2016-02-28 Blast From the Past
From Transformers: Lost and Found
|Blast From the Past|
|Participants||Drift, Breakdown, Knock Out|
|NPCs||!Drift, !Wing, !Knock Out|
|Summary||This log title is extremely accurate.|
So far as one can find romance on the gutted, desecrated corpse on their ancestors, Knock Out and Breakdown have managed it. The hollowed eyes have been converted into a viewing platform which gazes across the thick band of the galactic disk. A nearby nebula webs in soft shades of reds and pinks to frame the glitter of the stars. It's quiet out this way, with most of the station's bustle confined to shopping district. It's a good place to meditate on the cosmos -- or maybe sneak out and neck a little.
A distant explosion shatters the quiet, followed by the rise of confused and panicked voices.
"Aw, frag, now what?" Breakdown complains. In the middle of their romantic moment in the hollowed out eye of a massive skull, he has gripped Knock Out by the hip and wheel well, their lean angled against the curve of the wall of the socket where the warming pink and red light seem almost to glow so that the universe is specifically to bring out Knock Out's wax bright finish in gleaming profile. "Is this place supposed to get more grotesque? What next? He gonna come awake all eyeless and screamin' and vomit up an acid tidal wave and we'll have to surf out on it to escape with our lives?" (This is your first instinct, OK. Good to know.)
"Well /I/ think giant metrotitan eye sockets are romantic," Knock Out insists with an indignant sniff, like possibly Breakdown is insulting his love of dissection. "I'm sure whatever the trouble going on is, it's the Autobots' fault," he decides, lifting his gaze up and around in case any evidence of their incompetence comes into view to complement the sound of explosions and yells.
Drift originally came to this morbid viewing area to have some quiet time to himself, maybe meditate a bit or just look out at the stars. That was his plan at least, but something distracted him. Now instead of staring out at the cosmos, he is staring at Breakdown and Knock Out from somewhere in the shadows like a total creep and he knows he's being a creep because why else would he be hiding in shady corners? When the explosion happens, he pops out of where ever he was hiding and looks towards the direction the noise came from. "What the hell?"
Autobot incompetence does not immediately waltz into view, but there is a rising tide of sound: shrill screams of terror, and the stampede of tiny, organic feet pitter-pattering in a flood in their direction.
Breakdown groans in high exasperation and rests his head temporarily against Knock Out's, like he's planning on getting right back to what he was doing-- no, okay, fine. He lets go, shakes out his arms, and pulls his shield out of his subspace pocket in a shifting settle of his weight as he turns his back to the galaxy. "Screamin' and whinin', sounds like," he says. "Look, it's Drift. You see what's goin' on?" because-- of course Drift just arrived and hasn't been creeping on them, right??
"Sounds like just another day at the office," Knock Out says breezily. Ah, screams. His gaze slides on over to Drift when he pops out and Breakdown addresses him. His gaze narrows.
Drift freezes when Breakdown addresses him but what does he have to be worried about? It's not like they knew he was there the whole time, right? He looks over at Knock Out and the narrow gaze he gives him. "Uh.." He looks nervous and glances away. "No, I uh.. I was too busy looking for something. Looking for uh.." His gaze shoots down to the ground and he picks up an empty soda can. "This. I found it, ha ha.. Well, now that that's taken care of, I guess we should find out what all that commotion is, yeah?"
The commotion arrives with the first breaking wave of humanity -- or, whatever; actually there are rather a lot of lizard-sorts among them, but they are nearly all organic -- crashing through the doorway, catching sight of Drift, Knock Out, and Breakdown, and then freezing.
From behind, a wet slapping sound is soon followed by the torso of a blue-skinned, four-armed figure that goes sliding across the floor with entrails leaving a slithering trail from the point of impact to point of rest.
"Come on, come on!" calls a voice from Drift's memory. "If you don't kill one, you won't see Breakdown!" Where Wing's voice was steady, even soothing, this voice rasps with a wild pitch.
"What." Breakdown looks at Drift, gives his soda can a distinctly skeptical look, but doesn't have a lot of time to follow up before he's hearing his own name. "What? Eurgh, gross," he complains, nudging aside the entrail dipping torso with one boot as he advances toward the source of the noise. "Look at this, leakin' squiggly bits everywhere." Unhitching his gun in his off hand, he strides toward the voice, volume ratcheting high so that he can bellow, "WHO THE FRAG'S LOOKIN' FOR ME."
"Ew," Knock Out says with particular delicacy at the sight of all these lizards and /entrails/ and /slithering/ ugh gross. (Look at how much his husband and he have in common.) The gun he draws is less massive than Breakdown's, but good for more -- hah hah -- surgical precision. "Do you have /any/ idea how hard it is to make time with your conjunx when you've been together this long?" he says in exasperation.
Drift stares at the sticky soda can in his hand and then back at Breakdown and Knock Out. He really doesn't want to carry this around but he can't just toss it aside now, so he just sort of.. tucks it away into a compartment, grimacing. The arrival of the lizard creatures and a torso with guts hanging out of it is a good an excuse as any to pull out one of his swords, but the voice he hears causes him to freeze. "What.. the hell?" As Breakdown strides towards the voice, so does Drift, sprinting forward with this intense look in his optics. "IDENTIFY YOURSELF!"
As Breakdown and Knock Out advance with guns drawn, the organics turn and begin to run the other way, only to run right into those trying to flee. The smaller and weaker among them go down, trampled in the indiscriminate chaos. Wading through is unpleasantly time-consuming -- or they could just stomp them down! That's definitely an option!
Wing's voice breaks in confusion: "--what? Who's there?"
Knock Out's voice calls out, strangely muffled and openly pained: "Breakdown?"
Last comes Drift's voice, cold and flat: "Come on, we need to go find a ship."
Just beyond the doors, Wing and Drift stand at the back of the desperate crowd of organics trapped between the two Cybertronian flanks. Red-eyed and dark-framed, they each carry swords. Where Drift's Great Sword glows with a spark-bright light, the jagged shadows that whirl around the hilts of the swords opposite draw in all light. Green blood drips from Wing's sword as he lines up his next shot. For some completely unnecessary reason, someone has modified Drift's sword so that it acts as a gun, as well. A gunblade. Like some kind of anime. RIDICULOUS.
Knock Out stands between them, arms folded in refusal. "Just let them be!" Closer, it is clear why his voice was muffled. A mask in the shape of an Autobot emblem -- purple for some reason -- has been soldered onto his face, and he wears a collar with a light on it that matches a collar on Wing's throat.
Breakdown doesn't deliberately stomp down the organic life swarming up to and around him, although he does whack his shield into one that gets too close to him and -- okay, that was definitely a splat, Primus these things are fragile. "Ugh!" he complains. "Now there's ook on my shield--" and then he pauses. He stares. He looks from Knock Out to Knock Out in total mystification for a moment spent completely dumbstruck. "Hey!" he says. He lifts his gun and points it at Wing's head. He has no idea what's going on with the other Knock Out, but he's pretty sure whatever it is isn't okay. "What the frag are you doin' to him!"
The second time Drift hears that voice there is no mistaking it. There's no doubt in his mind now, that's Wing's voice. "But how?" he says outloud to himself, clearly distressed by this. His gaze passes over the clusterfuck of lizard creatures to settle on the other group of Cybertronians just past the door. "What.." He looks at the other Drift and his awesome gunblade. "The.." Then his gaze goes to.. is that Knock Out? With an Autobot mask? "Fuck?" Finally his gaze settles on Wing and the collar around his neck. When Breakdown lifts his gun and aims it at Wing, Drift makes no hesitation to trample as many lizards as he has to to stop him. "WAIT, WAIT! Don't shoot!"
Knock Out's gaze has fixed on his doppleganger, and it's not pulling away any time soon. The shift and play of emotions that crosses the medic's place as many and varied: fascination, disgust, anger. For a moment, he's struck dumb without any words at all to make it to his pretty mouth.
The Autobot mask on Knock Out's face is fixed on Breakdown. His expression is impossible to read, but the brilliant blue optics beneath the mask flare in naked emotion. He stands as still and silent as his opposite.
"Oh--." Wing's voice breathes in soft anticipation. The sleek black armor flares before flattening tight against his frame. "He looks so much like you." After a beat, he turns to the dark Drift and pleads, "Can I kill him? Please?" A whine jags through his voice as his turbines spin in eagerness.
"No. We don't have time for this." Drift looks entirely unmoved -- terribly flat, empty, and uncaring, as he drops his sword to cut down a pair of organics who were attempting to sneak off in the distraction. "Decepticons, fall back, or these organics will all die."
Don't shoot. Breakdown gives Drift -- his Drift -- a particularly sardonic look. He gestures with his gun between the other Drift and Wing, like, you see this? His answer to the threat is to give one of the organics the mercy of a clean, neat shot to the head. But it is one of the organics, who cares about those? Not him. It's probably kind of traumatic for the frozen Knock Out across the way. "Oh, look at that. My hand slipped," he says, "and you lost a hostage. Sorry about that. I'm real clumsy." He chambers another round.
Knock Out sidles closer to Breakdown, either out of some strange sense of territoriality or protectiveness. Gtfo, other Knock Out. His attention finally drags to the other Drift, gaze flaring sharp and angry and entirely unmoved by his order. "Is that supposed to be a /threat/?" he scoffs, the bite of his voice harsher and nastier than his usual carelessness. "Who the frag are you? And what is /that/?!" His gaze snaps furiously back to the knock off Knock Out.
Even as he's trying to keep Breakdown from pulling the trigger, Drift's optics are fixated on the dark Wing who seems to be super excited at the prospect of getting to do some murdering. Clearly not the Wing he knew (obviously, he's dead) but they look almost identical so it's hard for him to make that seperation in his mind. He just sort of.. stares at him for a while until Breakdown's lizard murder snaps him back to reality. "I'm no Decepticon and I'm not taking orders from you! Me? Other me?" He raises a sword and brandishes it threateningly at the other Drift. "What the hell do you think you're doing? What's with the collars? What the FUCK, dude! Seriously!?"
Knock Off makes a small, distressed noise of surprise when Breakdown kills the organic, so clearly there are a few other things that are different beside the giant mask melted onto his face. "Don't!" he says. "They'll really do it!" It's like he still thinks they care.
When Drift threatens ... Drift with the sword, Wing snarls and steps between them.
With a positively Perceptorish coolness, Drift says, "Interesting," and gives the two Decepticons another long look. "You really don't care if I do this?" He brings his sword down at Wing's side to fire a blast of dark energy in the midst of the organics. It hits with a splatter of dark acid, reducing everything less solid than metal to goo and begin to etch through the metal ground next. When that fails to impress -- because let's face it, it's not gonna -- he sheathes the Great Sword (Awful Gunblade) at his back and reaches with taloned hands to grab Knock Off and Wing by the collar. "Maybe you'll care about this, then. Back off, or I detonate their I/D chips."
Lip curling back from his teeth with a low, basal growl as he sneers, Breakdown's hand tightens on his weapon. It certainly seems to have more of an effect than shooting the organics does. "Drift," he says, his shield lifting as his body seems almost to vibrate with his effort at keeping still and not immediately charging forward to headbutt Drift -- the other Drift, not his Drift -- in the face. "Whaddaya mean, detonate," he says guardedly. "You gonna kill your own buddy? Really? That's gotta be super bad vibes or some scrap like that."
"I don't," Knock Out says evenly as he watches the trio of familiar-but-unknowns, "think they are 'buddies,' Breakdown." While he is not as careless about the idea as he was with killing organics, he fails to look immediately persuaded by it. They're not /his/ friends, after all.
The brutal murder of the lizard guys by his other self doesn't seem to bother Drift too much. The threat of I/D chip detonation gets his full attention, however. "Okay, okay. Let's just be cool about this, alright?" He lowers his sword and takes a short step back, though he doesn't drop his weapon completely. "There's no need to blow anyone up, it's just.. I mean, c'mon! This is totally weird for you too, right?"
The blissed out expression on Wing's face that he wears under threat of death is intensely weird, to be honest. At least Knock Off seems to be properly unnerved by it. He pulls away as far as he can without actually testing Drift's grip. He is tragically, nobly, stubbornly silent.
Drift frowns at Breakdown when he talks about 'vibes', then looks back at his other self. "No. It's not totally weird at all." He can't make air quotes with his hands occupied, but he can sound sarcastic! "In fact, it's actually quite logical that the similarities would make this the nearest reality, and thus easiest to access. We were expecting something of the sort, although -- there are clear differences."
"So what do you want with a giant dead metrotitan head from an adjacent reality?" Breakdown asks, without even a pause between the end of this question and the next thing he says, which is, "Fragging scrap, how is this my life."
Wing's expression as he's threatened with a grisly death is weirding Drift the fuck out and he finds it extremely difficult to look at. "What!? Are you serious!? How is this the nearest reality!?" He gestures at the collars Knock Off and Wing are wearing. "I would never do that! That's just.. that's just fucked up, dude."
"Well /I/ certainly don't know," Knock Out mutters. Louder, then, he says, "What should we care if you murder bots who are nothing to us? Not even from our /reality/?"
"Nothing," Drift answers Breakdown. "We're passing through. I suggest you let us." He glances at their Decepticon symbols, clearly puzzled by Knock Out's answer. Slowly, he says, "Then, if you don't care--" A fact he obviously still finds puzzling. "--we'll go our separate ways, shall we?" He releases Knock Off and Wing.
Knock Off steps back, arms wrapped tight around his chest. Wing's expression clears to fix on Drift -- their Drift, the hippie -- to fluctuate wildly between hunger and hate.
Breakdown looks to Knock Out, as if seeking to establish some kind of silent, psychic communication by dint of his cyclopean gaze. Then he looks back at Drift. His hand shifts, tightening on the shield. He starts to turn, like he's about to round off back the way they came, with a low, seething, "rrf," in the depths of his frame, a surly sound of general displeasure.
Then he lunges at Drift, launching himself after this brief fake out to slam shield first into his face, gun angled down with his charge to shoot up his thigh. It's an obvious target.
Not his Drift. Obviously.
"Breakdown--" Knock Out starts to say, exasperated more than anything else, and lifts his gun again. He can't shoot at Drift with his hubbie smashing right into him, so he aims it at Wing instead. His brows lift as if /inviting/ the bot to test his restraint.
Drift stares at Wing for a moment before glancing away, clearly unsettled by the looks he's giving him. Ugh, that's so weird, definitely an expression he never thought he'd see from Wing but WELP, HERE WE ARE. He looks over at Knock Out and Breakdown as if to say 'we're not doing that, right?' As soon as Breakdown makes a move for the other Drift, the cool Drift brings up his sword to back him up but gets extremely distracted by Knock Out's silent threat to Wing. "Why are you aiming at him? He's not the one keeping people as kinky slaves or whatever the hell this is!" He gesture at Knock Off with his sword, "Like.. I'm not going to kill that guy. Look at him! That's, like, super sad! I feel bad for him."
Breakdown spends 1 luck points on reroll that shit man.
<FS3> Opposed Roll -- Breakdown=firearms+50 Vs Drift=melee Weapons
< Breakdown: Amazing Success (6 8 1 2 7 1 1 7 7 7 7 7 7 4 5 2 3 6 2 6) Drift: Good Success (3 3 4 8 8 6 7 4 4 5 3 2 5)
< Net Result: Breakdown wins - Crushing Victory
Well that silent, psychic communication seems to mostly end with Knock Out ROLLING HIS EYES so good work, Breakdown.
Drift (the uncool one) and Wing both watch Breakdown and Knock Out with clear wariness for what they might do together. As Breakdown shifts to leave, Wing relaxes in disappointment.
Drift never relaxes. He is braced and ready when Breakdown lunges, and brings his (gun)blade down in a sweep that aims to take his hand off at the wrist. Breakdown gets his shot off first, and Drift staggers, the sweep of his sword missing.
"No!" Wing howls as though he is the one injured, and leaps not for Breakdown, but Knock Out.
"I dunno what this slag is," Breakdown snarls. He drops his shield at an angle to smash it by hard force against Drift's taloned fingers, trying to disarm him and force him backwards as he lifts his gun to center on his chest instead. He doesn't immediately allow himself to be distracted from his target by Wing's leap, because, for one thing, he trusts Knock Out would probably shoot him if he let somebody damsel him. "But I don't like it," he says, simply, and moves to smash his head into Drift's as with great satisfaction for the attempt. Like maybe he always wanted to headbutt Drift. Just a little.
"Obviously I'm pointing it at him because I can't point it at /your/ double with Breakdown in his face, and he's the only other one who looks excited to kill /us/--" Oh, and see, there he goes. THERE HE GOES, DRIFT. KNOCK OUT TOLD YOU SO. He takes a step back, but fires off several shots as Wing leaps at him.
"Okay, so clearly he's into some weird stuff. That doesn't mean you need to shoot him!" Drift protests just as Wing throws himself at Knock Out like he's ready to start killing. He sighs and brings his sword back up, trying to move in on Wing and smack him hard in the face with the flat of his sword even as he goes after Knock Out. "Chill out, Wing! I don't want to have to kick your ass but I will if you keep this up!"
<FS3> Opposed Roll -- Breakdown=melee Weapons Vs Drift=melee Weapons
< Breakdown: Great Success (5 2 7 5 7 7 7 5 6 5) Drift: Good Success (6 2 3 5 6 7 6 6 1 1 7 8 1)
< Net Result: Breakdown wins - Marginal Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll -- Drift=melee Weapons+2 Vs Knock Out=firearms
< Drift: Good Success (3 3 6 3 4 7 7 3 6 7 1 1 5 4 1) Knock_out: Good Success (4 5 4 7 7 7 4 1 2 1)
< Net Result: DRAW
<FS3> Opposed Roll -- Drift=melee Weapons+2 Vs Drift=melee Weapons
< Drift: Great Success (3 5 1 2 4 6 8 3 7 2 4 5 7 7 7) Drift: Good Success (3 2 2 5 1 3 4 3 5 7 1 8 4)
< Net Result: Drift wins - Solid Victory
The dark-armored Drift seems at first surprised that Breakdown holds his own, and then annoyed -- and then his air of cool distance fractures like a broken mirror when Breakdown's head smashes into his. When Drift brings his head back, shards of glimmering rage gleam in his red, red eyes. A bloodied smile splits the calm of his face. "Fine," he says, spitting in Breakdown's face, and then lunges back. He shoves Knock Off toward him.
The collar beeps. It beeps again. And, eyes widening behind his mask, Knock Off grabs for it as he looks in Breakdown's eyes. "No -- no!"
Wing lunges for Knock Out, but every strike is met with a shot, and every shot that Knock Out fires forces him to parry instead. When Drift -- the real Drift, the good Drift, the cool Drift -- inserts himself into the fight, Wing brings his Great Sword to meet Drift's blade with an awful hunger in his eyes. The shadows that curl around the blade's handle are mega harsh vibes. They slither along the blade, as hungry as Wing for Drift's spark. He forgets Knock Out entirely, throwing himself headlong into the fight with Drift with a speed and ferocity that perhaps calls to mind the first days of Drift's training, when he was impossibly outmatched. It's not going well, but then a sharp call -- "Wing!" -- brings him up short.
Having thrown Knock Off at Breakdown, the other Drift transforms, tail lights flashing as he whips around. "We're leaving!"
Breakdown recognizes what's happening with murderous recognition that whites out all but rage in his face for a split second and then it is wiped clean of all expression. He drops his shield to clatter on the ground, throws down his gun after it, and moves to bring both his hands to catch Knock Off's wrists as he grapples at the collar. "Is there any stopping it?" he asks him. His single eye blazes with a brilliant yellow intensity. Because what you want to do when there's about to be an explosion in your vicinity is move directly towards it.
"Breakdown!" Knock Out's feelings about his double are clearly more conflicted, more unnerved, and less instinctually protective, because his reaction is to set a hand on his conjunx's arm and pull back. "Leave it!" he insists, glancing warily at that beeping collar.
When Wing throws himself whole heartedly into a sword battle with him, Drift can't help but remember all those sessions he spent with his Wing and all those times he got his ass whooped. Apparently even in an alternate universe, Wing is still the superior swordsman. "Ugh, damnit!" It's not going well at all but thankfully for him, it suddenly stops. He glares at Wing although there is a distinct sadness in it. Sucks that the only way he ever got to see Wing again was like this. He lowers his sword and starts stepping back, "I think now is a good time to get out of here."
Wing all but vibrates in place. His engines give a stressed whine, and he lifts his chin away from the collar at his throat. He leans toward Drift as he lowers his sword only to be pulled back by the snap of a, "Now!" at his back. With a snarl, Wing transforms and takes off to join the other Drift in retreat.
"I don't know. I can't -- we can't even think about it. There's a chip--." Knock Off touches his head. "It will detonate if we try." Beep. Beep. Beep beep!
The organics, who have no idea what the hell is going on, are mostly just trying to escape while all the big giant robot monsters have been distracted by each other.
"Don't think, then." Breakdown catches Knock Off's hand in his, drawing his hand away from his head. "You've got your own Breakdown. He loves you. Think about that." It's amazing how sure he is of this based on very limited data, isn't it? He stares at the collar, and then turns a slightly wild-eyed look on his own Knock Out. It's plainly clear that there's not going to be enough time to do anything about this as the beeps increase in rapidity. Even with the tug on his arm, he is having a hard time stepping back. He is having a hard time letting go. He signs, I'm sorry, against the palm of this bot he doesn't know.
Knock Out's gaze catches on Breakdown's expression, on the words he shares with this person who's him but not him. His fingers tighten around Breakdown's arm as an unreadable flicker of emotion crosses his face. "We have to go," he says, quieter, and pulls on his arm again.
When Wing leans towards him, Drift brings his sword back up, ready to fight again. Thankfully it's not necessary as Wing finally transforms and retreats. he glances over at Breakdown, Knock Out, and the other Knock Out and frowns because goddamn that is some seriously sad shit. "C'mon!" He starts jogging away from the poor AU Knock Out and his fate, gesturing for the others to follow him. "This whole thing has been depressing as hell, don't make it even more so by getting blown up too!"
Thank you. Tell him-- Knock Off's fingers trail across Breakdown's palm. He doesn't finish the thought. Does he have to? He looks down at Breakdown's hand, then sinks to his knees and covers the collar with his hands like that will somehow contain the blast. "Go," he says. The frequency of the beeping continues, ratcheting up toward an inevitable conclusion. They have time enough to get clear, but only just, as the collar detonates and takes Knock Off's life. Death catches him with his eyes closed, gaze fixed on some inner vision of his own Breakdown. The explosion sends the Autobot mask splattering across the floor toward them.
Only with this last, final insistence is Breakdown finally stirred from the static grip of his stillness. He staggers a little as he pulls back, a choked sound in his voice, wordless, though it sounds a snarl far more to do with rage than grief.
As they retreat, he is at first silent, but he pauses to look back, which he really shouldn't ought to have done.
Then, in a very low, quiet voice, roughened by a rasp, Breakdown says, "Drift, I am going to find that other Drift, and I am going to rip off his leg with my bare hands, and I am going to beat his head with it until his processor is fragging powder."
For once in his life, Knock Out is remarkably silence. He doesn't respond to Breakdown's words, and he definitely doesn't respond to that quiet rasp in his voice. He keeps moving, and he doesn't say anything at all.
Drift can feel the heat of the explosion at his back as they make a hasty retreat just in time. When everything has finally settled, he vents a sad sigh and seathes his sword. "Good," is all he says in response to Breakdown's promise.