a little!’ Runamuck said to himself as he hammered down the throttle, the needle breaching the 100mph mark as he initiated his charge mode, the outer skin of the mustang shifted and slid outwards as ram-plates and ram-bars took precedence.

His speed picked up and the needle shot past 110. It kept climbing 120, 130...pretty soon he was redlining the earth-mode engine. It didn’t concern him as he continued to thunder towards the rear of one of the highway maintenance vehicles. Its occupants not noticing the danger until it was too late.

With a sound like metal tearing at an insane speed, the pickup flipped up end over as Runamuck thundered through, not pausing for a thought.

The pickup crumpled as it hit the ground engine first, a ball of flame incinerating the dead human occupants as he continued his merry little game towards the next target.

Oh he would enjoy mixing it up with the big rig in front of him.

A brief scan of the vehicle revealed it to be a 1988 Mack Bicentennial Super liner, which instantly reminded the Battlecharger of the rather intimidating Contemptor, who he last remembered in threatening Runabout that he would slowly remove his cranial unit from his shoulders for spilling his Energon. There was also, what appeared to be an intercity delivery van in the adjacent lane to the transport rig. Runamuck gave himself a ‘meh’ as he kicked in the overdrive as he rapidly gained on the truck. This would satisfy a little animosity.

The driver saw the headlights in the wing mirror and instantly tried to pull over the large vehicle so that whoever it was could get past, but a cursory glance revealed that the vehicle was nowhere to be seen. The human occupant rubbed his eyes briefly thinking that he was seeing things. He definitely saw the red flash when the maintenance pickup had been destroyed on landing.

“We got ourselves one strange night here beauford!” the driver said to his travelling companion. The dog gave a yowling bark in response.

“Yeap! Thinkin’ we need ta re-evaluate our workin’ options...cos this...”

The driver was cut off as a chilling jolt shot through the entire big rig.

Runamuck was playing bumper!

He slammed into the passenger side of the superliner hard and laughed manically as the rear end began to swing out in an uncontrolled manner as the driver let out a string of curses and tried to bring the rear end of his charge under control. Runamuck, ever the stickler for some carnage, wasn’t going to allow that to happen.

He thundered into the wheels at the back of the trailer, hitting it harder each time forcing the rear end of the truck to slide sharply into the other lane, it crunched into the back of the intercity delivery van, sending it careering into the central division bars and spinning it around a hundred and eight degrees, the driver knocked out as his head hit the windshield.

This was going to be a two for one special! Runamuck laughed even harder as he continued to harass the rig itself, lunching himself at it at a greater speed, slicing the trailer from its mooring on the truck, the metal of the container bursting the back two driver wheels as the truck began to career out of control.

The rig trailer impacted the intercity van, crumpling around it and spilling its contents to the ground, as the rig itself hit the concrete wall, sparks flying as the metal struck the concrete violently, the trucks occupants in a burst of panic as Runamuck started to hammer on the pressure to the truck as the burst rubber of the tires shredded and flew off, the steel rims gouging the asphalt, throwing up more sparks as Runamuck fully engaged his Battlecharge mode.

He hit the truck hard at the rear, lifting it from the road as the impact flipped the truck on its side, causing it to slide dangerously, leaving its guts exposed as Runamuck chased after it.

He hit the underside of the engine housing hard, ripping it from the truck in a shower of sparks and fire.

He slid to a stop, reverting to his alternate mode.

‘Betcha can’t beat that one Runabout!’

Approved. Start him with the other dipstick.

Name: Pyro
Allegiance: Autobot
Sub-group: Wreckers
Function: Squadron Leader
Alt. mode: Emergency Response Multipurpose Fire Engine with Detachable Combat Platform that converts into a massive storage tank.
Weapons: 2x Ion Blaster Rifles, Energon Axe, Chemical Spray Cannon (Vehicle form or Shoulder Mount)
Battle Station: Six Barreled Missile Turret and Quad Laser Cannon battery. Can include mergers from other weapons in arsenal to increase firepower
Special Abilities: One of the Few Autobots linked to a mobile assault station. Enhanced Reflexes and recognition computers and hardware, giving him edges in most forms of combat or emergency rescue situations
Height: 36'
Quote: “"Think of the most awful unspeakable menace you can - and then double it. That's what we're up against."

Strength: 10
Intelligence: 8
Dexterity: 8
Speed: 8
Endurance: 9
Courage: 10
Firepower: 8
Accuracy: 8
Melee: 9
Tech Skill: 7
Charisma: 8
Rank: 8

Profile: Young Pyro is another in a proud tradition of selfless Autobot heroes. He is invariably on the front lines protecting the weak and helpless, and is so brave and steadfast as to be virtually immovable. He stands for truth, justice, and the freedom of all sentient beings. He commands a powerful multi-functional battle station.
When war initially broke out on Cybertron, Pyro declared himself a conscientious objector and left with a large number of refugees for the Neutral Territories. But after being ambushed by Decepticons en-route, Pyro changed his mind and soon joined the Autobot resistance. He gained prominence after rescuing a platoon of cadets trapped behind enemy lines and continued to distinguish himself in several off-world skirmishes. Pyro nearly lost his life to the Crucible during the Simanzi Massacre, alongside thousands of others, but was saved at the last moment by Optimus Prime.
Pyro would consequently work to emulate Optimus Prime in any way he could, taking the Autobot commander's methods and ideals to heart and eventually even altering his physical appearance to more closely resemble Prime. His latest effort included a new red and blue paint job and an added faceplate. Far from a simple case of hero worship on Pyro's part, Autobot psi-ops specialist Rung even diagnosed him with the Cybertronian personality disorder "primus apotheosis" after studying his case. His greatest wish was to die gloriously in battle as Prime watched and understood their intimate connection.

Abilities: A colossal hero to the Autobot ranks, his feats of astounding courage are legendary. Thunders defiantly through everything up any sort of terrain. An awesome mixture of speed and firepower. Strong, versatile and solid as a rock. In vehicle always comes to the rescue and defends with massive multiple firing missile launcher and combat platform. Transforms to huge multi-function mid-stage defense launch pad. Immovable in battle as a monstrous robot.

Weaknesses: Can easily get caught up second guessing himself with the old question of What Would Optimus Prime do. When this happens he will take his time and give the enemy a chance to rally and bring him to heel. He wants to be like Optimus Prime to the point of psychosis, and will do whatever it takes to emulate his hero… and dreams of a glorious death fighting beside his idol.

Sample Post

Pyro rubbed his temple as he surveyed the surroundings of the escape pod. It was a tight confined tube of deactivated electronics and a small forward facing view porthole that was clouded by ice and snow. Pressing on the release hatch offered him no results, probably inactive due to the damaged power cell somewhere on the reverse of the pod. Pyro was not amused. Balling his fist he drove it through the porthole plastic with a satisfying crash and snap. He then pushed forward, tearing the metal hatch from its hinges and sending it spinning to the top of the mountain glacier.

Giving himself a brief moment to stretch out his legs and arms, Pyro pulled himself out of the wreckage. He allowed his sensors to adjust to the region of snow, rock and sparse vegetation. “Tundra,” he muttered to himself as he stepped out of the damaged escape pod. His sensors began to peer through the frozen shroud of low hanging snow that had been kicked up by impact, carefully taking note of any potential approach of organic or technological entities. His sensors did not disappoint him.

On approach was a small cluster of mechanical creatures, their frames indicating scout types. Hardly worth the effort of open combat, however Pyro was not exactly one for looking over his shoulder in constant paranoia either. Once they detected the pod, he did not doubt that small group would be reinforced with at least one or two more powerful combat ready troopers. First rule of interplanetary survival, ensure you aren’t open to hostile forces or native populations… that’s what Prime always said.
Pyro made up his mind and darted behind one of the large alpine trees, carefully ensuring he was hidden from the signals he had detected. He did not immediately summon his weapons, instead opting for stealth and the security of a vibration dagger. There he remained, cold and silent, waiting for the prey to investigate the crash site.
His patience was soon rewarded when three Decepticon scouts emerged from the fog and began to probe the site. He could hear vague pieces regarding the evidence he had left in the snow. The broken door, the multiple prints before disappearing onto the sparsely exposed rock. Inwardly he cursed himself for not treading more lightly. Still he would need to eliminate them one by one, keep power output low and save ammunition. Until he linked up with Scattershot and the others, Pyro was pretty much isolated and on his own.
The lead scout ordered his two compatriots to fan out and begin searching the area for evidence of the survivor. They each headed out in three different yet similar directions, all towards Pyro. Just how he had hoped they would.

The smaller, black and green Decepticon scout grunted miserably through the thick grove of tree trunks. Punching a few of the thicker pieces of timber out of frustration for being assigned to this Primus forsaken place, the mechanism grumbled and cursed. It glanced from side to side in between gripes, offering Pyro the perfect cover for his brisk movements to get into strike position. From a distance the second larger scout bellowed out to his grouchy colleague, demanding he silence his vocalizer before he marched over and did the job himself. Pyro struck.

The red and blue soldier grabbed the scout from behind and covered his mouth. He twisted his arm to dislodge the rifle from his grasp and followed the move with a fluid plunge of his blade into the back. With a twist of the sharpened vibration blade he severed the con’s fuel pump and caused the internals to begin to short out. He finished the job by twisting the mechanism’s head, snapping it mutely off and allowing the dead corpse to fall lifeless in the snow.

“Thank you Megatron.” The second scout praised as silence finally befell the tree line, unknowingly offering his own position to the hunter. Pyro pulled himself onto one of the stronger tree limbs. He used his weight and speed to carefully propel himself through the tree canopy, hiding his tracks.

“Hey, Fludger… Got anything?” The commander called out from his position. “Can’t reach Scrum… any luck?”

“Nah, that idiot was running off at the vocorder again. Told him to keep his aft shut… amazing he is actually following orders.”

Pyro reached down the moment the communication toggle was depressed, affording the squadron leader to respond about how he was going to check on their wayward liability. He wrapped his massive fingers around the face cap of the scout and squeezed hard, crushing the communication link and a good portion of the Decepticon’s metaprocessor. He pulled up the damaged creature and drove his dripping blade straight into the throat of the scout and twisted, destroying the connections between the head and the body. Pyro impaled the dead body on a broken branch on the tree and punctured the armor as if it were a can opener.

The soldier policed the body and confiscated the emergency energon rations and ammunition clips that the scout carried. He added the collection with those he had gathered off of the first mech and proceeded to drop down to the frozen tundra soil. “Fludger? Fludger? Get over here quick. That Autobot Scum’s alive. Be on your guard.”

Pyro smirked as the voice tried to crackle through the damaged receiver. If that commander only knew. The soldier stashed picked up the rifle of the solder and checked the action, ensuring there was energy in the weapon. He slung it over his shoulder and entered into a dash back towards the first strike. It took him only a few moments before he came to his preselected point of observation. There a black and gray mechanism, a rank insignia painted across his left shoulder indicating he was nothing more than a simple patrol leader.

“Damn it, annoy bastard that’s what you get for running your vocal box.” The patrol leader admonished the corpse as he tried to appraise who or what actually did the damage… Pyro ensured he would never have the chance. He darted from one tree trunk to another, swiftly and quietly eating distance between himself and the patrol commander. Soon he was within striking distance when the mechanism looked up to take in the monstrous fist of Pyro crashing through the cold air straight into the side of his face mask. The initial strike fractured the mouth joints and knocked loose several internal systems. He followed the blow with another driving haymaker straight to the torso of the scout, breaking armor plates and drawing a flood of vital fluids… and a finger hold for Pyro.

He wrapped his fingers around the damaged rend in the armor and pulled the stunned soldier closer before he delivered the final blow, his fist punctured the damaged body and shattered the power lines supplying the spark chamber. In moments the assault was over and Pyro remained alone in the chilled air.

A policing of the patrol leader netted him a few more clips of ammunition and energon ration packets, as well as a local map of the region. It appeared he was in a moderate latitude mountain range, probably near the peak of one of the taller mounds of rock, near a glacier perhaps. Pyro placed these new items, as well as various other tools, medical patches and the three weapons… grenades and flash devices. He then proceeded to remove the communication chips from the dead leader and installed it into his own communication relay, ensuring to keep out the homing beacons. Once he was satisfied he had all of the valuable instruments he could possibly obtain from the three dead Decepticons, Pyro gathered their remains and set them into the escape pod. Meticulously he cleaned up the site of the impromptu battle and placed all contaminated materials inside the container with the remains.

After saying a simple prayer to Primus, he took the door of the pod, he sealed the craft and proceeded to bury the coffin with dirt, debris, ice and snow. He knew well that the cons would come at some point looking for their wayward search party. At least they would have a difficult time of it. Pyro hefted the weapons up on his shoulder and proceeded to head towards a small power relay station indicated on the map he had confiscated. At least there he could replenish supplies and perhaps evaluate the situation.

Here is the newest version of Sprints. I forgot to send a PM on the following, so I'll just discuss it now: I fully understand the challenges that would spring from playing a Decepticon-turned-Autobot in-game, especially if Optimus isn't around. However, I thought my backstory worked around this to some extend due to the fact that Steelcore's body and memory bank were so destroyed that it was impossible to tell what faction he'd been part of, and with his total lack of memory, I figured it didn't really matter. Still, I have no problem using this revised history for Sprints, and I've changed the site of his final crash from Earth to another, unnamed planet. Thanks for helping me create this guy!

Name: Sprints
Allegiance: Autobots
Function: Reconnaissance
Alt. Mode: Lamborghini Aventador, bright silver
Weapons: 2 Forearm-mounted rapid-fire machine guns (1 per arm), 1 shoulder-mounted targeting missile, exceptionally hard plating on hands/fists
Special Abilities: Low fuel consumption
Height: 22 ft/6.7m
Quote: "C'mon, let's go scrap some Decepticons!"

STRENGTH: 6
INTELLIGENCE: 7
DEXTERITY: 7
SPEED: 8
ENDURANCE: 4
COURAGE:7
FIREPOWER: 6
ACCURACY: 5
MELEE: 7
TECH SKILL: 4
CHARISMA: 5
RANK:

Profile:

A relatively "young" Autobot with less practical experience than some of his comrades, Sprints was actually an esteemed heavy warrior in his past life. Forged vorns before the start of the Cybertronian Civil War, Steelcore (Sprints's former designation) had worked as a security guard and enforcer before he joined the Autobots. Possessed of great strength and stamina, Steelcore fought on the frontlines of the war, spearheading operations that few other Autobots thought would succeed. Steelcore was among the last Autobots on Cybertron when the planet collapsed; his group was pinned down in enemy territory and was all but annihilated by Decepticons before Steelcore was heavily damaged and entered stasis.

Steelcore was pulled out by an Autobot recovery team some time later, but was too heavily damaged to completely salvage. He was revived by an engineering team several hundred vorns later, but they were unable to reboot his memory banks, which were destroyed in the fight on Cybertron. Now serving as a heavy-weapons and demolitions expert, Steelcore continued his admirable service with the Autobots, distinguishing himself as an honorable and steadfast fighter who placed honor before glory, although he was still known for being rather over-confident. Working with dozens of other well-known Autobots over the vorns, Steelcore developed a great bond with his teammates. Sadly, it was this bond that was Steelcore's undoing: in an operation on a far-distant planet, Steelcore gave his life to allow the incompetent CO of the operation and his other teammates to escape from a Decepticon attack; once again, Steelcore's body was all but destroyed in the aftermath.

For some time after this, Steelcore was nearly lost to history. However, after many, many vorns had passed, an Autobot reconnaissance team found his rusted, charred remains on the planet. Working their hardest, the team's medical engineers applied themselves to reviving the lost Autobot for several mega-cycles before any progress was made. They finally were able to resurrect Steelcore, but to their dismay, the Autobot retained none of his prior knowledge, or even his personality. Due to the massive amounts of damage the internal workings had taken, the team was also forced to construct Steelcore a lightweight, dexterious body as opposed to the heavily-armored chassis the Autobot had formerly possessed.

In his third incarnation, now called Sprints, the Autobot fomerly known as Steelcore is very different from his haughty, honorable, orderly and no-nonsense former self. Sprints is confident to the point of cockiness, yes, but he keeps this superior feeling to himself, almost never openly calling out for challengers. Still, he tends to take any chance to show off that he can. Sprints is also very much a rule-bender/breaker and barrier-tester; if he thinks he can get away with something he'll do it, and may do it even if he doesn't think he can get away with it. For example, while officially a Reconnaissance 'Bot, Sprints often engages with enemy units if he thinks he can win the fight; likewise, he rarely follows orders to the letter, and prefers to get the job done how he thinks it best (after all, in Sprints's mind, the way he thinks it best to do something usually IS the best way). Additionally, Sprints has little care for "honorable fighting," as anyone unfortunate enough to spar with the pit fighter very quickly learns. Sprints is also a thrill-seeker, always hoping to get a Transformer's equivalent of an adrenaline rush. His two favorite activities are fighting Decepticons and high-speed racing, especially in tricky environments (this does apply to both), and he also enjoys learning more about Earth and its inhabitants. He doesn't mind not being able to recall anything before being revived by the med team.

Abilities:

Sprints is very fast and agile, with a max speed of around 275 mph and a range of almost 3,000 miles thanks to his low fuel consumption. He makes use of this speed and agility in his very mobile fighting style. Having "trained" over the past couple years in pit fighting, he knows the ups, downs, ins and outs of hand-to-hand combat, and is competent against even foes with heavier armor and greater strength than his.

Sprints is equipped with a rapid-fire machine gun mounted to each forearm. These guns are semi-retractable; he generally stores them in a half-in-half-out sort of configuartion on his arms, with only the upper half of the guns showing. The guns fire high-temperature armor-piercing bullets that can puncture light to moderate armor at a respectable distance of almost three kilometers, and can even punch through heavier armor at point blank range. Sprints tends to use these to compliment his melee combat style, often firing the guns into nearby opponents, made possible due to their shortened barrels. Sprints only carries one magazine (yes, these are magazine-based machine guns) for each gun, equating to 60 shots total at a speed of about 100 rpm.

Sprints also has a missile mounted on his left shoulder that is usable while he is in his alternate form. This missile has tracking capability, and while it can conceivably lock onto anything Sprints can see, it only has a truly effective range of some 5-10 km against moving targets, and is somewhat easily evadable by airborne targets.


Weaknesses:

Sprints is quick-thinking but faster-acting, and tends to do before considering. Being impetuous and having an apparent problem with authority don't help either, and so Sprints often gets into situations that are beyond what he alone can handle.

While officially a reconaissance Autobot, Sprints doesn't particularly enjoy his function and isn't the best at his job. He is often distracted while on patrol or scouting for extended periods of time, be it from driving fast, daydreaming, or learning more about the native culture, and is (somewhat surprisingly) easy to ambush once he's been out for a while-- his attention span is usually around two hours.

Sprints also has less advanced weapons with shorter range than most Autobots and Decepticons, which, combined with the damaged internal workings and lighter armor he has, leaves him at a disadvantage in ranged battles.

Sample Post: A Skirmish with the Foe

Sprints cruised along the road at 200 miles per hour. He loved driving fast; it was part of the thrill of living. Officially, yes, he was supposed to be trying to blend in and perform his general reconnaissance duties, but since he was on his own, Sprints felt no need to follow orders. Who was going to rat him out to his superiors? His dust?

If the Autobot could have grinned, he would have.

- - - - -

<<Base, this is Sprints, do you read?>>

Cherokee glanced up at the terminal. He had been rotated off active duty in favor of this job, and right now, he was hating it. He picked up the communication device and spoke.

<<Sprints, this is Cherokee at base, I read. What's your situation?>>

<<Cherokee, good to hear you, man.>> Any formality that had been in Sprints's tone disappeared when he became aware that it was one of his friends on the line. <<Listen, man, I think I see a Decepticon off a ways, too far for a good hit with my weapons from this range...>>

<<Sprints, don't shoot. You're just on recon duty, you were ordered not to engage, especially after that incident last deca-cycle-->>

<<Aw, man, you know that guy fired first! You believe me on that, right? C'mon Cherokee, you know how those Cons are.>>

<<That doesn't matter.>> Cherokee shook his head at his friend's impetuousness. <<Just don't engage. Do you copy, Sprints? Don't... Oh, what's the use.>>

Sprints had already ended the transmission.

- - - - -

Sprints peered out from around the rock. He may have been somewhat rash and a little too eager for a fight, but he wasn't stupid. He knew enough to get the drop on his enemy if he could.

The Decepticon was just standing there, stupidly. Must be a guard, Sprints thought. Not my problem.

Sprints tensed, then charged out from behind the rock, machine guns blasting away. By the time he'd fired his tenth shot, he was already closed in to his foe. Screaming savagely, he leapt into the air and brought his right fist down heavily into the Decepticon's head even as it swiveled to confront him, pulverizing the plating and circuitry beneath as he continued to fire with that arm's gun. Never one to rest when the battle was won too easily, though, Sprints quickly swept the 'Con's legs out from beneath him and dropped as well, parallel to and just above his foe, ending his fall by slamming his elbow into the 'Con's midriff.

The whole encounter lasted about five nanokliks. The Decepticon never knew what hit him. And it never occurred to Sprints that there may have been a reason that it was so easy.

Never occurred to him, that is, until he heard the scream of several jets and turned just in time to receive a faceful of explosion.

- - - - -

Sprints woke up in the medical bay and was informed shortly thereafter that it had been almost half a mega-cycle since he'd dropped contact with Cherokee. He was reprimanded by the commander at the base and told in no unclear terms that he would be shipped out to a new base soon.

Sprints didn't honestly care. He'd found this base pretty boring, anyway. Not nearly enough good challenging roads or Decepticons around.

On the way to the Recharge Chamber to fill up before leaving, Sprints overheard a couple other Autbots talking about something they'd seen on a base several years before. Sprints reflected that he didn't have much to reflect on-- he himself had no recollection of events previous to his revival at the hands of a medical team.

Still, it didn't matter.

With a little luck, he'd get the fight he was hoping for wherever he was headed.

*Cherokee is still just a character I have created and may or may not use at some point in the future. Just making sure everyone knows.*

Thundercracker

Allegiance: Decepticon
Function: Warrior
Alt. mode: Cybertronian Jet
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."


Strength: 07
Intelligence: 07
Dexterity: 09
Speed: 09
Endurance: 08
Courage: 08
Firepower: 08
Accuracy: 08
Melee: 07
Tech Skill: 06
Charisma: 06
Rank: 06

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:

The clouds in the blue sky swirled around Thundercracker as he banked to his left in his ever increasing patrol. From his readings this was the maximum limit he’d be able to fly without coming into possible contact with humans. While necessary, each pass was as monotonous as one could imagine and so long as luck was on their side it would remain as it was. He could think of worse places to be than in charge of guarding the Constructicons, just not at that moment.

Not one to look for a fight, he found it difficult to restrain himself at the occasional signal on his radar. This part of Earth wasn’t known for it’s technological advancements so a quick strike wasn;t oout of the question. Thinking of doing such a thing brought a chuckle to the blue and white jet, he was beginning to think like Skywarp. The question was whether that was a good thing or not.

To put an end to those thoughts he listened to the same advice he’d give to his friend, the humans could be resourceful. That seemed to solve any delusions brought on by his boredom without any complications. He did question whether his thought process would be a interesting topic to bring up to Skywarp over a tankard of energon when next they met.

Flying low enough to avoid the best of the human’s detection systems Thundercracker forced his thoughts on the task at hand as he continued to keep his systems stretched to their limits to avoid being caught by surprise. The Decepticons, and Transformers as a whole, lost far too much because of this war. While he wasn’t privy to the reason the Construticons were there, he did have the feeling this would end the war once and for all.

Such was his fate, to follow the orders of those deigned best to lead. Over the eons he and Starscream had more than their share of conflicts but he never stopped having faith in his fellow Seeker. To keep from becoming too bored, he told himself that he’d been assigned to this tedious task because Starscream trusted him above all others. Somehow it sounded better when he only told himself that occasionally.

Cravex wrote:Thundercracker

Allegiance: Decepticon
Function: Warrior
Alt. mode: Cybertronian Jet
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."


Strength: 07
Intelligence: 07
Dexterity: 09
Speed: 09
Endurance: 08
Courage: 08
Firepower: 08
Accuracy: 08
Melee: 07
Tech Skill: 06
Charisma: 06
Rank: 06

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:

The clouds in the blue sky swirled around Thundercracker as he banked to his left in his ever increasing patrol. From his readings this was the maximum limit he’d be able to fly without coming into possible contact with humans. While necessary, each pass was as monotonous as one could imagine and so long as luck was on their side it would remain as it was. He could think of worse places to be than in charge of guarding the Constructicons, just not at that moment.

Not one to look for a fight, he found it difficult to restrain himself at the occasional signal on his radar. This part of Earth wasn’t known for it’s technological advancements so a quick strike wasn;t oout of the question. Thinking of doing such a thing brought a chuckle to the blue and white jet, he was beginning to think like Skywarp. The question was whether that was a good thing or not.

To put an end to those thoughts he listened to the same advice he’d give to his friend, the humans could be resourceful. That seemed to solve any delusions brought on by his boredom without any complications. He did question whether his thought process would be a interesting topic to bring up to Skywarp over a tankard of energon when next they met.

Flying low enough to avoid the best of the human’s detection systems Thundercracker forced his thoughts on the task at hand as he continued to keep his systems stretched to their limits to avoid being caught by surprise. The Decepticons, and Transformers as a whole, lost far too much because of this war. While he wasn’t privy to the reason the Construticons were there, he did have the feeling this would end the war once and for all.

Such was his fate, to follow the orders of those deigned best to lead. Over the eons he and Starscream had more than their share of conflicts but he never stopped having faith in his fellow Seeker. To keep from becoming too bored, he told himself that he’d been assigned to this tedious task because Starscream trusted him above all others. Somehow it sounded better when he only told himself that occasionally.

Sample looks solid. Have fun with TC.

Code: Select all

[b][size=200]Pyro[/size][/b]
[b]Allegiance:[/b] Autobot
[b]Function:[/b] Soldier
[b]Alt. mode:[/b] Emergency Response Multipurpose Fire Engine with Detachable Combat Platform that converts into a massive storage tank.
[b]Weapons:[/b] Energon cutter, Chemical Spray Cannon
        Battle Station: Six Barreled Missile Turret. Can include the Chemical Spray Cannon to increase firepower
[b]Special Abilities:[/b] One of the Few Autobots linked to a mobile assault station.
[b]Height:[/b] 36'
[b]Quote:[/b] “"Think of the most awful unspeakable menace you can - and then double it. That's what we're up against."

[b]Strength: 10
Intelligence: 8
Dexterity: 6
Speed: 6
Endurance: 9
Courage: 10
Firepower: 7*[/b] (* 9 for battlestation)
[b]Accuracy: 7
Melee: 8
Tech Skill: 6
Charisma: 7
Rank: 6[/b]

[b]Profile:[/b] Young Pyro is another in a proud tradition of selfless Autobot heroes. He is invariably on the front lines protecting the weak and helpless, and is so brave and steadfast as to be virtually immovable. He stands for truth, justice, and the freedom of all sentient beings. He commands a powerful multi-functional battle station.
When war initially broke out on Cybertron, Pyro declared himself a conscientious objector and left with a large number of refugees for the Neutral Territories. But after being ambushed by Decepticons en-route, Pyro changed his mind and soon joined the Autobot resistance. He gained prominence after rescuing a platoon of cadets trapped behind enemy lines and continued to distinguish himself in several off-world skirmishes. Pyro nearly lost his life to the Crucible during the Simanzi Massacre, alongside thousands of others, but was saved at the last moment by Optimus Prime.
Pyro would consequently work to emulate Optimus Prime in any way he could, taking the Autobot commander's methods and ideals to heart and eventually even altering his physical appearance to more closely resemble Prime. His latest effort included a new red and blue paint job and an added faceplate. Far from a simple case of hero worship on Pyro's part, Autobot psi-ops specialist Rung even diagnosed him with the Cybertronian personality disorder "primus apotheosis" after studying his case. His greatest wish was to die gloriously in battle as Prime watched and understood their intimate connection.

[b]Abilities:[/b] A colossal hero to the Autobot ranks, his feats of astounding courage are legendary. Thunders defiantly through everything up any sort of terrain. An awesome mixture of speed for a bot of his size and firepower. Strong, versatile and solid as a rock. In vehicle always comes to the rescue and defends with massive multiple firing missile launcher and combat platform. Transforms to huge multi-function mid-stage defense launch pad. Immovable in battle as a monstrous robot.

[b]Weaknesses:[/b] Can easily get caught up second guessing himself with the old question of What Would Optimus Prime do. When this happens he will take his time and give the enemy a chance to rally and bring him to heel. He wants to be like Optimus Prime to the point of psychosis, and will do whatever it takes to emulate his hero… and dreams of a glorious death fighting beside his idol.


With the changes to profile above, the profile would be ok. Now, I'd like to know what you are planning to do with him. Drop me a PM or reach me through AIM.

Brinakron wrote:Here is the newest version of Sprints. I forgot to send a PM on the following, so I'll just discuss it now: I fully understand the challenges that would spring from playing a Decepticon-turned-Autobot in-game, especially if Optimus isn't around. However, I thought my backstory worked around this to some extend due to the fact that Steelcore's body and memory bank were so destroyed that it was impossible to tell what faction he'd been part of, and with his total lack of memory, I figured it didn't really matter. Still, I have no problem using this revised history for Sprints, and I've changed the site of his final crash from Earth to another, unnamed planet. Thanks for helping me create this guy!

Name: Sprints
Allegiance: Autobots
Function: Reconnaissance
Alt. Mode: Lamborghini Aventador, bright silver
Weapons: 2 Forearm-mounted rapid-fire machine guns (1 per arm), 1 shoulder-mounted targeting missile, exceptionally hard plating on hands/fists
Special Abilities: Low fuel consumption
Height: 22 ft/6.7m
Quote: "C'mon, let's go scrap some Decepticons!"

STRENGTH: 6
INTELLIGENCE: 7
DEXTERITY: 7
SPEED: 8
ENDURANCE: 4
COURAGE:7
FIREPOWER: 6
ACCURACY: 5
MELEE: 7
TECH SKILL: 4
CHARISMA: 5
RANK:

Profile:

A relatively "young" Autobot with less practical experience than some of his comrades, Sprints was actually an esteemed heavy warrior in his past life. Forged vorns before the start of the Cybertronian Civil War, Steelcore (Sprints's former designation) had worked as a security guard and enforcer before he joined the Autobots. Possessed of great strength and stamina, Steelcore fought on the frontlines of the war, spearheading operations that few other Autobots thought would succeed. Steelcore was among the last Autobots on Cybertron when the planet collapsed; his group was pinned down in enemy territory and was all but annihilated by Decepticons before Steelcore was heavily damaged and entered stasis.

Steelcore was pulled out by an Autobot recovery team some time later, but was too heavily damaged to completely salvage. He was revived by an engineering team several hundred vorns later, but they were unable to reboot his memory banks, which were destroyed in the fight on Cybertron. Now serving as a heavy-weapons and demolitions expert, Steelcore continued his admirable service with the Autobots, distinguishing himself as an honorable and steadfast fighter who placed honor before glory, although he was still known for being rather over-confident. Working with dozens of other well-known Autobots over the vorns, Steelcore developed a great bond with his teammates. Sadly, it was this bond that was Steelcore's undoing: in an operation on a far-distant planet, Steelcore gave his life to allow the incompetent CO of the operation and his other teammates to escape from a Decepticon attack; once again, Steelcore's body was all but destroyed in the aftermath.

For some time after this, Steelcore was nearly lost to history. However, after many, many vorns had passed, an Autobot reconnaissance team found his rusted, charred remains on the planet. Working their hardest, the team's medical engineers applied themselves to reviving the lost Autobot for several mega-cycles before any progress was made. They finally were able to resurrect Steelcore, but to their dismay, the Autobot retained none of his prior knowledge, or even his personality. Due to the massive amounts of damage the internal workings had taken, the team was also forced to construct Steelcore a lightweight, dexterious body as opposed to the heavily-armored chassis the Autobot had formerly possessed.

In his third incarnation, now called Sprints, the Autobot fomerly known as Steelcore is very different from his haughty, honorable, orderly and no-nonsense former self. Sprints is confident to the point of cockiness, yes, but he keeps this superior feeling to himself, almost never openly calling out for challengers. Still, he tends to take any chance to show off that he can. Sprints is also very much a rule-bender/breaker and barrier-tester; if he thinks he can get away with something he'll do it, and may do it even if he doesn't think he can get away with it. For example, while officially a Reconnaissance 'Bot, Sprints often engages with enemy units if he thinks he can win the fight; likewise, he rarely follows orders to the letter, and prefers to get the job done how he thinks it best (after all, in Sprints's mind, the way he thinks it best to do something usually IS the best way). Additionally, Sprints has little care for "honorable fighting," as anyone unfortunate enough to spar with the pit fighter very quickly learns. Sprints is also a thrill-seeker, always hoping to get a Transformer's equivalent of an adrenaline rush. His two favorite activities are fighting Decepticons and high-speed racing, especially in tricky environments (this does apply to both), and he also enjoys learning more about Earth and its inhabitants. He doesn't mind not being able to recall anything before being revived by the med team.

Abilities:

Sprints is very fast and agile, with a max speed of around 275 mph and a range of almost 3,000 miles thanks to his low fuel consumption. He makes use of this speed and agility in his very mobile fighting style. Having "trained" over the past couple years in pit fighting, he knows the ups, downs, ins and outs of hand-to-hand combat, and is competent against even foes with heavier armor and greater strength than his.

Sprints is equipped with a rapid-fire machine gun mounted to each forearm. These guns are semi-retractable; he generally stores them in a half-in-half-out sort of configuartion on his arms, with only the upper half of the guns showing. The guns fire high-temperature armor-piercing bullets that can puncture light to moderate armor at a respectable distance of almost three kilometers, and can even punch through heavier armor at point blank range. Sprints tends to use these to compliment his melee combat style, often firing the guns into nearby opponents, made possible due to their shortened barrels. Sprints only carries one magazine (yes, these are magazine-based machine guns) for each gun, equating to 60 shots total at a speed of about 100 rpm.

Sprints also has a missile mounted on his left shoulder that is usable while he is in his alternate form. This missile has tracking capability, and while it can conceivably lock onto anything Sprints can see, it only has a truly effective range of some 5-10 km against moving targets, and is somewhat easily evadable by airborne targets.


Weaknesses:

Sprints is quick-thinking but faster-acting, and tends to do before considering. Being impetuous and having an apparent problem with authority don't help either, and so Sprints often gets into situations that are beyond what he alone can handle.

While officially a reconaissance Autobot, Sprints doesn't particularly enjoy his function and isn't the best at his job. He is often distracted while on patrol or scouting for extended periods of time, be it from driving fast, daydreaming, or learning more about the native culture, and is (somewhat surprisingly) easy to ambush once he's been out for a while-- his attention span is usually around two hours.

Sprints also has less advanced weapons with shorter range than most Autobots and Decepticons, which, combined with the damaged internal workings and lighter armor he has, leaves him at a disadvantage in ranged battles.

Sample Post: A Skirmish with the Foe

Sprints cruised along the road at 200 miles per hour. He loved driving fast; it was part of the thrill of living. Officially, yes, he was supposed to be trying to blend in and perform his general reconnaissance duties, but since he was on his own, Sprints felt no need to follow orders. Who was going to rat him out to his superiors? His dust?

If the Autobot could have grinned, he would have.

- - - - -

<<Base, this is Sprints, do you read?>>

Cherokee glanced up at the terminal. He had been rotated off active duty in favor of this job, and right now, he was hating it. He picked up the communication device and spoke.

<<Sprints, this is Cherokee at base, I read. What's your situation?>>

<<Cherokee, good to hear you, man.>> Any formality that had been in Sprints's tone disappeared when he became aware that it was one of his friends on the line. <<Listen, man, I think I see a Decepticon off a ways, too far for a good hit with my weapons from this range...>>

<<Sprints, don't shoot. You're just on recon duty, you were ordered not to engage, especially after that incident last deca-cycle-->>

<<Aw, man, you know that guy fired first! You believe me on that, right? C'mon Cherokee, you know how those Cons are.>>

<<That doesn't matter.>> Cherokee shook his head at his friend's impetuousness. <<Just don't engage. Do you copy, Sprints? Don't... Oh, what's the use.>>

Sprints had already ended the transmission.

- - - - -

Sprints peered out from around the rock. He may have been somewhat rash and a little too eager for a fight, but he wasn't stupid. He knew enough to get the drop on his enemy if he could.

The Decepticon was just standing there, stupidly. Must be a guard, Sprints thought. Not my problem.

Sprints tensed, then charged out from behind the rock, machine guns blasting away. By the time he'd fired his tenth shot, he was already closed in to his foe. Screaming savagely, he leapt into the air and brought his right fist down heavily into the Decepticon's head even as it swiveled to confront him, pulverizing the plating and circuitry beneath as he continued to fire with that arm's gun. Never one to rest when the battle was won too easily, though, Sprints quickly swept the 'Con's legs out from beneath him and dropped as well, parallel to and just above his foe, ending his fall by slamming his elbow into the 'Con's midriff.

The whole encounter lasted about five nanokliks. The Decepticon never knew what hit him. And it never occurred to Sprints that there may have been a reason that it was so easy.

Never occurred to him, that is, until he heard the scream of several jets and turned just in time to receive a faceful of explosion.

- - - - -

Sprints woke up in the medical bay and was informed shortly thereafter that it had been almost half a mega-cycle since he'd dropped contact with Cherokee. He was reprimanded by the commander at the base and told in no unclear terms that he would be shipped out to a new base soon.

Sprints didn't honestly care. He'd found this base pretty boring, anyway. Not nearly enough good challenging roads or Decepticons around.

On the way to the Recharge Chamber to fill up before leaving, Sprints overheard a couple other Autbots talking about something they'd seen on a base several years before. Sprints reflected that he didn't have much to reflect on-- he himself had no recollection of events previous to his revival at the hands of a medical team.

Still, it didn't matter.

With a little luck, he'd get the fight he was hoping for wherever he was headed.

*Cherokee is still just a character I have created and may or may not use at some point in the future. Just making sure everyone knows.*

The history seems a bit needlessly convoluted and complicated, but its still acceptable. He can start on the Guardian in orbit around Earth, Rank 5.

Guys I apologize ahead of time if I made my way to the wrong spot to do this or skipped a step.

I've read the rules and history and I think this is where I'm supposed to go next.

I would like to pick up A G1/G2 character, and honestly I'd like to play the girls...they get no love at all =(.

I didn't see Elita or Slipstream or any of the other ladies up there, and I am quite a fan, So I'll happily start with Arcee if I can.

Here is the bio you all have posted with a one small tweak in her model because I LOVE 68 Corvette’s, and I think the Curves help to accentuate her femininity.

------------------------------------------------------------
Arcee

Allegiance: Autobot.
Function: Warrior.
Alt. mode: Open Top 68 Corvette Convertible, White with Pink detailing
Weapons: Electrical Disperser Rifle, Electro Sabre.
Height: 28ft / 8.54m
Quote: “Looks are always deceiving“

Strength: 6
Intelligence: 8
Dexterity: 8
Speed: 8
Endurance: 5
Courage: 8
Firepower: 6
Accuracy: 8
Melee: 9
Tech Skill: 6
Charisma: 7
Rank: 7

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 to prove herself too her larger fellow Autobots, Arcee has rounded out into an versatile Warrior. As both an accomplished Marksmen, and skilled in close combat, Arcee has forged herself into a valuable 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.

Sample Post:

The Cool fall evening had brought out plenty of children to play at the local park. Arcee could never keep herself away from human children for long, their innocence and ignorance was a perfect distraction from the terrible atrocities she was forced to witness on a daily basis.

Her radio was off, all but her geospatial locator; just to make sure she would actually be alone this time. Not that she didn’t enjoy the company of other like minded cybertronians, but the last few who sought her out were searching more for companionship than relaxation.

The Sun was starting to set and the last few children began to put their shoes on and return to their homes. It was a sad sight, but it signaled that it was time to head back to base and the harsh realities of a war with no end in sight.

Keeping her top up so noone would notice the car that drove away empty, she backed out of her parking spot and headed out of town.

Before she reached the edge of town her attention was drawn to a black van with tinted windows racing in the opposite direction. She took a quick peak back through her rear view mirror and stopped suddenly when the black van pulled over and three men jumped out and pulled two little girls into the Van with them.

Arcee spun in full reverse and gave chase as the Van sped away.

The men inside noticed the White Convertible coming up in their mirror and stepped on the gas. She didn’t want to draw to much attention to herself so she hung back in pursuit mode, taking the corners a little further behind them as to not draw attention.

The Van eventually stopped in a not so pleasant part of town. The first two men took one girl out and behind the house, while the other struggled with the other girl in the car.

Arcee picked up speed and rammed the back of the van at a carefully calculated angle. She dropped her top, and the little girl trying to escape out of the van was hurled into her waiting passenger seat.

~Buckle up!~ Arcee’s voice said through the blinking radio.

The little girl was frightened but did as she was told. Arcee backed away from the Van and gave a quick look to her surroundings; there was no way she was going to fit between these suburban houses.

~Do me a favor sweetheart,~ Arcee said sweetly through her radio again ~Close your eyes and keep them shut ok.~

The little girl nodded quickly and shut her eyes tight.

~Good Girl. Now hold on!~

Arcee charged the house at full speed and just before slamming into the wall, She transformed and launched herself over the house. She passed the girl in her passenger seat gently from hand to hand, and landed on the other side of the house back in her alternate car form.

The two men dragging the girl dropped her, as well as their jaws.

~Get in dear, I don’t think the bad men want to play anymore.~

The girl picked herself off the floor and ran over to Arcee, instinctually opening the door, sitting next to the other girl, and covering her eyes.

Arcee turned her bright beams on and blinded the two men.

“Your lucky it’s my day off gentlemen.” she said as she transformed into robot form and stepped over the back fences and out onto the street.

Her body twisted back into her sleek car form and the girls were returned to the safety of their buckled seats.

~Ok ladies, You don’t tell anyone about the pretty pink car that saved you today ok.~ she said sweetly.

The two girls nodded their heads in agreement and Arcee took them back to just outside the park where a few concerned parents were calling their names.

~Remember now, don’t tell anybody.~

The girls got out and gave her a thankful rub across her door, then ran over to their waiting parents by the swings. Arcee sighed, there was no way those little girls would be able to keep her secret, which meant she would have to find yet another playground of solitude to ease her thoughts.

~Oh well.~ She said as she sped out of town once again ~Maybe ninth times the charm.~

KayBee wrote:Guys I apologize ahead of time if I made my way to the wrong spot to do this or skipped a step.

I've read the rules and history and I think this is where I'm supposed to go next.

I would like to pick up A G1/G2 character, and honestly I'd like to play the girls...they get no love at all =(.

I didn't see Elita or Slipstream or any of the other ladies up there, and I am quite a fan, So I'll happily start with Arcee if I can.

Here is the bio you all have posted with a one small tweak in her model because I LOVE 68 Corvette’s, and I think the Curves help to accentuate her femininity.

------------------------------------------------------------
Arcee

Allegiance: Autobot.
Function: Warrior.
Alt. mode: Open Top 68 Corvette Convertible, White with Pink detailing
Weapons: Electrical Disperser Rifle, Electro Sabre.
Height: 28ft / 8.54m
Quote: “Looks are always deceiving“

Strength: 6
Intelligence: 8
Dexterity: 8
Speed: 8
Endurance: 5
Courage: 8
Firepower: 6
Accuracy: 8
Melee: 9
Tech Skill: 6
Charisma: 7
Rank: 7

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 to prove herself too her larger fellow Autobots, Arcee has rounded out into an versatile Warrior. As both an accomplished Marksmen, and skilled in close combat, Arcee has forged herself into a valuable 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.

Sample Post:

The Cool fall evening had brought out plenty of children to play at the local park. Arcee could never keep herself away from human children for long, their innocence and ignorance was a perfect distraction from the terrible atrocities she was forced to witness on a daily basis.

Her radio was off, all but her geospatial locator; just to make sure she would actually be alone this time. Not that she didn’t enjoy the company of other like minded cybertronians, but the last few who sought her out were searching more for companionship than relaxation.

The Sun was starting to set and the last few children began to put their shoes on and return to their homes. It was a sad sight, but it signaled that it was time to head back to base and the harsh realities of a war with no end in sight.

Keeping her top up so noone would notice the car that drove away empty, she backed out of her parking spot and headed out of town.

Before she reached the edge of town her attention was drawn to a black van with tinted windows racing in the opposite direction. She took a quick peak back through her rear view mirror and stopped suddenly when the black van pulled over and three men jumped out and pulled two little girls into the Van with them.

Arcee spun in full reverse and gave chase as the Van sped away.

The men inside noticed the White Convertible coming up in their mirror and stepped on the gas. She didn’t want to draw to much attention to herself so she hung back in pursuit mode, taking the corners a little further behind them as to not draw attention.

The Van eventually stopped in a not so pleasant part of town. The first two men took one girl out and behind the house, while the other struggled with the other girl in the car.

Arcee picked up speed and rammed the back of the van at a carefully calculated angle. She dropped her top, and the little girl trying to escape out of the van was hurled into her waiting passenger seat.

~Buckle up!~ Arcee’s voice said through the blinking radio.

The little girl was frightened but did as she was told. Arcee backed away from the Van and gave a quick look to her surroundings; there was no way she was going to fit between these suburban houses.

~Do me a favor sweetheart,~ Arcee said sweetly through her radio again ~Close your eyes and keep them shut ok.~

The little girl nodded quickly and shut her eyes tight.

~Good Girl. Now hold on!~

Arcee charged the house at full speed and just before slamming into the wall, She transformed and launched herself over the house. She passed the girl in her passenger seat gently from hand to hand, and landed on the other side of the house back in her alternate car form.

The two men dragging the girl dropped her, as well as their jaws.

~Get in dear, I don’t think the bad men want to play anymore.~

The girl picked herself off the floor and ran over to Arcee, instinctually opening the door, sitting next to the other girl, and covering her eyes.

Arcee turned her bright beams on and blinded the two men.

“Your lucky it’s my day off gentlemen.” she said as she transformed into robot form and stepped over the back fences and out onto the street.

Her body twisted back into her sleek car form and the girls were returned to the safety of their buckled seats.

~Ok ladies, You don’t tell anyone about the pretty pink car that saved you today ok.~ she said sweetly.

The two girls nodded their heads in agreement and Arcee took them back to just outside the park where a few concerned parents were calling their names.

~Remember now, don’t tell anybody.~

The girls got out and gave her a thankful rub across her door, then ran over to their waiting parents by the swings. Arcee sighed, there was no way those little girls would be able to keep her secret, which meant she would have to find yet another playground of solitude to ease her thoughts.

~Oh well.~ She said as she sped out of town once again ~Maybe ninth times the charm.~

Not a bad start. However, both the 'Cons and 'Bots are under strict infiltration protocols, so she would not reveal herself by speaking through her radio. She has a human avatar to use only if it's necessary. So your sample post, although very well written, would not be how she would handle things on Earth.

Which brings me to another point. Arcee is currently on board the Ark - 22 headed for Earth now. Her last location was on Cybertron.

As I see nothing wrong with your post besides those few points I'm willing to approve the app, but I'd like you to read through the Iacon and Ark - 22 threads located Here. PM me when you're up to date.

Pyro
Allegiance: Autobot
Function: Ranger
Alt. mode: Emergency Response Multipurpose Fire Engine with Detachable Combat Platform that converts into a massive storage tank.
Weapons: Energon cutter, Chemical Assault Rifle that doubles as Spray Cannon
Battle Station: Six Barreled Missile Turret. Can include the Chemical Spray Cannon to increase firepower
Special Abilities: One of the Few Autobots linked to a mobile assault station.
Height: 36'
Quote: “"Think of the most awful unspeakable menace you can - and then double it. That's what we're up against."

Strength: 10
Intelligence: 8
Dexterity: 6
Speed: 6
Endurance: 9
Courage: 10
Firepower: 7* (* 9 for battlestation)
Accuracy: 7
Melee: 8
Tech Skill: 6
Charisma: 7
Rank: 6

Profile: Young Pyro is another in a proud tradition of selfless Autobot heroes. He is invariably on the front lines protecting the weak and helpless, and is so brave and steadfast as to be virtually immovable. He stands for truth, justice, and the freedom of all sentient beings. He commands a powerful multi-functional battle station.
When war initially broke out on Cybertron, Pyro declared himself a conscientious objector and left with a large number of refugees for the Neutral Territories. But after being ambushed by Decepticons en-route, Pyro changed his mind and soon joined the Autobot resistance. He gained prominence after rescuing a platoon of cadets trapped behind enemy lines and continued to distinguish himself in several off-world skirmishes. Pyro nearly lost his life to the Crucible during the Simanzi Massacre, alongside thousands of others, but was saved at the last moment by Optimus Prime.
Pyro would consequently work to emulate Optimus Prime in any way he could, taking the Autobot commander's methods and ideals to heart and eventually even altering his physical appearance to more closely resemble Prime. His latest effort included a new red and blue paint job and an added faceplate. Far from a simple case of hero worship on Pyro's part, Autobot psi-ops specialist Rung even diagnosed him with the Cybertronian personality disorder "primus apotheosis" after studying his case. His greatest wish was to die gloriously in battle as Prime watched and understood their intimate connection.

Abilities: A colossal hero to the Autobot ranks, his feats of astounding courage are legendary. Thunders defiantly through everything up any sort of terrain. An awesome mixture of speed for a bot of his size and firepower. Strong, versatile and solid as a rock. In vehicle always comes to the rescue and defends with massive multiple firing missile launcher and combat platform. Transforms to huge multi-function mid-stage defense launch pad. Immovable in battle as a monstrous robot.

Weaknesses: Can easily get caught up second guessing himself with the old question of What Would Optimus Prime do. When this happens he will take his time and give the enemy a chance to rally and bring him to heel. He wants to be like Optimus Prime to the point of psychosis, and will do whatever it takes to emulate his hero… and dreams of a glorious death fighting beside his idol.

I'm wondering why there are two applicants that want their characters to have had multiple former names and complicated background stories.

Becuase it's good for plot twists, development, and angst. It creates situations if nothing is going on and can overall add to the story, if done correctly. Anyway, here it is again.

___
Quick Strike

Allegiance: Autobots
Function: Scientist/Medic and part-time Sniper.
Alternate Modes: A black, silver, and grey Mazda Miata MX-5 Roadster.
Weapons: Main weapon: Long range sniper rifle, an EMP bomb, and a communications scrambler.
Special Abilities: Enhanced vision and enhanced radar
Height: 28ft/ 3m
Quote: “Those who have the greater will, have the greater life.”


Strength: 5
Intelligence: 9
Dexterity: 6
Speed: 6
Endurance: 7
Courage: 3
Firepower: 7, with Sniper, everything else is a 4
Accuracy: 8
Melee: 3
Tech Skill: 8
Charisma: 4
Rank:

Profile: Quick Strike is an old, noble bot with years of front line experience and more trivia than he knows what to do with... which would be great if he wasn't a coward.

When the Great War stopped being little rebellions and officially as 'The Great War', he had been working as lead scientist in a laboratory at Iacon for well over 20 vorns under the name Impulse. Originally, he found himself neutral, wanting nothing to do the civil war; however he found himself a Decepticon prisoner and ordered to create weapons of destruction for their cause. While Impulse denied doing so at first, when faced with the deactivated bodies of his former associates who had also denied the 'Cons, he quickly agreed to create the weapons

He stayed there as a prisoner for vorns creating weapons for the Decepticons. It was only when he was freed almost 540 years later did he finally see what his labor accomplished. Horrified at all the death and destruction, he begged and pleaded to join the Autobots to try and make up for his past deeds. While was accepted quickly enough, he remained under watch by the higher ups who were afraid that he would give secrets back to the Decepticons.

It was only when a bad mission he was on went south did he prove his worth as a loyal Autobot. Somehow, not even Impulse completely remembered, he had managed to kill most of the 'Cons and got away with the Energon Reactor that the ‘Cons had created. While he himself was fairly traumatized by the event and wanted nothing more than to go back to his warm, safe labs back in Iacon. He instead found himself recruited into Special Operations under a bot called Radio Snap. Under Radio Snap, it was revealed that Impulse had actually killed all those 'bots miles away with a normal low-grade blaster and good aim. Thus, the reluctant Impulse found himself thrown into special operations as a sniper with the new designation Quick Strike.

Though really, Quick Strike didn't mind the new name, he considered it a good start to a new begining and warily embraced his new life.

However, it was soon re-reveled to his new teammates that Quick Strike was a coward. He didn't run away from all danger and he did know when he had to fight, but you wouldn't catch him volunteering for anything any time soon. As that was an important part of special ops, -after all, you couldn’t have someone reluctant on a mission, it lessened the chance of that mission being successful. - Quick Strike found that his scientific knowledge made him the most accurate, knowledgeable, and logical choice to become his teams medic.

Though, he complains routinely on how he wished that he was, once again, a full-time scientist instead of a part time medic, scientist, and, reluctant, sniper, he is perfectly content with his life. Though his team mates really wish he was braver.

Abilities: Quick Strike is a socially awkward mech, he tries to make friends, -he really does- but never really got the hang of it. While he is on friendly terms with his team mates, he tends to spend most of his free time in his labs where it's nice and quiet, and people don't bother him because they were sparing and shattered their visor again.

He is a good sniper, but prefers to stay out of the field out of fear. And considering he is the best medic that his team has, he's usually obliged. However, that means that he is charged with protecting the base if anyone, unauthorized Autobot or Decepticon, find it. Since it's a small group, special operations were never that big in the first place and the war has already cut numbers even more so, he tends to get stuck in low-level, but important jobs; such as monitor duty, communications and such. He just prefers his lab.

His sniper rifle can shoot enemies up to 20 miles away and his communications bomb can scramble relays for up to 4 cycles, while his EMP bombs last 8 kliks. Since he is weak at close combat, he is rather fast and will run away more than fight and, while his endurance will get him back to base, he usually passes out right after.

Quick Strike created both his EMP bomb, his communication scrambler, and the program for his advanced radar. While the program works rather well, his bomb and scrambler tend to die after two uses so he has to keep making more since he can't seem to make them last more than those two uses without blowing up or melting. While he can engineer somewhat, it's purely a Primus-given miracle that his radar program hadn't corrupted his processor and off lined him. He really does prefer chemistry to auto-mechanics. However, he has had his advanced optics ever since his academy days when he got his first upgrade to be a scientist.

Weaknesses: Quick Strike is fairly cowardly and while he can snipe fairly well, enough to be recruited in special ops, his major faults lay at hand to hand and close range combat. He lacks strength and tends to run when the situation goes sour. Living with Decepticons and then Special Operations mechs has made him a fair bit paranoid and it can be rather easy to dupe him in the right situations. He also tends to take certain things to seriously and literal and can over-analyze a situation to the point where the original concept is lost.


Example

Quick Strike sighed, his vents giving off a large burst of the poisonous toxin that made up Sxa'vos' atmosphere. Looking down at the rifle in his hands,'Striker felt himself connect with it as he plugged into the ports on the handle. Raising it up to his left optic, he looked through the scope at the unfortunate Decepticon who had managed to wander to close to the Special Operations main base. Squeezing the trigger, he watched the mech stutter slightly and fall backwards, another squeeze and Quick Shot stared at the body for a kilk before he idly disconnected himself from the gun with efficient ease.

One shot to the spark chamber and another to the helm where his memory banks were stored. He would offline in 3 breems if he wasn't found. Even if he was, he wouldn't know what happened and would most likely need at least a stellar cycle to be fully repaired and able to fight again.

Picking up his rifle, he placed it into subspace and transformed. Within 5 kliks he was at base. Looking around, 'Striker felt himself smile; no alarms, no screaming, nothing. Walking to his lab with a skip in his step that could almost be called jolly, he received a ping. Stopping, his smile gone in a flash, he scanned the source. Sighing, he turned on his heel to the med bay. Arriving a klik later, he stared blankly at the blank faced Componate. He was sitting on the berth the closest to the door, though how he got there was anyone's guess since his hinges and leg joints were barley connected to his body. Quick Strike didn't even ask and simply left to go grab a scanner, a scalpel, and welder, among other materials he needed. When he got back into the room, Componate had moved to the back of the berth so Quick Strike just grabbed a rag and started to clean the wound which was leaking a pleasant mix of coolant, engergon, and oil. Exhaling from his vents, he got to work.

The resident medic didn't know how Componate managed to destroy his lower legs when he was the only mech at base, but at this moment he didn't really care. Snatching his ration of energon, he shot it down in an astrosecond and turned to leave to his lab. He had 2 free cycles before he was forced to take monitor duty from Componate and all he really wanted to do was spend that time finally getting to do his original job.

When he did finally get to his lab, the first thing he did was open the door and scan the whole room. It was only when everything turned up clean, even to his scanners, did he shut and lock the door. Walking to the left corner of his lab, he activated his emergency comms. and disconnected his regular ones. Preparations done, the scientist grabbed his list from subspace and scanned down it. The green mech thought about it for a second before getting rid of the list again. Nodding to himself, he walked over to his chemical storage unit with formulas already running through his processor. He had just under 2 free cycles, and Primus help everyone if he didn't manage to complete at least one experiment.