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Garrus 9, Cell Block A

Turret fire peppered the floor around Skalor as he rolled forward, leaving behind him a trail of nauseating fluid. Taking aim with his adhesive crustacean rifle, the seacon sprayed a volley of goo at a pair of defense turrets. The following volley of scales did well to completely encumber the slathered turrets, causing one of them to backfire and explode after jamming. Just then, another battlement trained on the fishbot and fired its double barrels. Skalor transformed into his amphibian form, allowing him to avoid fire intended for a much taller target. A retaliatory blast from the dual rifles on his back rendered the turret inoperable. Scuttling across the floor, the revolting con took up station behind Snaptrap.

"Snaptrap, can you give me one good reason why we’ve been reduced to supporting the Terrorcons? We should be the ones leading this assault!" exclaimed the poorly maintained seacon. Rapidly returning to robot mode, the con knelt and resumed firing his foul combination of rifles from behind his slightly larger leader. "The thought of Hun-Gur getting credit for our work is sickening." he added as return fire wizzed by his head.

Garrus 9 - Cell Block B Security Station

Stingray slipped along the darkened corridors with nothing more than Regulator’s actuator and some groping around to gide her. As she had suspected, the standard light enhancement her optical unit was equipped with could scarcely improve the conditions. It only worked where there was light, however low in levels. But here, there was none.

She bumped into something. Probably the edge of a work terminal or some other sort of machinery. She hissed, and for a moment, wanted to kick it but decided not to. Going blind, there was few things less frustrating to a warrior with aerial function. High speed and low, or zero visibility was a prime recipe for unpleasantness.

They arrived to a door beside which a terminal was blinking and giving off some light, reds, greens, blues and yellows. Regulator puttered around with it a bit and managed to pry himself an entry point.

It must have been a storage locker or something of the like, Stingray couldn’t tell. All she could discern was the terminal, and the majority of the door’s surface. The door wasn’t large and Regulator didn’t disappear far beyond it so it had to be relatively small, compared to how branching out the security station was.

The blinking, faint glows struck highlights from clanging metal objects Regulator started tossing in her direction.

Weapons and ammo magazines. Finally, something to work with.

They picked the most promising ones up. A rifle, a sidearm besides the one Stingray had appropriated from that pair of Decepticons she had dispatched and as much spare clips as they could carry.

Stingray had once been retrofitted with bunker buster ordnance. She felt similarly stimulated now than she had in that moment. If this weaponry didn’t get them through the obstacles they would be facing, nothing ever could hope to.

Regulator turned alarmed all of a sudden. Some noises filtered in from the outside, noises Stingray didn’t even notice. Lucky her to have him as a guide, else she would have walked out in the open unawares and been shredded to scrap in the gunfire of the defense turrets that had just been activated.

“We’ve got trouble. I can’t get you out of here through the front door. We need to find another way out. Help me look around for a ventilation shaft, or, or something."

Stingray looked around. Too bad they couldn’t just fold up the pitch blackness and use it as a cloaking shroud.

’What’s this?’ She asked as she noticed a slight misalignment in the wall paneling. She poked it with the barrel of her rifle. It looked a hatch of some sort, but whether it was ventilation, waste disposal, a decommissioned elevator or whatever else, she couldn’t tell. A mechanoid of average size could fit into it.

Garrus-9--Command Center

So Fortress Maximus finally managed to cut the power from the captured Command Center. It had been inevitable from the very beginning of this gambit. Perhaps Scorponok should have been grateful it had taken even this much time before the Autobots had managed to pull off the plug. He was not. Despite of the stolen Autobot command codes and some of the best hackers and dataminers in the Decepticon ranks, they had failed to take the control of the penitentiary. They had failed to turn the Autobots' own defenses against them. They had failed to reach their goal the easy way.

The easy way. How easy it would have been just to eradicate the prison complex or even the cursed moon it sat on? Had he not a fleet of weapons of mass destruction orbiting the planetoid? The thought was tempting. And yet, were he to give that command, how much more would he lose? Certainly all the secrets hidden right under the olfactory sensors of Fortress Maximus. Tyrest's legislation machine Aequitas. The key to creation of a super soldier he so badly desired. And thousands of Cybertronian lives. Did he really want to become remembered as someone who given the final push to their species towards extinction? Hadn't they done enough on that front already? There had been over a billion Cybertronians swearing allegiance to Decepticon cause in the beginning of the war. Now what they had been reduced into? One hundred thousand? Perhaps even less. The Autobots had not fared any better, that much was certain. It was likely that pockets of refugees who had refused to join either cause still hid across the galaxy but to Scorponok these bots had lost their right to call themselves Cybertronians.

And thus, taking over the prison had become yet another struggle with no quick end in sight. Oh, he was not finished. He still held the keys to victory. Fortress Maximus would fall. The prison would be his eventually. He had put the penitentiary under siege. He had removed its teeth by taking out the weapons that could have threatened his fleet. He had the advantage of a working supply chain and a planet worth of resources. Now patience on the other hand, that was a resource he was starting to run out off.

"Scorponok! Mighty Scorponok! Can you clear but one path for us!? I have a plan."

"I can do better than that." Scorponok replied to Mindwipe while tearing a blast door off its sheath and jamming it down to block one of the entryways into the Command Center.

>>"Bugly, we are moving out. Open a portal to these coordinates."<<

>>"Of course lord Scorponok. Your will shall be done."<<

For the second time in the last four breems, the Command Center witnessed the emergence of a technological marvel known as the space bridge. This time the chosen location of the opening being such that the Autobots spying their actions from their vantages points lacked the line of sight to learn out what the Decepticons were doing.

Switching to short-range communications, Scorponok reached out to his men within the Command Center, unwilling to shout command the Autobots might overhear. >>"Apeface! Rippersnapper! Plant the explosives! Vehicons man the barricades and keep the Autobots busy! Everyone else move back to Tyrannis through the portal! Move it!"<<

Garrus 9 - Cell Block B

The prison was a veritable assault course now bludgeon wasn’t sure on how to take this current turn of events as he moved forward Umbra following in his wake. But as the duo moved forward a new voice interrupted his thoughts of how they where to escape.

"Well, as I live and breathe!"

The name mentioned by Umbra awoke memories from before his incarceration Icepick one of the Monstercons stood just behind Icepick was another of the Monstercons Scowl. The mystical decepticon watched Icepick eye him curiously as he whispered in Umbra’s audio receptor he could see the questions mulling through his mind.

With his identity now known to Umbra he spoke to the Monstercon “Once upon a time before I was incarcerated within these hollow walls” Bludgeon gestured to the ruined prison walls as he stepped toward Icepick. “My acquaintance here is under my aegis” to illustrate the point he channelled a blast of electricity to short out a nearby turret before using the acquired rifle to disable two more turrets. Satisfied he had taken care of the immediate threats he turned back he looked directly into the Monstercon’s optics.

“So Icepick, Scowl do you have a plan to escape this drudgery?”

Semper Tyrannis - Brig

The thunderous booming of plasma shells and the cracking of laser fire striking aerial targets could be heard from the inside the cell Brainstorm sat in. Then again, probably want that difficult to hear seeing how the engineer was slumped up against the wall of the cell, particularly the side closest to the hull of the ship.

"I can't take all this quietness!" The engineer shouted as he rose from his slouch. He turned towards the wall and began placing his hands up against the wall. He ran his actuators over the cold alloy, testing the integrity of the metal. He tapped lightly in a few spots along the wall, listening to see how thick the walls were, he continued this for a few good breems or so, until he took a few steps back and looked up at the ceiling of the cell.

"Ahh...Perfect!"

He crouched and activated the Magnalocks located inside his feet and began to scale up the side of the prison cell. He stopped once he had reach the spot in the ceiling he was admiring and just dangled up above. Brainstorm believes this is where some of his best ideas have come from. He crossed his arms and closed his optics as his processor began to ponder up possibilities of escape.

The engineer opened his optics again and glanced down upon his cell mates.

"You guys need to lighten up a little! Sing an old chanty or something, it'll make the time pass along faster while I think of more escape methods."


Garrus 9 - Cell Block M

Banzai-tron watched as Slog escaped into the small crevice in the wall of the prison. Normally the Intelligence officer wouldn't even think about retreating through such a narrow opening, but with an injured shoulder and being in their current situation, any plan was better than being ripped apart by the automated defenses.

The crystalocution master staggered behind Spinister through the crevice. He gazed down at his opened wound, energon and spare wires flailing out of the scorched and twisted metal of his shoulder pauldron. Upon exiting through Slog's crude escape tunnel, he saw the monstercon attempting to create another one of his "masterpieces". Grotesque was what it was, far from being a form of art. Now Banzai-tron's crystalocuition, that was a form of art.

As the artist was finishing up on his abstract piece, he let out a cry to his fellow monstercon, Wildfly. Banzai-tron could hear the faint response of the captive Wildfly just a few hundred meters up ahead in the cell block.

"I think I hear him just up this way a bit." Banzai-tron said as he began to walk alongside the Monstercon artist, "Do you know which cell blocks the rest of your team are located in?"

Garrus 9 - Command Center

Treadshot gave the Horrorcons a wide berth. After having his rifle commandeered by that brute Apeface, he was even less willing to stick around in case that brute broke the gun again, forcing him to hand over Catgut, or worse, himself as a replacement. The gunslinger generally kept behind the living all-in-one barricade and artillery that was his commander. It wasn't difficult to snipe off the Autobots even at this distance. If they bothered to peek their head out of cover for a moment that was.

The gunslinger hunkered down for the long haul, their speedy advance suddenly grinding to a frustrating halt. It seemed as though they would dig in here and lay siege. How dull that could be. Meanwhile, Banzai-Tron was likely yucking it up elsewhere within the facility. How aggravating. Ah, well. Nothing to be done about it. That was before Scorponok issued a very peculiar order.

>>"Apeface! Rippersnapper! Plant the explosives! Vehicons man the barricades and keep the Autobots busy! Everyone else move back to Tyrannis through the portal! Move it!"<<

Not one to question orders - well, at least when they came from Scorponok - Treadshot got to his feet and jogged over to the magnificent space bridge that had appeared. Truly, a marvel it was. Treadshot didn't spend much time gawking at the twisting vortex, however, but simply leaped through it.

-----

Garrus 9 - Southern Wing

"Bludgeon."

All of Umbra mental processes stopped for an astrosecond when she heard her rescuer's name. Bludgeon. The...Metallikato master Bludgeon? The one that could easily rip through scores of Autobots with nothing but a sword? The Commander of the Empirion Bludgeon? The horror stories that Umbra had heard about this particular mech went on without end. She had never seen him, but those stories...Umbra gave the Metallikato master a curious look. Then she glanced at Icepick.

"Bludgeon. As in. The Bludgeon?" she asked in disbelief.

As Icepick leaned over to her, she moved closer so as to hear his barely audible whisper.

"He helped you?"

Umbra nodded slowly, still disbelieving. Why? What would prompt someone like Bludgeon to help her? A femme of indiscernible allegiance who was clearly not an asset in anyway. She was more like dead weight to someone like Bludgeon. The agent shook her head. Her time here was certainly full of surprises. But, at least they were pleasant ones. Who was she to look her good fortune in the mouth? She turned her attention to her savior as he began to speak.

“Once upon a time before I was incarcerated within these hollow walls. My acquaintance here is under my aegis,” as he said it, Bludgeon disabled three turrets, one with an electric blast and the others with the rifle that he had retrieved.

Well. That definitely confirmed the general notion that Bludgeon intended to help her survive this experience. Umbra was torn between wanting to know why and just letting matters be. She finally decided to let the matter drop. No time for that at the moment anyway. Survival and escape were the more pressing objectives.

“So Icepick, Scowl do you have a plan to escape this drudgery?" asked Bludgeon, reiterating her earlier question.

Umbra took a moment to glance about and take in their surroundings. In the distance, she saw the ruined wreck that was the ship that had crashed into the side of the prison. It was not going anywhere anytime soon. What was her plan anyway? Bludgeon's protection would end eventually, and she was going to have to find a place for herself. Either amongst the Autobots...or the Decepticons.

Umbra valued the honor of the Autobots. Their admirable fighting spirit. Fighting for freedom and peace. Friendship. Camaraderie. But...so far...this war had dragged out endlessly. Cybertron was gone. And the Autobots were left fighting for what? Their morals? Their misplaced sense of justice? Ha! Oh yes, Mandate had some wonderful morals.

The agent looked at Bludgeon and then at the two Monstercons Icepick and Scowl silently. She was no longer an Autobot. She was just another prisoner. And right now, she needed to escape. With Icepick, Bludgeon and Scowl preferably.

Garrus-9--Cell Block A

"Snaptrap, can you give me one good reason why we’ve been reduced to supporting the Terrorcons? We should be the ones leading this assault! The thought of Hun-Gur getting credit for our work is sickening."

Drip. Splat.

Drip. Splat.

As if it was the fate's way to remind Skalor of the universal rule of every action having a consequance, gobs of cutting lubricant began dripping down his forehead and past his optics. The source of the said substance was not far enough either, for high above Skalor's dome towered both of Hun-Gurrr's ever hungry draconic maws. A low growl emanating from the other head's slightly parted jaws while the other fired an intense beam of heat at the nearest defense turret which soon turned red hot and began melting away.

"Move!"

"Destrrroy the Autobots!"

A prod became a shove as Hun-Grrr pushed his massive bulk forwards, forcing both Snaptrap and Skalor off their cover and on the move. A shove that in Skalor's case flung the smaller Seacon into the air and towards a direct collision course with one of the defense turrets dangling from the ceiling of the corridor.

"Fly stinky fishbot! Destrrroy orrr be feasted upon!"

The return fire from the enemy defenses were still being absorbed by the Terrorcon's powerful kinetic barriers but not even Hun-Gar could deal with such barrage forever. If he was to continue his reckless tactic of mindless destruction, he needed to find on more Autobots to feed on and he needed them soon. And well, if the Seacons would not cooperate, the deranged leader of the Terrorcons had no qualms about turning one of them into his next meal to fuel his march forwards.

Garrus 9 – Command Center

Cipher watched as the whole of the command center was bombarded by the Autobots’ own security system. But the attack was planned. The Decepticon scientist clutched the sides of his head in a very vain attempt to muffle the weapons fire.

He took a quick look in Mindwipe’s direction when the hypnotist announced that the command center was a lost cause. Cipher lowered his hands and took a fleeting glance past is makeshift cover. Beyond lay a smoldering pile of slag that once was the prison’s computer system. Cipher clenched his jaw and balled his hands into tight fists.

“We'll have to do it from....from....Aequitas! Cipher! They would never cut power to that machine!"

In a flash his head whipped ‘round and caught Mindwaipe’s optics. A broad, bright smile slowly spread over the Decepticon flier’s face. “Aequitas. Of course! Yes! Mindwipe, YES!”

Cipher began chuckling while he cast his gaze in Scorponok’s direction. And as quickly as Mindwipe had called out his request, the massive Decepticon General tore off a blast door jamming it in an entryway. Once the way was clear, Cipher popped up from his hideaway, hands rubbing together in anticipation.

Reaching out and taking a hold of Mindwipe’s wrist, Cipher giggled with excitement. “Come Mindwipe! We must go. Aequitas awaits!”

-----

A cyclone gun could do only so much in such closed quarters. A flamethrower as well. Rippersnapper had resorted to low yield explosives tossed directly into the access ways the Autobots were stupid enough to continue occupying.

The terrorist’s head turned when he heard Scorponok in his audios. A quiet short-range comm and Rippersnapper went straight to work.

From a storage compartment on his left hip the terrorist removed a hand full of full sized plasma-density charges. These, however, he conveniently equipped with timers. No reason to toss and hope you make it out alive.

With a smile on his face and his hand curled tightly around his charges, Rippersnapper quickly moved around the room strategically placing each explosive in a location where it would do the most damage. The Terrorcon could only hope most, if not all, of the Autotbots wandered into their blast radius. That thought only made the smile on his face grow wider.

“Charges planted and set, Lord Scorponok. We have less than two Kliks before….” Ripppersnapper raised both hands and spread them and his digits apart, “…boom.”

Garrus 9 – Auxiliary Corridors

“I can NOT believe you did that!” Lowball’s voice echoed off the metal walls of the corridor he and his lunatic companion were now running through. “You really are crazy!”

From just behind the short stocky mech Whirl snorted. “Please. Don’t pretend you weren’t impressed.” The irate guard slowed his pace and took a quick look over his shoulder at the copter-bot. “Impressed? IMPRESSED?! I’m appalled! You’re a sick fragger who doesn’t deserve to be guarding this place! You deserve to be locked up in one of these cells and forgotten about!”

Whirl stepped up alongside the shorter mech and remained quiet as Lowball vented.

“Feel better?” Whirl cocked his head slightly taking in the other mech. Lowball in turn growled under his breath. “You know this kind of thing happens quite a bit with new couples. I think we should take some time after all this mess and, you know, discuss our relationship,” he placed a claw gently on Lowball’s shoulder and lowered his voice. “I really think this is worth saving. Because, well, I lo…” Lowball quickly slapped Whirl’s claw off and sneered. “Sick piece of scrap!”

Whirl watched as the other Autobot jogged quickly down the corridor. “You bastard! You gave me all the signals!” He was ready to send another response but was cut off by the sound of metal striking metal.

Running.

Decepticons.

“Cheese it! It’s the ‘Cons!” Lowball looked back in time to see Whirl gaining on his position. He quickly turned to run but was grabbed by the wrist. Whirl’s claw gripped tightly as he dragged the smaller mech along with him. “How far are they?!” Whirl didn’t answer right away instead he tugged Lowball around a corner where he spotted Fortress Maximus and his own group of mechs.

“Sir! Sir!” Lowball began pulling his arm out of Whirl’s grip but was tugged back close to the copter-bot. “It’s the claws. And the no face thing, right? Come on, you can tell me. I can take it.” Whirl tried to stifle a sob. Lowball began pulling at his arm again while growling out several colorful profanities aimed directly at the ex-Wrecker.

To the blue copter’s surprise the other guard was finally able to break free and stopped his advance. Whirl rolled his head in annoyance. “So it is the face and hand thing. I knew it!” Whirl looked over Lowball’s shoulder and caught a quick glimpse of the shine off of a Decepticon gun. “I can’t believe it! You’re a racist! How could you?!” The expression on the shorter Autobot’s face morphed into one of confusion.

“Well, just because I don’t look like everyone else doesn’t mean I’m any less capable…” he pulled a rather imposing gun from a holster and leveled its barrel. “…of blowing a slaglicker away with one shot!” As the weapon discharged Lowball screamed in terror. The shot whizzed past his head, missing his audio by inches.

Behind the now cowering mech was the body of a Decepticon…a hole melted clean through his right optic.

Lowball stood up and stared up at Whirl who was now staring down at him…his gun perched high on his shoulder. “Hey, Max! I brought those ‘Cons who are pining for their creds! I say we give ‘em a warm welcome! Heh. Anyone got a flamethrower?”

Semper Tyrannis: Brig

Pyro rested comfortably, well relatively comfortably, against the stark drab and vibrating hull bulkhead of the brig in which he and many of the others had been imprisoned. There was precious little to do to occupy his time. The walls were solid and what few fragments of garbage and scrap that littered the floors were hardly enough to do anything to help improve their current situation. Thus all he was left to do was to think and imagine. There were little words left that he could spare to encourage those with him, an unfortunate reminder that he was still so very far away from being his hero Optimus Prime.

They had already attempted to deduce what it was that Scorponok hoped to gain with this attack on a prison planet, with precious little to show for the effort. From some ancient technologies, lost battleships to some high profile Decepticon general, none made much sense for the amount of resources that were being sacrificed. Indeed from his own deductions, and memory of the prison manifests, there were no high ranking Decepticons locked away on Garrus 9. And keeping with Megatron's own thought process on prisoners, if they were caught or did not have the good sense to die on the battlefield, then they deserved their fate.

Over all the battle made little sense for Pyro. The loss of so many ships and so many troops, even if they were successful in finding what they were searching for, did not add up. Besides from his personal point of view and tactical experience, there were easier ways to raid a prison.

The ranger pulled over a piece of warped rebar and crumpled it in his left hand. Carefully and deliberately he rolled the piece of metal into a roughly spherical shape. Once he was satisfied with the shape, he began to toss it against the furthest bulkhead, right across the visual plain of Pointblank. It plopped against the wall then bounced back to his waiting hand before he repeated the process. Pyro needed to figure it out. Not only a way to turn this prison stint to an advantage, but to nullify whatever advantage the Decepticons hoped to achieve.

Scattershot closed the final hatch on Nosecone's torso and locked it back into position. His mind flooded with images of battle, imagination gone rampant. His thirst for smacking the living rust stains out of the cockpits of each Decepticon trooper he came across, was only tempered by the knowledge that there was nothing he could do in his current circumstance. The shudder of the deck under his feet only served to rake his ire.

Still the Technobot commander, the defacto squadron commander, had to remain completely composed. A growl boiled from his gut as the shriek of a pair of proton torpedoes wizzed passed the Tyrannis, the frequency of the propellant ringing loudly in the super structure. The growl instantly exploded into a balled fist as it plunged into the face of a sturdy piece of bulwork, leaving a sizable yet ineffective dent of warped metal... "So much for composure."

His voice hung low as he waited for his temper to sooth. There just had to be a way to turn this period into their advantage. He had already done what he could to sacrifice himself to restore more power to the damaged components of his troops, particularly restoring the targeting systems of Strafe, the life support systems of Lightspeed, and the arm joints of Afterburner. If he had the time, Scattershot would have loved to gain the ability to restore functions to Nosecone's drill. At least then they would have had a tool they did not half initially. But all of the repairs he had made, using some of his own compatible components, were nothing more than field work patches. Jar them too much and they would probably fail. Still it was better than nothing.

Scattershot ordered Nosecone to gather the damaged components and lock them away in one of his still functional yet depleted tool compartments. He then turned to Brainstorm and Rad who were both trying to decide on methods of escape. "Look, Lightspeed here is the best tactician we got. If there were a way out of this stinkin cyberrat hole, he'd have found it by now."

He paused briefly then turned his attention to the doors leading out of the detention block. "Maybe we should pool our experiences in a different avenue. 'Speeder, you have a complete layout of the Garrus 9 prison correct?"

Garrus 9 - Cell Block M

"Slog!" BANG. BANG. BANG. “Slog! Over here! Over here! Get me the Pit out of this fragging box!"

Slog wasn't sure whether to sigh with relief or sorrow when he heard Wildfly's response a fair distance away. The Monstercon was unharmed. However, he was several yards down the cell block and still stuck in his cell. What a bother. The whole way was filled with those blasted turrets. They'd surely perforate the corpse that he was using as a shield and then him before he even got close. It was pointless.

Irregardless, Slog trudged on toward his teammate, resolute on seeing him free. Spinister had managed to slip through the opening behind him and began providing cover fire for him, destroying turrets with a new gun. Where had he gotten that? Oh. This guard had been holding a gun. Slog couldn't shake the feeling that he had ought to have picked it up. Oh well. It was being put to good use.

"I think I hear him just up this way a bit," said Banzai-Tron as the intelligence officer strolled up beside the Monstercon artist, "Do you know which cell blocks the rest of your team are located in?"

"Of course I do," Slog answered almost offended, "I have been in this place for a few millennium. But..." Slog conceded with a depressed sigh, "They may be dead by now. Or wandering the prison themselves. It'd be difficult to find them in this chaos. Maybe impossible."

Slog trudged on in silence after answering the Decepticon Intelligence Officer. In another time, Slog would have shown more respect for Banzai-Tron. But then. He had been left to rot in Garrus-9 for quite a few millennium. So maybe not. All Slog wanted to do was reunite with his team and go from there.

Facing little resistance from the turrets - apart from the stray shot, which was deflected by Slog's corpse shield - thanks to Spinister, Slog stepped up to the bars of Wildfly's cell and peered in at his long-time comrade through them, a rare smile finally settling upon the Monstercon's faceplate.

"Hello Wildfly. It's nice to see you still functional," Slog said by way of greeting as he hefted the guard's corpse of him whereupon it promptly collapsed to the ground. Slog regarded it for a moment with some level of disgust. The Monstercon artist gestured to it with a hand. "What do you think? It's my latest creation. Hideous, isn't it? I just don't have the right tools to work with. Ah, but enough about that. Let's see about setting you free."

Slog considered the cell door for a moment, pondering how to get it open. He turned and scanned the immediate vicinity. Not taking long to find what he was looking for, Slog jogged over to another dead guard, likely the victim of escaped prisoners before the defense system had managed to activate. It would be just his luck if this guard didn't have it. Kneeling and quickly frisking the corpse, Slog found a standard issue blaster. Perfect.

Rat-ta-ta-tat!

Slog dived to the side as one of the turrets locked onto him and firmly settled on totally obliterating him. Back-stepping, he hefted the blaster up with his good arm and shot off a few rounds at the turret until it fired no more, which, fortunately, didn't take too long. Slog walked the short distance back to Wildfly's cell and pointed the blaster at the door.

"Stand back if you don't want to get hit in the face with a door," Slog stated plainly.

Warning delivered, Slog unloaded the gun into the door, blasting it open and effectively emptying the gun's clip.

Garrus 9 – Cell Block B Security Station

Regulator had taken to running his hands along the walls closest to him and when he couldn’t find any kind of deviation in the smooth metal or rivets securing the panels the guard dropped to his knees. He ran his palms quickly but thoroughly over its surface.

’What’s this?'

The sound of Stingray’s question caused Regulator to look up in the direction of the Decepticon. In an instant he was able to scramble back onto his feet by her side. With a swift movement of his digit to the side of his optic he magnified his vision. There was definitely something off with the panel Stingray had found.

Regulator smiled before moving in and removing the metal covering. He placed it off to the side and cautiously stuck his head into the darkened passageway. “This is it! We can use this!” His voice echoed through the opening and into the room behind him.

He pulled out and placed his hand on Stingray’s forearm. Flashing an exuberant smile he gave the femme’s arm a gentle squeeze. Realization set in and Regulator quickly released her arm and turned his optics toward the floor. “Oh…I…I’m sorry…” he cleared his throat in an attempt to refocus his attention back on escaping. “We should get going.”

The security mech gestured to the opening. “It’s a transfer tunnel. Well, one of them. I don’t think anyone knows how many there are or where they’re all located. Maybe the warden but that’s probably it.” He shrugged. Anyway, the tunnels can be used to transfer prisoners or as escape routes. It looks like this one might still be passable.” He finally turned his optics back on Stingray. “Time to go.”

Garrus 9 - Command Center

No sooner had the gargantuan Decepticon blocked the Command Center off from Fortress Maximus and his horde of Autobots, Wingspan was up on his feet, data slug gripped tightly in his clawed hand, and waiting for the portal to open.

As the bright ball grew Wingspan stepped forward but was shoved aside harshly by a trotting Sparkstalker. The Firecon was sporting a broad smirk. With a sneer and a low growl Wingspan straightened up and stalked after the arrogant creature through the portal.

Garrus 9 – Auxiliary Corridors

How was this even possible? Not even his superior mind could grasp the impossible odds that had been working against him. And yet here he was alive and well. The Autobot smiled broadly as he worked his way down another hall, this one was empty. To what did he owe this perfect fortune to he wondered.

“Incredible. If only I was able to avoid this entire mess to begin with.” The bot grumbled under his breath.

Once he came to a corner the sound of shouts and sporadic gunfire hit his audios. As quick as he could he pressed flat against the wall. He wasn’t a stranger to fighting, but with no means of defense there was no reason for him to throw himself into a fray he’d have no way of surviving.

And then there was a shout. A name. Flame took the opportunity and looked around the corner and saw a group of Autobots attempting to make their way into, what was it, the Command Center? Yes! He had made it safely from Cell Block G to the Command Center!

His optics turned from Fortress Maximus to the mechs that had suddenly showed to join Max’s group. Some lowly guard he’d never seen before… “Cannon fodder, obviously,” Flame said. But then he saw the taller one-optic-clawed flier. The scientist pulled back around the corner and pressed back into the wall. “Whirl. That pit-spawned lowlife piece of gutter trash.”

For several minutes Flame weighed his options…stay put and hope to Primus no Decepticons, prisoner or otherwise, showed up and killed him, or pop out from behind this corner and join up with the warden and hope they don’t kill him. Decisions, decisions.

Flame let out a groan as he steeled himself and slowly stepped out into the corridor. “Warden!" he called out to Max. "I wish to assist in fending off these encroachers!” The scientist raised his hands. “All I need is the removal of this infernal claw and a weapon!”

((OOC: Apologies for the delay.))

Garrus 9 - Cell Block A

"Snaptrap, can you give me one good reason why we’ve been reduced to supporting the Terrorcons? We should be the ones leading this assault! The thought of Hun-Gur getting credit for our work is sickening."

Turning his attention away from blasting the turrets ahead of them to regard his subordinate with cold aurulent optics, Snaptrap immediately noticed the massive bulk of Hun-Grrr looming over Skalor. Knowing that Skalor's punishment from Hun-Grrr would be sufficient enough for the moment, the Seacon Commander simply transformed into his beast mode and charged forward as Skalor was flung at one of the turrets mounted on the ceiling.

Snaptrap unleashed his full arsenal on the turrets within his proximity, making headway at clearing the path ahead as Hun-Grrr took the brunt of the turret fire. The turrets that did concentrate on him had their attempts foiled by his impressive armor, but even his armor could not last forever against a hail of gunfire.

"I trust you have no more complaints, Skalor," Snaptrap grated out plainly as the hulking sea beast passed near where his subordinate had ended up, "Our goal is the Monstercons. Not the slaughter or the glory. Find them. And do not question my orders again, or a fate much worse than Hun-Grrr's three maws awaits you."

Garrus 9 - Cell Block M

Spinister continue to shoot the turrets. He noticed that Slog started to help in fending them off before freeing Wildfly from his cell. The decepticon helicopter gestured for Slog to get out of the cell block fast. He was interrupted when a turret shot his back, He immediately sprinted to to the side to avoid any more shots. Two turrets were left, but that still made it possible for one turret to shoot at Slog while the other focuses on Spinister. He decided to continue distracting the turrets while the Monstercon helps his comrade out. Not much bullets were left in his weapon. Four rounds. He must not waste any of the bullets left with him. The amount was not enough for a distraction, but enough to kill the turrets. He shot at one of them, then at the other. Two rounds. Both turrets were now damaged, one bullet is enough to finish them. He jumped to the side again, avoiding any bullets. Then he aimed his gun at the damaged area on one of the turrets and put his finger at the trigger. Bang. One round.

Garrus-9--Command Center

Apeface had gone to work alongside Rippersnapper or rather, he had began his work booby-trapping the command center while the Terrorcon was still processing Scorponok's command. The amateur. Then again, not everyone had worked under direct command of the High Commander as long as he and Snapdragon had. Which admittedly did give him an advantage in experience. Then again, most of the other Decepticons couldn't even hope reach the level of intelligence he had been gifted with. Against these odds, Rippersnapper was doing his job pretty well. Particularly considering the reputation of the five mech unit he was part of. Of course, had this been a competion, there would have been no question of a winner.

“Charges planted and set, Lord Scorponok. We have less than two Kliks before…." Rippersnapper raised both hands and spread them and his digits apart, "…boom."

>>"Correction Commander."<< Apeface added through a the short range comm-link the Decepticons shared - while shoving Mindwipe through the open portal. >>"That is less than two Kliks until the big boom after the Autobots set off the tachyon sensors I installed around the room. I believe tactical retreat is in order?"<<

"Excellent work both." Scorponok replied back to the two saboteurs and gestured them to move through the open portal. Covering the exit of his remaining forces a while longer, Scorponok soon skittered through the space bridge himself - still in his fearsome battle mode. Behind him, the portal disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only a squad of disposable Vehicon soldiers behind to give the Autobots an illusion that the Decepticons would fight to their last to keep their ground.

Semper Tyrannis: Brig

"Not to question orders, Scattershot, but what good will the layout of the prison be for us? There would be some obvious changes due to the battle but I doubt too much. The question still remains though of how much of an advantage it will do to know the layout while we are stuck in here. There is as much of a chance for the Cons to slag everyone down there after they get whatever they are here to find and then leave. My biggest concern is how quiet and dead it is here with the exception of the occasional space noise."

Garrus-9 – Cell Block A

Having finally converged on the Terrorcons' position, Nautilator wondered—and worried—if Snaptrap would rebuke him for not returning with Tentakil, or just flat out kill him owing to a rage so pure that only action could soothe it. Being the weakest link of the Seacons, which was to say that Nautilator was an utter failure, he felt the tendrils of paranoia caress his core processor, as if to remind him of a responsibility he had—surprise, surprise—failed to undertake.

Honestly, whenever anything went wrong, all digits pointed themselves at Nautilator with unrivalled conviction. And maybe it was his fault half the time. Maybe he did screw up more than anyone else. But did he deserve to be blamed for everything—and for Tentakil's absence? No!

Where was his mercy? Where was his break from all the accusations? And why did his team-mates have to be such aftholes?

“...Do not question my orders again, or a fate much worse than Hun-Grr's three maws awaits you.”

He was doomed. No Tentakil with him meant no more existence. He'd be blamed then maimed. Then dead because of his horrific injuries.

Shoving aside those morbid thoughts, Nautilator still did as Snaptrap had instructed him to do: support the Terrorcons as they destroyed the defence turrets. They had to find the Monstercons, after all, and in order to accomplish that, they needed to combine their strength to eliminate those troublesome turrets that were not only causing them lots of grief, but also stalling their progress.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Nautilator said to himself. He then laughed bitterly, shaking his cranial unit. “Yeah right. Like this'll end well for me.”

Brandishing his triple crusher cannon, he surged forwards. He pulled up next to Snaptrap—but not too close, for reasons of his own—and opened fire. Damn him if his shots didn't go wide of their targets, but damn him further if he was going to stop. Better to be struck down by a turret than by the wrath of his leader.

Garrus-9, Southern Wing – Cell Block M

Never before had Wildfly's optics been so graced by such a beautiful face-plate occupying the viewing panel. Peering through, with a note of amusement woven into its voice when it spoke, stood Slog, representing a host of opportunities that were otherwise nothing more than tantalising fantasies accompanying Wildfly during his most tedious and loneliest moments.

Freedom.

Revenge.

Carnage.

Freedom.

The mere sight of Slog filled Wildfly with an intense happiness, and he burst out laughing. He couldn't have helped it even if he tried. Seeing his team-mate enjoying the taste of liberation, and knowing Slog was here precisely to allow Wildfly to indulge in that same delicious experience, there was no more appropriate reaction than to erupt like a volcano and spew forth a tide of laughter.

He also suspected that Slog's latest piece of art—a mangled corpse of an Autobot guard—had tickled his sense of humour, too.

When Slog aimed a blaster at the door and told Wildfly to back away, he obeyed without hesitation. This was it. This was really it. Like really, really it.

The cell door could not resist the powerful rapid assault the blaster visited upon it. Trembling and groaning due to the mortal wounds it had sustained, it fell inwards, collapsing inside of Wildfly's cell, producing a tremendous crash as it smashed to the floor. Thick ribbons of smoke rose from the areas where it had taken damage, wavering gently as they partially obscured the form of Slog—the glorious spawn of a glitch who had sprung him from his cursed box.

Wildfly wasted not an astrosecond. He crossed the threshold in a few swift steps, smiling. His smile broadened as he looked at Slog, and he threw an arm around the Monstercon, chuckling as he did.

“Slog, you magnificent bastard! How have you been? Probably miserable, like I'd been, but not now, right? You must be thrilled, eh? Getting to roam this joint as much as you please?” Wildfly chuckled again. “You know what? Life just became that much better for us, my friend.”

Yes, indeed. The quality of Wildfly's life had just improved by leaps and bounds. By margins so considerable there were no words capable of conveying this historical moment.

He unwrapped his arm from around Slog. “I'm guessing it's high time we went on a monster hunt for our comrades? I'm sure they're as keen to find us as we are to find them. Unless, of course, you've got some other plan in mind?”

((OOC: Doing a little covering for Sid while he's occupied.))

Garrus 9 – Southern Wing
“Eh, the war’ll end one day. One way or another,” Stormwrecker barked back at Vroom, “My money’s on Megatron.”

Stormwrecker kept following in Vroom’s footsteps, keeping pace relatively easily with how slowly Vroom ventured forward. He had no complaints though. Abruptly, the Autobot saboteur stopped, causing Stormwreck to lumber to a halt as well, looking up curiously to scan for what had alerted Vroom.

”Wait…hear that?” asked Vroom.

Stormwrecker listened. A cacophony of sound was erupting all around them: screams, blasts, the moaning of the wounded, shouts, destruction. In a word, chaos. He couldn’t pick out anything out of the ordinary from it all. Too much sound all at once. However, the saboteur had probably been trained for it.

It seemed as though a change of plans was in order. Vroom brought up a valid point. Others would likely get the same idea he had. Some Terrorcons might even still be in there, waiting for just such an opportunity. The escape artist devised an alternate route, one which Stormwrecker had no qualms about adhering to. Might even get them farther out of the Terrorcons’ way. Always a plus.

“Right behind you.”

((OOC: I know this has been a long time coming but...Spree's all yours, Drop Bear))


Garrus – 9 Cell Block M

“Why didn’t you just listen to me?” Spree paced the corridor; his hands rubbing nervously. After yet another third circle the guard stopped and stared down at the only other person in the hall. “I told you to stop.” Spree let out a shaky sigh as he shook his head. “If you got through that breach you would’ve let that…that monster out!”

Spree dropped down to his knees beside Tapper and let the back of his hand trail down the side of the smaller mech’s face. “Just…just give me a minute and I’ll figure out a way to get us both out of here. But I need you to keep quiet about how you got injured, okay? Do you think you can do that?” He waited.

It didn’t seem possible but the downed Tapper coughed up a glob of thickened energon. A moment of tense anticipation passed as Spree waited for an answer.

*cough* “Y…you tried to kill me so, so you could save your own aft?” Tapper spit up another wad of fuel before finally settling down and looking his would be murderer in the optics. “You have to understand. We can’t let them out. We can’t let any of them out. And most of all…” Spree leaned down low so he could whisper into Tapper’s audio. “We can’t let them find one another. They’ll be the death of us all!”

Did Spree finally lose it? He wasn’t making any sense. “Spree. Wh…what’s this about? You’re…you’re not making sense. Slow down and explain it to me again.” It had taken a bit of time but Tapper’s repair systems finally started to work on the more severe damage. He was able to stay conscious and stay focused. If he could hold out for a little longer he’d be able to get up and probably subdue Spree.

Tapper watched and listened as Spree settled down on his aft and scooted back until he was pressed firmly against the wall. He drew his knees up and wrapped his arms tightly around them. His optics moved from the other guard to stare up into nothing.

Slowly Spree began to rock. It was a subtle movement. “They’re always separate. Never more than two together at one time. You can’t tell me you didn’t notice.” He lowered his face into cupped hands. A low whimper escaped his vocalizer before he tentatively looked up.

Tapper grunted as he tried to sit up. His hand pressed against the worst of the two gunshot wounds. “You’re talking about those ‘Cons. The…the Monster-something-or-other, right?” He finally made it to a somewhat comfortable position and looked at the distraught mech sitting across from him.

“This was always going to happen.” Spree gestured to the surrounding area. “They were always going to come for them. It would have been better if they were just destroyed instead of locked away here.” He placed his head on his knees and looked at the seated guard.

“Are you saying you knew the ‘Cons would come here to break these guys out? How could you…how could you possibly know about that?” Tapper glared hard at his opposite. The accusation sent a torrent of emotions running through Spree making him snap his head up and causing him to crawl hurriedly on hands and knees until he was face to face with Tapper.

“I didn’t know anything! You hear me! I had no idea that this is what would really happen!” Spree glared into Tapper’s optics for several tense moments before he finally relaxed. “I watch. You know. I observe. I notice things. Put two and two together.”

“I get it, Spree. I do.” Tapper adjusted his position so he was able to get a grip on his weapon that was just behind his left side. “One of them is here. You were assigned to this block. What were you planning?” Spree guard looked at the wounded bot thinking carefully of what he would say. “There was one on this block. Wildfly. It was going to be easy. Starve him and make it look like it was his idea. You know…like some kind of protest or something.”

Shaking his head Tapper locked optics with the other mech. He was terrified. “What went wrong?” A loud clang echoed around the corridor when Spree slammed his fist into the floor. “Whirl! Whirl is what went wrong! I was able to get Wildfly’s first ration dumped but then Whirl showed up.” Tapper scooted further to his left giving him a better hold on his gun’s grip.

“Damn freak ruins everything," he grumbled. Then with a heavy sigh Spree leaned his head back. And once his attention was off of him, Tapper, as quickly as he could, got up to his feet and leveled his weapon on the other Autobot. “Don’t even think about moving” Tapper ordered. “This is what’s going to happen. I’m going to head back up to the Command Center and you’re going to come with me. So let’s go.”

Optics glued to the guard as he rose slowly to his feet, Tapper gestured for Spree to precede him. At first they moved without a word, that is until Spree took off. Tapper was started by the sudden action that he nearly fell to one knee. He called out to the fleeing bot but it was too late. Spree was already out of sight and deep into Cell Block M.

“Damnit Spree. Why didn’t you just listen?”

((OOC: Shall be adding more in the coming future))

Garrus-9 – Southern Wing

The guard crashed to the ground with little more elegance than the blow that had been delivered to his face-plate. Fast, hard and brutal, Bristleback was pleased with those results—both the punch and the fall—but his mood was far from being anywhere near the realm of happiness. Having been imprisoned in a wretched penitentiary situated on a nothing rock located in some worthless sub-sector of space for countless millennia had that effect on your disposition.

A bad effect. A negative effect. A Primus damned infuriating effect.

The guard moaned and groaned. He attempted to push himself to his feet, but his weakened state wouldn't allow him to rise. Absent of strength, his arms gave way, and once again he hit the ground. A series of pained groans rushed out of his vocaliser.

Bristleback stood over his pathetic form, a humourless ghost of a smirk haunting his features. He could see where his fist had made its impact, the indentation on the Autobot's ugly mug leaving behind an impressive mark that slightly cooled down the hot rage boiling inside of him. A fine swing, it had been. A very fine swing.

But he wasn't finished yet. Not yet. Not when this oil stain's spark still continued to operate.

Maintaining his chorus of agonised groans, the guard rolled around on the floor, unaware that death loomed over him, quivering with a barely-contained fury on the verge of being unleashed.

Optics narrowed, with one twitching—online, offline, online, offline—actuators compacted into tight balls, and spearing the guard with an intense gaze, Bristleback held nothing back. He tore into his victim as if he were a predator ripping apart its soft-fleshed prey.

Although he had places to be, mechanoids to see, and a penitentiary to escape from, right now this Autobot had to suffer Bristleback's wrath. Nothing else mattered, at this point.

He'd kill this guard now, then worry about what he had to do next.

And he had plenty to do. Plenty.

But right now, he had to kill. Then he would worry about how he was going to survive this mess.

Garrus – 9, Minimum Security Block

It had been so easy, no, too easy in fact, to breeze past Rung and Streamlight. The sappy little guard had been spark-broken that he’d been betrayed. Kronus chuckled to himself as he recalled the look on the young guard’s face. What was he expecting? He’s a ‘Con. Not only a ‘Con but a thief as well. He lived a lie. It was natural, right, perfect.

Another low chuckle echoed through the now empty corridors. The turrets that had been set into use were easily bypassed through his nimble and sneaky ministrations.

He kept an even cadence, not in a hurry and yet not willing to take his time. A smile curled the corners of his mouth as he approached his target location. There was some movement, some clanging and a bit of colorful cursing, but nothing more than that. “I wonder if he’ll be happy to see me?” Kronus asked himself. His smile broadened when the answer crept into his processor. “Nah.”

Brace, still unsure of what to do to help himself, set to work trying to crack the code on the security panel to his cell. The mech was a business wiz. He could buy and sell just as well as Swindle, but when it came to technical devices themselves, he simply had no clue.

“Piece of fragging junk!” Brace slammed his hand flat against the keypad. It beeped in protest only making the dark blue mech angrier.

He backed away slowly, his hands straight out in front on him. “Okay. So I’m not getting out that way…” His hands moved to his hips where they came to rest. With a slight twist of his head in all directions Brace took in the entirety of his cell. There had to be another way out.

His focus was on the far wall when the cell door opened of its own accord. Slowly, almost painfully, Brace turned to look over his shoulder. It wasn’t his imagination after all! Maybe it was that last smack to the keypad. Maybe it was dumb luck. At this point, however, Brace could care less. Right now he was free.

Without even so much as a glance around Brace exited his cell and stopped only when he reached the nearest crossway. He looked down both corridors trying to determine the best path to take. It needed to be quick and it needed to be direct. He had no desire to linger in this hell hole longer than he needed.

Finally he made his choice and began to make his way out of the block. He stopped suddenly when he caught sight of a shadow moving out of the corner of his optic. Maybe he was seeing things. Maybe all of the excitement was finally getting to him and his processor was projecting false images that were manifesting as forms in his optic readouts. Or maybe this place had finally gotten to him.

Brace offlined his optics and shook his head. He waited a moment as his optics onlined and the readout in his HUD flashed back as normal. Satisfied with that he pressed on. If this place was finally getting to him then the timing of this attack, or whatever it was, was perfect. He could make his way out then work his way onto one of the shuttles and be off this rock before anyone even knew he was missing.

A smile came to his face at the thought of his impending freedom but it quickly faded when he stopped dead in his tracks. He was so close to getting away and yet that offending specter had caught up to him.

Brace spun around and scanned the corridor behind him. “Who’s there?! What do you want?!” His head whipped around in quick side to side movements. “Show yourself...coward.” His last word was called out lowly. He waited a moment, optics still wide and over-bright as he, once more, scanned the area. Nothing. No moving blackness. No ghostly image. Just emptiness.

Brace let out a breath, he didn’t even know he was holding, and turned around to continue on.

Suddenly, and without warning Brace let out a terrified shriek and fell backwards. His back hit the decking hard enough to dent his armor. He looked up and caught the optics of a mech he had hoped was already dead. Brace’s jaw dropped open as he scrambled to scoot away.

“Hello, Brace,” came the genteel greeting. The accent easily noticeable as one brought up in high society. The arms dealer, stunned into speechlessness, could do nothing but shake his head in shocked disbelief. “Oh dear. Did that fall damage your precious vocalizer?” Kronus took a step forward and lowered down onto one knee. He smiled a devilishly handsome smile and reached out to touch the other bot’s cheek. Brace quickly pulled away. Kronus quickly shot his hand out and gripped Brace by the back of his head. “Oh, no, no, no. You and I have some business to take care of before you go.”

Brace stared up at Kronus not able to say a word or move. When the hand moved to his check he instinctively tried to flee. It wasn’t until that same hand had quickly come to rest behind his head that he began to whimper. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry” he choked out. “It was only business. That’s all it was. Business” he continued his mantra.

Kronus smiled down at his former business associate. He felt no remorse, as he was sure Brace didn’t either. Oh he may seemed remorseful now, but in truth had he the opportunity Brace would have done everything the same; he just would have charged more. “It’s alright Brace. I’ll make sure this goes quickly so get can beck to that other meeting.” Kronus’ smile grew wider.

Brace stared up into Kronus’ optics, his lips quivering. “Meeting? I don’t have a meeting. I just wann get out of here.” The thief tilted his head slightly losing the smile altogether. “Sure you have a meeting…” he lifted Brace up by the back of the neck and stepped in close. Their chests nearly flush against one another. “The one where you’re supposed to meet Unicron , or was it Primus?” He rubbed his chin in thought before he leaned in and whispered into Brace’s audio. “I’m leaning toward Unicron.”

From several corridors away the sound of squealing metal on metal resonated throughout the block causing the bot to stop and take in his surroundings. There really wasn’t anything, or anyone here. The small group he’d joined had split up and was making their way around looking for fellow guards, civilians and ‘Cons.

Unfortunately he was not happy with the location he got stuck in. He had only left this area a few hours ago hoping that the mech he refused to free was dead. He let out a sigh and decided to see what that disturbance up ahead was.

The corridor was empty save for some deep gouge marks and a large dent in the deck plating. Scrunching up his nasal ridge the bot decided to follow the gouges.

They came to an end in front of an office door. From within he could hear chocking sounds and wet gurgling noises. His forehead furrowed as he pressed close to the door’s surface trying hard to listen in. A low moan and a grunted whimper made him step back and palm the keypad. The door slowly slid open and his optics widened at the sight.

The form lying on the floor, in a pool of growing fluids, with its chestplate torn open, was his former employer. Brace, the mech he had left in his cell to die a horrible death was now prostrate on the floor straddled by the deranged ‘Con from below decks.

He stared unmoving at both forms when Kronus, his armor streaked with energon and oil, turned to look at him. The slim mech brought up one slender finger and placed it gently against his pursed lips. “Shhhh.”

From beneath the thief a pained, slurred plea escaped the mutilated form that had been Brace. “Ae…Aileron. Hel…p…me…p…pleeeeease.” The guard stared at the mess below Kronus and then turned his optics back on the ‘Con. Kronus inclined his head watching Aileron’s every move.

Aileron spoke into his communicator out loud, “Gamma team. This is Aileron. I’m in the minimum security block. I haven’t found anyone. No guards, ‘Bots or civilians. No ‘Cons. I’m heading back now.” The guard closed his comm line, his optics still glued to the two mechs before him. He caught Kronus’ optics. Aileron paused for a moment and gave a slight nod.

Kronus smiled and offered a polite nod in return. He stared at Aileron before he looked down at Brace. A garbled “no” radiated up from Brace as he saw Kronus open his mouth and then descend on his open chest.

Aileron quickly turned on his heel and marched out of the office leaving Brace to his fate and Kronus to revenge.

((OOC-Garrus catchup part uno.))

Garrus-9--Southern Wing

"Once upon a time before I was incarcerated within these hollow walls," Bludgeon had began, eliciting a slight nod from Icepick. Of course the imposing Decepticon's imprisoned status had somewhat nixed the otherwise formidable Decepticon's upward trajectory through the command ranks. Icepick could remember once upon a time also. Once upon a time he had heard Bludgeon's name mentioned in hushed whispers and told that the ruthless commander of the Empirion would be one to watch out for in Megatron's growing empire. That was, Icepick was sure, no less true now. But imprisonment did have a way of dulling sharp edges. Only time would tell how true that reality would prove to be when it came to Bludgeon.

“My acquaintance here is under my aegis. So Icepick, Scowl do you have a plan to escape this drudgery?"

Again Icepick nodded, still clearly surprised that anyone--but especially a mech like this Umbra--would find themselves under any kind of "aegis" provided by one such as Bludgeon. He couldn't help but wonder not "if" there was an ulterior motive behind that action, but rather what it was, exactly. Again, time would tell. It was not like Icepick had any ill will for the femme. She could remain under his aegis in perpetuity for all he cared. But the second question, the question as to whether there was a specific plan of escape in mind, snapped Icepick's focus out of the speculative and back to the here and now.

"I.....," Icepick stuttered out, before realizing that for the first time in quite some time he was actually at a loss for words. He had not seen chaos of this magnitude grip the halls of Garrus-9....ever. He actually didn't know what to make of it. And he didn't have a plan to get out of it either. He was running on instinct. And while that had kept him alive thus far, he hadn't exactly been free of his former imprisonment for all that long either. There was no telling how quickly things could turn against the prospect of his continued survival. "....I really don't, actually. Scowl and I would most assuredly defer to your expertise in these matters, Commander Bludgeon."
___

Semper Tyrannis--Brig

Lightspeed did not like the emotions surging through his systems, but serving in the various capacities he had during the war had long taught him the value of keeping his cool and staying fixed on the task at hand even when he could not be directly on the battlefield aiding his Autobot compatriots.

"Look, Lightspeed here is the best tactician we got. If there were a way out of this stinkin cyberrat hole, he'd have found it by now."

Lightspeed offered a light chuckle. Not really appropriate, given their circumstances, but it had come out all on its own. If he was the best tactician at their disposal, they were still in pretty dire straits: Prowl he was not. But he had certainly examined this cell and this room from every which way that he could imagine and effectively concurred with Scattershot on that matter at least: there would be no escape from this cell. If it was going to happen, it would have to be during a transfer of some kind. And hopefully a transfer to Garrus and not some equally well-secured Decepticon ship. Granted, apart from the Nemesis, Lightspeed couldn't imagine a Decepticon ship being more effectively secured than the one they were now inside.

"Maybe we should pool our experiences in a different avenue. 'Speeder, you have a complete layout of the Garrus 9 prison correct?"

Lightspeed looked over at the Technobot Commander quizzically for a moment before nodding.

"Of course," Lightspeed said, accessing his databanks and pulling up the most recent layout of the prison facility that he had downloaded the last time that the Farstar had been docked there. The glowing, maneuverable layout appeared in front of him, glowing soft blue like the rumored light of the Matrix itself. "I mean, I guess if they do transfer us to Garrus we'll have homefield advantage. We might..."

"More than that," Pointblank said, sliding across one side of his cell and pointing at the map that Lightspeed displayed. "It looks like the prison digs pretty deep into the Elban moon. I wouldn't want us to cage ourselves in without it being a last resort, but those mines you guys have talked about might actually save us, if we could get to them. Depending on how deep they go and how intricate they are. We force large groups of Decepticons through small caverns and the fact that they outnumber us begins to matter less and less."
___

Garrus 9–Command Center

Mindwipe had smiled excitedly as his bright idea registered with Cipher with the same level of satisfaction as it had struck him. And though Scorponok had come through, he did so in a way that the Decepticon hypnotist had not even remotely been expecting.

The subsequent breem or so was practically a haze as Mindwipe and the rest of the Decepticons that had invaded the command center soon found themselves aboard the Semper Tyrannis once more, but only for the briefest of periods--in Cipher and Mindwipe's case, to refocus and regroup on their next chosen target. Scorponok had made his intentions for the two Decepticons quite clear and dispatched them almost as quickly as they had arrived. The hackers had already teased more out of the prison's layout than Fortress Maximus had likely ever hoped they could do before having cut power to the command center. From there, it had been a relatively simple matter of deducing the small handful of locations that were still receiving their full allotment of power and were still secured form any kind of siege. And given the rumored size of the Aequitas machine, it had made the winnowing process even more precise. And just like that, he and Cipher were gone again, only this time with the Horrorcons in tow.
____

Garrus-9--Sub-Level Corridors

When Mindwipe and the other Decepticons had been summarily bounced back into Garrus, gone was the audio sensor-shattering chaos that had been engulfing them only a few breems before. Now all that greeted them was near-total silence and soft, stable illumination. Scorponok's war had consumed the prison, but this area had clearly been left untouched. Thus far.

Mindwipe looked around. The corridor they found themselves in was so tall and vast that he could not clearly see the ceiling far above him. Behind them, a pathway that seemed to stretch on into infinity. Ahead of them, a massive set of doors that looked as if they could withstand an assault from Megatron himself.

"This must be it," Mindwipe whispered excitedly, looking over at Cipher and the two Horrorcons before uncontainably bounding towards the massive doors. A series of control panels seemed to be woven into the fabric of the doors themselves and Mindwipe looked back to the approaching Horrorcons.

"I trust Scorponok gave you boys some equipment to deal with this?" Mindwipe asked, somewhat timidly as he indicated the massive doors behind him.

Garrus-9 – Southern Wing

Freedom came to Bristleback in the most unusual of circumstances, in a way not even his imagination could have anticipated and constructed a scenario for. It began with a violent tremor, as if the penitentiary had been seized in the treacherous actuators of an earthquake. While it would be quickly ascertained that an earthquake had not occurred—and the fact that no such natural disaster had ever struck Garrus-9—his curiosity was, of course, provoked by this fascinating development.

Especially when the alarms were raised. And when he detected the panic in the tones of the guards' voices as they sprinted past his cell. And when the prisoners offered cries and cheers in response to the tremor. And, most of all, when the first scream reached his audio modules.

That scream. Even without evidence to support him, Bristleback knew that sound was a prelude to an event of remarkable significance soon to make a grand entrance here, purely for the benefit of the incarcerated.

How right he was.

Within fifteen kliks after the tremor had subsided, Decepticons—not guards, not illusions, actual Decepticons not from Garrus-9—entered Bristleback's block and proceeded to release the inmates from their cells, shouting and laughing as they blasted doors open. Once Bristleback's door lost its fight against their weapons, he immediately abandoned his cell, his bewilderment coercing him into making a silent exit. But he did manage to mutter a thanks before they left, as they were no doubt venturing to the next block to repeat their chaotic cycle.

And the rest, as they say, was history. With the luxury to roam the penitentiary a feasible option to him, Bristleback did just that. He wandered around, butchered guards, and set the occasional prisoner loose.

Until those automated turrets popped up and put a stop to that.

And now here he was, stuck in a random cell block, effectively pinned in place. As bad as he wanted to get a move on, there were multiple turrets around the next corridor waiting for anybody foolish enough to oppose them. Bristleback was desperate, but not foolish. He had no desire to be consigned to an appalling demise.

So he stayed in that random cell block, employed patience, and hoped someone else would solve his problem. Trouble was, the “help” to pass through was a number of guards, which Bristleback was glad to “help” by killing them. Aside from them, only the distant sounds of shouts and gunfire kept him company.

Coated in vital fluids and admiring his handiwork, Bristleback still clung to the hope that real help would arrive soon. It had to. Why? Because he said so. Because he'd survived for this long, and he deserved it.

As he brooded over his chances, he took a few steps back and leaned against a wall. He folded his arms across his chest-plate. Beads of dark liquid dripped off him, spattering on the floor to form small puddles near his feet.

He did not concern himself with any further intrusions, confident he'd be able to slay however many guards decided to pay him an accidental visit. Six had died already. Six more could come through and the result would be the same: dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, and dead.

He couldn't last forever, though. Eventually fatigue would claim him—then the guards would.

Bristleback sighed. “What I'd give to hear Icepick's preaching again. Or even one of Wildfly's horrible jokes.” He frowned. “Scratch that. Wildfly's jokes are fraggin' slag.”

Much as they annoyed him, his team-mates, they were the ones he wanted to find. If he could do that... If he could find them... Then maybe...

Sudden footfalls alerted Bristleback to a possible guard heading towards him. Removing himself from the wall, he prepared for his impromptu guest.

He clenched his fists. “Better be a 'Con this time, or I'll explode.”

When this individual came around the corner and into view, Bristleback didn't have to explode. He knew who this Decepticon was. He knew him very well.

“Bristleback? Is that you?”

A genuine smile appeared on the Monstercon's face-plate. Perhaps everything would be okay, after all.

Garrus-9 cell block b

"....I really don't, actually. Scowl and I would most assuredly defer to your expertise in these matters, Commander Bludgeon."

Bludgeon let the ghost of a smile appear on his face then vanish as quickly as it appeared he’d never expected the Monstercons to have a coherent plan to escape the confines of the prison complex. The head of the imposing warrior swung around looking up toward the ruined hull of the starship embedded in the roof of the prison. “Obviously there is a major battle going on, a prison such as this would have many powerful inmates” the walls shook as something exploded further in the prison.

Returning his gaze to the Monstercons he continued “communications will be a priority to establish a plan with our forces, main priority surviving and finding your Monstercon brethren” Bludgeon turned to Umbra “that autobot you killed search his body see if he has any datapads or id codes we can use to move around the prison. Scowl, Icepick try to find extra weaponry these turret will be everywhere”

The decepticon turned slowly evaluating the current position the disabled turrets where staying disabled thankfully so they were relatively safe. Pointing at the ruined hull of the Starship he spoke again “Ultimate goal is escape, the ship is the key its probably got multiple hull breaches the way its crashed”

Garrus-9–-Auxiliary Corridors

“Hey, Max! I brought those ‘Cons who are pining for their creds! I say we give ‘em a warm welcome! Heh. Anyone got a flamethrower?"

"Any welcome they get from you is one they deserved for coming here in the first place," Fortress Maximus said evenly as he checked his ammunition levels. Everything, from the weapon in his hands to the weapons that comprised nearly every segment of his body were running low. But the Decepticons that had fallen were well worth the expense. And he knew that any that had crossed Whirl's path had to have met a similar fate. For a moment, Max simply stood there, as ammunition reserves clicked and whirred into place inside his body. He reached down to his right thigh and unclicked a plasma cartridge, slapping it into the gargantuan rifle he was carrying.

"Command center's blacked out. Scorponok won't get anything out of it now. Next stop is the eastern wing. The industrial sector. We keep his claws off the power supplies and we shut this incursion down for good. Let's..."

“Warden!" a voice called out before Max could go any further. It was Flame. One of the scientists stationed in the facility. "I wish to assist in fending off these encroachers! All I need is the removal of this infernal claw and a weapon!"

Maximus didn't really like the idea of civilians getting their hands dirty if they didn't have to. But, this had stopped being circumstance of luxury almost as soon as it had become clear that Scorponok was involved. They all had to do their part to fight the Decepticon tyrant back, or they all would most definitely suffer the consequences of their failure to do so.

"Weapons we've got," Max said, looking down at the smaller scientist as he approached. His optics settled on the claw. "But, um, we don't really have any sort of surgical methods for taking care of that right now..."

Max's train of thought drifted off. He wasn't even sure what to say next. But he knew where they needed to get to, and maybe a solution to Flame's perceived problem would present itself along the way.

"We're heading east! Let's move!"