2017-01-04 Never Surender
From Transformers: Lost and Found
|Participants||Blast Off, Frisk, Lockjaw, Quicksight, Whetstone, Whisper, Whirl|
|NPCs||Clockwise, Bear, Tank|
|Summary||We're out, but not free just yet!|
The Lost Lighters have been rescued! Sorta. They're out of that psuedo-Institute but not of the station, not yet. Those still left on the station- any of the rescue teams and kidnapees- have got to move quickly if they want out. The shield generators are charging up and if anyone isn't on a shuttle out of here, then they'll be stuck inside.
But getting out fast is easier said than done. Red emergency lights flash along the station as citizens quickly try to clear out, in a panic, while security drones begin shuffling out of previously locked doors. The message is clear, if anyone wants out, they'll have to fight for it- as evidenced as any Lost Lighter seen by a drone is immediately shot at.
Quicksight was there when the alert about the missing crew went out - he just wasn't in the right place to be of much help. This, however, means that he was aware of the chaos his crewmates' actions resulted in right from the start. Thus, he's been in the air for quite some time now, watching for any sign of them.
Lockjaw's companions will find that she's been unusually quiet the whole way back to the station propper, in several senses of the word. She hasn't spoken a word since she got out of her cage. This might be because her mouth is currently full with somthing familiarly orange, and any stranger who attempts to get close to that will recieve a warning, throaty hiss, but nothing more. Rather than lashing out with her teeth, or shifting up to root mode to give them a good look at her fists, formidable even without her two-handed sword with her, she simply withdraws, sliding under the feet of those running about. If the others lose sight of her - and in this chaos, it might be possible for even a giant reptile to get lost in the crowd - they should not worry. She'll get Rung back to the ship if it's the last thing she does.
Frisk hadn't been planning to come on the rescue, let the standards rescue their own... unnnntil he found out Lockjaw was one of those taken. And like that his mind had taken a 180 turn, resulting in him gaining access to the station and searching around after the others had disappeared somewhere. Currently he is sitting in alt mode on top of a building's sign, munching a treat he stole from some poor fool. Where could the others have gone to? He's been surveying the area from his high up perch with no luck- at least until chaos starts on the near other side of the station. With a quick sound of transformation, Frisk is leaping his way across upper platforms and signposts in root mode towards the noise. Only Lost Lighters could raise hell like that.
Whetstone is having a grand ol' time trying to keep himself focused on the goal of getting to the docking bay - and not sabotaging their attempt. He follows the group through the panicked colonists, lapsing between surrender and rage. "We need to retrieve our weapons," he manages through grated dentae, eying Lockjaw uneasily.
Blast Off has finally regained consciousness, the horror of being empurataed softened only by waking up in the protective arms of the love of his life. But now they need to get out of here. The shuttle is back on his feet... and now alone as Whirl headed off to take out some systems. They'll get home soon, though, just like the cyclops said. Cyclops... that describes HIM now, too. One violet optic looks slowly around, still dazed, before he takes a step forward- and bumps into a table. He's got less depth perception now- this is going to take some time to adjust to, isn't it? But does he have the time?
To the surprise of no one ever, Whisper is silent. The infliction of more bodily trauma on her ... at first she was nonreactive to it, nonreactive to a point of a stasis-like stillness. Now she has finally been prodded into motion, but she still seems ... shocky. Resistant to reacting. Unwilling to move, as though every moment she experiences in this frame forces it to become more real. Of note, it is harder to glare expressively this way.
Whisper better stop resisting movement because the drones are coming. Their sides open up, beginning to shoot at the Lost Lighters. Quicksight and Frisk aren't spared either, shots coming for them as well. The drones move jerkily upon two legs, a single optical array allowing them to only aim at one target at a time. Clearly designed for less power and more overwhelming numbers. And Primus, is there plenty of them.
Quicksight is no stranger to dodging shots mid-air, but there sure are a lot of them. It takes some real effort on his side, banking and rolling, to avoid any serious damage, and even then, a few shots pass by dangerously close, leaving the smell of burnt paint hanging in the air.
This isn't enough to make him withdraw, however. Spotting the cluster of Cybertronians - clearly Lost Lighters, since the drones are targeting them too, the scout guns his engine, diving down at one of the attacking drones, transforming only a short ways off the ground to lash out at its knees with one of his knives, hoping away a moment later to get out of its reach. As it happens, this puts him right near the rescue party and their rescuees "Took ya long enou--the frag?" Yes, these are deffinitely Lost-Lighters - he reconizes some of the paint jobs, but... "Ya fragging me, right?" Is that...Blast Off?
Frisk stops himself mid jump by hooking a foot around a signpost and using momentum to spin himself out of the way as shots come in his direction. What did his crew members get themselves into!? Ducking behind the cover of the sign, Frisk peeks out only long enough to see the positions of the drones beneath him and the placement of the Lost Lighters. "Chela what is with these standards?" He mutters under his nonexistant breath. The raptor takes several seconds to hype himself up, letting in and out quick vents, before he drops down into action. Transforming mid fall, Frisk flips around and uses his wings to half glide half fall to the nearest drone, quickly climbing up its surface and out of harms way on its back. "Everyone ok!?" Is yelled to the others, or at least attempted to be yelled over the gunfire.
The clatter of fire against this, her frame, is more proof for Whisper that this is, in fact, real. The blossom of pain through her receptors is enough to finally force her to make a sound. The sound is, unfortunately, a wordless, anguished whine of a keening engine that does not suggest much in the way of real communication. She staggers, but tries to move with more haste, at least.
Then they've got drones coming at them, shooting. Problem is, with no depth perception, Blast Off finds it difficult to avoid their shots. The shuttleformer is hit once as he stands still in a daze, which does at least snap him out of it some. He blinks, shaking his head, then tries to dodge out of the way- only to get hit again and again. Scrambling to avoid the shots, he changes direction but everything is still off balance. His claws swing with a different weight and on every movement the balance has changed.
The usually agile shuttleformer can't seem to avoid the damage, and he finally finds a table and tries to use that for cover as he brings out his ionic blaster. Which.... just falls right through his claws. ...Double frag. Clicking desperately at his gun, he remembers his *other* guns. THOSE will still work the way they used to! His leg cannons click on and start to hum to life as he tries to get a hold of his blaster without *being* blasted in the process, but every snap of his claw manages to send the gun right back out of his grasp. Occasional glances are made around him, but he hasn't really said much to anyone since Whirl left. He thinks he hears *Quicksight* nearby, but does his best to ignore him if so. An anguished sound of pain does draw his attention, however, and he glances over towards Whisper. Wait... she looks familiar, is that...? He gets hit again, and returns to trying to get the gun in his claws as his cannons warm up. He hears an *Is everyone Ok?* but focuses on his weapon.
Whetstone gets a bit lucky in his dodges, skidding by the score marks in the ground around him. He twists and keeps his balance with splayed wings, until Quicksight and Frisk come along. "Do they look okay?" he snaps, then looks sorry for it. "Move quickly!" He keeps Whisper in his peripheral, as he searches his subspace for anything remotely blade-like.
Quicksight takes out one drone, which falls and is not mourned by its fellows. They don't seem to be run by very bright AIs, evidenced by when one drone tries to shoot Frisk while he's on another drone. But Whisper has the right idea, making haste would be wise. Staying in this spot could end in a repeat of their capture as the threat of the shields going up and trapping them continues to loom.
A voice crackles over the station's intercom. "This resistence is useless. I suggest you all surrender before you are further injured," Proletariat states, in a rather indignant tone. How dare they try and escape, honestly.
Frisk doesn't quite manage to avoid those bullets. He takes several hits to the side before he manages to jump out of the way using the now also injured drone as a launchpad, scaling up another signpost to get to cover. Frag. Already this is going down into the pit. He deadpans at Whetstone's response before loudly clarifying, "I- Ugh. How about, can you guys move it already!? Where's Lockjaw?" He would have expected her to be halfway through this crowd by now.
"I WILL NEVER SURRENDER AGAIN," Whisper shouts with as much volume as she can throw into her voice. Once, it would have been a ringing shout with enough sonic force behind it to blast out a wall. Now it is just a slightly reedy scream as the empurata digits clack uselessly at her sides as she picks up speed. Her vision isn't working right and she very nearly collides with one of her rescuers as she starts to charge forward.
That is Blast Off, isn't it?" A stiffled, choking sound escapes Quicksight's vocalizer, a mix of a repressed laugh that's not sure if it should be coming out, and a sound of shock. The scout would be the last person to care what happens to the shuttle - infact, he's been wanting to see him misirable for quite a while, but this, this is, well, - well, he knows the history with these things, the connections with Functionism. It almsost feels like to laugh would be to take the side of that, and Quicksight has no desire to look like a supporter of Functionism. Plus, if he laughed at this, Skystalker would surely kill him - or it would feel like that anyways.
Now's not the time to focus on such things anyways, not with another drone already taking aim at him. Quicksight hops back before leaping into the air again, up, up, and then he shifts again, just long enough to offer the nearest speaker, and whatever camera might be in the area- he hadn't managed to locate one in time for a manuveur - a rude gesture, and a cocky "Go frag yasself, Func!" before shifting back to drone mode. They are fighting Functionists, right? With the whole Empurata thing.
Speaking of which. He hadn't noticed her before, more foccused on the drones, and possibly because of her stillness, but now that he's near the group, Quicksight finally spots a familiar form. Or, semi-familiar, as the case may be. He atleast recognises the paint job. Whisper. Oh, now they've done it. This is someone he actually likes. The scout dips down, ready to try and encourage her to keep going, only to have to dart up to avoid getting caught in her blast "Yeah!" that's the spirit!
Whetstone leaves a trail of useless junk in his wake as he sifts through his proverbial pockets. Styluses, strange alien feathers, crystals, no blades. "Curses!" The grim voice over the intercom gives him a sudden pause, as he freezes amidst the chaos. Surrendering would be wise! Why are they even resisting?
It's Whisper's shout that startles Whetstone out of his conflicting thoughts. He musters enough focus to twist into his beastmode, clacking up to twice his original height with his spaded tail whipping. It takes a few tries but the combustion deep in the keel of his chest melts the smelted blockage and pours from his jaws, followed by a gush of energon. It's all pretty gross. "Out of the way!" he roars at the drones, spitting a stream of fire into the crowd.
Blast Off 's leg cannons finally warm up, so the shuttleformer feels confident enough to step from the table and take aim at a drone. This, at least, seems right. It feels familiar. He can do this, at least. The sniper takes aim as Proletariat tells them to surrender. Something flashes in the shuttle's optic. Frag that, frag YOU. He fires, hoping that if his depth perception fails him, his targeting systems won't.
He heads towards the others then, drawn closer to Whisper as the other empurata in the room, trying to ignore the little ...was that a laugh? ...coming from Quicksight, of course /he'd/ think this is funny. Blast Off just focuses on trying to get out of here in... well not in one piece, but... he just wants out of here.
Blast Off also grabs his gun as he begins heading out, barely... but enough to juuust keep a hold on it.
"You speak as if you have a choice, in the matter..." There's a rather displeased growl from over the intercomm before it cuts off. As Whisper and Whetstone physically near, drones focus their shots on those two, even as a few melt. Blast Off's cannons take out several drones, leaving sizzling mounds that are stepped over as other drones fill their space. There's just a lot of them to get through, even as the Lost Lighters begin to carve through them.
Frisk knows there is no way he can much help here. He isn't designed for mass combat like that...But what he can do is find a way out for everyone. Waiting for the drones to redirect to the more dangerous combatants, Frisk scales up even higher and surveys the streets, looking for the best way to get them where they need to go. After that, he just needs to get to them and lead them the right way out.
Whetstone ends his blazing stream with more smoky hacking and molten metal dripping from his open, bleeding maw. He charges forth, claws raking over the melted drones, and arches his neck to aim another heavy blast at the drones. Somehow his twisting and clawing earns him more lucky evasions. "Is there no end to them!?"
This volley, Quicksight dodges with much greater ease, having warmed up a bit from the previous ones, diving under their shots, and then back up again "You're the one who ain't got no choise about this" he mutters, whether or not the speaker can actually hear him. He just feels the need to shoot off some banter. Were he facing an inteligent enemy, it might have served to draw some fire off his commrades, give them a better shot...
Actually, he might just be able to pull that off even without that. The fact that the drones seem to be targting those closest to them doesn't go past him. What if...
Locating some of the drones flanking his comrades - mostly Whisper - the tiny plane dives, zipping right infront of the mindless machines "Betcha can't hit me!"
Blast Off tries to stay with the group but remains silent otherwise, still determined to keep hold of his ionic blaster even if he can't quite get a grip on using these new claws- literally. A few more useless clicks and clacks of fumbling claws on his weapon and he huffs- which also sounds odd now. That causes him to stop and blink, startled that even his familiar huff has changed... then he sighs and half places, half drops the gun back into subspace. It'll be safe there at least. His attention turns to avoiding gunfire, which he manages to do a better job of this time, and returning it with his leg cannons.
Whisper flinches from the shots, trying to avoid them. She manages to dodge out of the way of some, but most of the effort in drawing fire away from her is probably quicksight! She turns her singleton eye towards him and then tries to pick up speed, folding her arms around her frame, lowering her head and barrelling forward more or less blindly. AAAAH.
Frisk gets a good view from his spot. He might notice that the more or less stream of drones has become a dribble before halting as the drones currently here and wiped out by leg cannon or firebreak- possible some claw or ramming a la Whisper as Quicksight draws fire away from her. The way to their exit- and all their guns and swords and religious artifacts- is more or less clear.
At this rate, they're gonna make it! Except for the large figures stepping out to stand between the Lost Lighters and the last few ships remaining to take them home. A tank and bear-fomer along with a familiar tentacled sillouette just behind them. They seem to be the final line of defense, waiting, as the group bashes their way through the drones.
Frisk sees that final line and mentally frowns. That doesn't look good. leaping from his perch, Frisk glides down to the largest target to land on, in this case Whetstone. Once handing on the dragons neck in his feather covered alt mode, he scrabbles up to the dragons head where he hangs on. Oof, that flame spitting looks... painful. "Keep going that way! We're almost through!" He turns and makes himself louder for the others to hear, "Be ready, there are two bruisers and a weird femme with tentacles waiting for us!"
Whetstone seems to pant though he hasn't lungs, his cooling systems struggling to keep his armor from splitting, as wee Frisk lands on his head. He slumps somewhat, looking up at the teeny claws gripping his horn ridges. "What way- that way- They're no match!"
"Your colonists are your prisoners!" Whetstone yells, strain evident in his voice as he barrels onward. "Spare them this Hell! Have you no penitence? No spark? We split the universe with our war, and you seek to bring about its cause yet again? We'll end this! We'll end you!" Fired up enough to fight through the second-rate shadowplay addling his mind, he leaps, flapping his wings once, to try and charge the bear-mech blocking the path.
Blast Off looks up at Frisk. Weird femme with tentacles... bah, he can guess. His now lone optic darkens and he warms his cannons for the final fight as he surges ahead. Frag them all for doing this to them. His claws snap once in anger, then he blinks, still not used to the sound. He remains silent, not bringing any more attention to himself than required. Blast Off feels like he's in the wrong body. It reminds him of waking up from THE BOX. He hates being seen like this. He wants to go home.
"They're Funcs!" Quicksight points out to Whetstone, zipping up and over him, towards the trio guarding the exit "'Course they don't give a frag about nobody!" and that's why the Decepticons were formed. Who would have thought that he, an MTO created late in the war, would be fighting them though. This is great! Well, not great that there are Functionists about, but it's great that he gets a chance to help take them down. Help, because he's not actually built for head on confrontation, which is why, while Whetstone charges one of them, the scout dives towards the others, trying to draw their attention away from the wyvern "Didn't know people could turn into trash!"
Whetstone collides with the bear and is met with a clawful retaliation. The sickles rake against the dragon's armor- and are conveniently sharpened as they do, thanks Whet!- while it goes to sink bear teeth into dragon neck. The bear seems to be fighting on instinct rather than common sense, just tearing and snapping.
Clockwise backs away from the beast fight, optics wide. "Why do you not wish to stay and be happy? Instead you attack our home!" She sounds frustrated before her attention is taken by Quicksight. A cord slings forward, claws snapping to grab the little drone out of the sky. "Primus has kept us here and safe and he'll continue to do so, even from the likes of you."
Meanwhile, the tank takes a shot at Blast Off. Unlike the bear, it seems to have enough mind to try and take out those leg cannons with its own firepower while the shuttle seems frozen.
"Missed me!" Quicksight jeers as the tentacle snaps at the empty space where he just was "Ya call mangling and brainwashing people happiness? Whattabout all those who ain't worthy according to ya? Or does happiness matter only to those who did fragging nothing to actually deserve it?" The drone zips around his adversary, and down, diving right under her tentacles. Maybe she'll be stupid and get them tangled? At the very least, he can keep her attention on him, and let the others deal with her buddies "Happiness comes from freedom!"
Worry not Whet! Frisk is here to help! While the raptor might not be able to take on another so large head on, distracting? Taking out optics and other small important bits? Oh that he can do all too well. Letting out a vicious hiss (ok, as vicious as a tiny microraptor can sound), Frisk leaps from Whetstone's head to the bears, plunging needle sharp teeth and toe claws into the beastformer's eyes and neck. All the while he makes sure to keep avoiding both Whetstone's attacks and any attempts of the bear to dislodge him.
Blast Off is dazed but not out completely, and when that tank aims for him he manages to leap out of the way in time. Twisting even as he goes, half-falling on the floor only to push himself up again with a claw, he aims his leg cannons and returns fire, trying to keep some distance between them.
"Mind yourself, Frisk!" Whetstone cries as he twists into a clawed wrestling match with the mecha-bear, weight jarring the floor panels. His hind claws scrape frantically when jaws go for his neck. It's always his damn neck! Frisk proves to be pretty useful at least. "Are you shadowplayed as well then?" he snaps at the bear, "Or just mad enough to want to live here!?" He wrests away, bleeding. Task at hand. Right. Weapons. Shuttles. There's not much planning and coordination on Whetstone's part. He'll bite and blaze and move on before a target's downed. But he can't leave Frisk to die, so he extends his damaged neck to try and pluck Frisk off the bear with his marred jaws. << "Blast Off! Don't tarry! Can you pilot? We have to beat the shields!" >>
The tank roars as the cannon blast takes out his leg, bringing him down in part. But he takes more shots at Blast Off, snarling.
The bear roars angrily from the harpy nipping at him. He backs off Whetstone, claws scraping to get the micro-raptor _off._ Perhaps his choice to fight the tiny still hurting him instead of focusing on the more dangerous Whetstone might answer the dragon's questions.
Clockwise's second tentacle slides through the the air, both of them trying to grab and wrangle in Quicksight. "Happiness is deserved by all! It's Primus's will that there be no strife- and there is none here! How do none of you understand?!" She startles, jumping back and away as the tank is brought down a knee and the the bear's sight is nipped at. Her expression is that of a mech isn't used to seeing combat.
Frisk sees the cue from Whetstone to return.. along with the big bear claws coming at him. One more nip to the bear's face is given before he scrambles up to the top of the mech's head and leaps across the gap to Whetstone's in an arching jump over the sharp appendages coming for him. Once on a familiar body, he once again grips the dragon's horns and his feathers flare out dangerously as he lets out another hiss.
Shadowplay. The word sends a chill through Blast Off's struts. Even worse than mutilating the body is mutilating the mind. He has to wonder what happened... was HE shadowplayed? Would you even know? He runs a fast internal diagnostic but doesn't find any evidence, but the fear remains.... oh right. Shuttle. Wait, shuttle? He looks at Whetstone with a slightly confused expression... "I... I don't know if I can do that, not with..." He looks at his claws. He's not sure if he *works* right now. He might, but... his optic darkens slightly as he glances over at Quicksight. Even if he can transform, he most certainly doesn't want Quicksight hitching a ride. Primus knows what Quicksight would do to Blast Off's insides if he got the chance, and the shuttle's been mutilated enough. "But I... I could pilot another shuttle...yes..."
What's this about tarrying, anyway? It's called dodging a tank! Said tank is brought down but keeps shooting, and Blast Off keeps trying to evade it- and return fire.
This is hardly anything new for Quicksight - he's been evading enemies trying to down him since he was born - litterally. The scout ducks and rolls, pulling out of Clockwise's range, and then back again "First smart thing ya said all day! There ain't no happiness here! Not real happiness! Betcha just threatened or brainwashed 'em into acting like it. The femme's retreat, and the look on her face only encourages him further. If he had a face, it would be twisted in a mocking sneer, but now, he just settles with continuing to zip around her, and talking "What's wrong? Primus ain't on your side today? I thought he was gunna protect ya!"
Whetstone gets briefly dazzled by the sudden fanning plumage in his face as Frisk scrambles back on. << "Good! Handle the tank and lets get out of here!" >> He drags his half mangled self (and Frisk) to the closest shuttle to drive the claws on his wings through the hatch and yank it down. << "Quicksight, can you locate our weapons?" >> It's important ok!
Clockwise's tentacles continue to snap at Quicksight, trying to nab him out of the air. "Blasphemer- Primus will always protect those who-" she screams as Blast Off's cannon takes off the tank's head. She scrambles away, looking wide-opticked towards the now sightless bear. Oh yes, definitly a combat novice. Her cords hesitate in their pursuit of Quicksight to slide back to her as she takes several more steps back.
The poor bear is down, the tank dead, and Clockwise seems to have no intent on pursuing. It seems well and clear... Until the non-atmosphere shimmers. The shields are up, and they're trapped... Until an explosion sounds within the station. The shimmer stays up and the fades away. Someone took out the shield generators. (It was Whirl. Thanks Whirl.)
"You were saying?" Quicksight offers one last stab as the tank is downed, ignoring who downed it. He'd stick around to mock her more, but there are other things that need his attention "On it!" he calls back to Whetstone, pulling upwards again. Now let's see, where were they... he wasn't paying that much attention when he came in, since, as far as anyone else is concerned, his weapons are completely built in "There!" the scout zips towards storage, circling right above it to mark its location "Too many for me to carry thogh."
Frisk can tell there is clearly something Whetstone wants to retrieve badly, oh thats right he had a big sword last time Frisk saw him... well.. this is nothing new. "I'm on it!" He calls to Quicksight. The microraptor suddenly races down Whetstone's spine, jumping off at the tail and racing off towards where he remembers the weapons had been kept after disappearing into the crowd. Upon reaching the area he does what he always does, improvise.
Kicking through the place Frisk quickly finds Whetstone's sword, along with a few other rather important looking things which he tosses all into one of the bins. Now with his- yes his, his now!.. until he gives it back- loot, the Eukarian tests the friction of the floor and the box... then starts a full out sprint back to the shuttle pushing it in front of him. "Out of the way! Out of the way! Uh- Explosives I have explosives its gonna blow!" Hopefully these guys are dumb enough to fall for that slag. Only the box ends up caught on a bit of floor, resulting in Frisk running face first into it as it comes to a near stop. "Ow."
Whetstone stills as the shields go up - then go down. Clueless but grateful, he stands at the hatch, and watches grimly as the rescuers and the rescued help eachother aboard as quickly as they can manage. He keeps a keen on Madrigal as well, vents rattling as energon seeps from his scales. All this, in the name of Primus... Ugh.
Help comes from the shadows, long, dark and toothy, bareling right at Frisk and his box, ready to send the later sliding towards the shuttle, and Frisk, if he doesn't move, will end up sharing a toothy ride with a body. He's going to have to be fast if he doesn't want that, as Lockjaw, battered as she is, moves with surprising speed for her size, and she's not stoping either, not until she's aboard the shuttle, along with her cargo.
The sniper's shot takes the tank's head clean off, and despite everything Blast Off can't help but find a bit of satisfaction at that- and at Clockwise's reaction. Heh. One of his new claws comes up to snap at the smoking form in a last defiant gesture. THAT's what you get for doing this to him! "Maybe Primus is not with you after all, Clockwise...." He mutters, then radios a reply to Whetstone. "<< Understood. >>"
He snaps his claws at Clockwise now, leg cannons turning to aim should she try something ...but his attention turns to getting to the shuttles. Which, thanks to Whirl, he can now reach. He fist pumps once in a subtle but happy gesture, looking off to nowhere in particular. Whirl must be safe, then! They're getting out! They're going home! "Thataboy, Whirl..." He makes his way to the nearest shuttle, prepared to get it ready to launch. Even if it is a little weird being inside another shuttle and even if he will have to get used to handling controls with claws, not hands.
With his job done, Quicksight, too launches towards the shuttle, gunning his engine until he's practically inside. There, he shifts back down, digging his heels into the floor to kill the remaints of his speed. No guarantee he won't crash into anyone who doesn't get out of the way though.
There was someone here earlier who hasn't been since all hell broke loose. A certain cyclops with a penchant for violence. A certain someone who, thanks to the information given to him by Lifeline, managed to locate and disable the shield generators with one hell of an explosion. It's Whirl, and he's here just in time to comment on the carnage the rest of the crew left behind. Slung around his shoulders in a fireman's carry is none other than Lifeline. But why the carry? Well, because Whirl punched him a whole bunch until his lights went out.
"Did you kill this guy?" he asks to noone in particular as he steps past the headless body of the tankguy. "That's it, next time I'm doing the break out and someone else is taking care of the shields!"
The mostly silent shuttle (the sentient one trying to get the nonsentient one ready for takeoff) hears a very familiar and welcome voice. Blast Off's head turns to take in the sight of Whirl coming in- safe and sound- with passenger no less. "Whirl!" There's relief in his voice. He turns and flips a few more switches, missing a few times and having to try again with clumsy claws. One takes an extra amount of effort and he winds up thwacking it with the blunt side of a claw until it clicks on. THERE. Now back to Whirl as the engines warm up and coordinates are set. There's a lot he wants to say, but all he can manage right now is a soft, "...Yes, that was me."
Frisk does indeed dodge in time, jumping up in time to land on the gator's back instead of ending up inside her jaws. When the reach the shuttle he makes sure the bin is shoved into the corner where it can't spill over, giving Lockjaw a small pat of thanks. "Whetstone, got your sword!" Hurry. Take it. Before his kleptomania kicks in! He's resisting the urge to scratch his name on it.
Clockwise doesn't make any threatening advances, pressing herself against the wall as everyone makes their exits. She doesn't try to stop them. She pauses and then touches her comms unit on the side of her head. "Proletariat? Proletariat, what should- Proletariat? Proletariat??" She waits but there's no answer. Why isn't he answering?
There's a shudder that rumbles through the station- the kind that comes from a very fast escape pod. Easy guess on who's on it. Clockwise stares at Whirl passes by carrying Lifeline- who looks beat the heck up- and then her feet, sliding down to the ground. The dream is dead.
Whetstone vents a raspy sigh of relief when Frisk and Lockjaw make their way over with the crate. "Bless your thieving spark," he says, and Frisk gets a smelt-and-energon-laden lick with a broad dragon tongue over his head, messing up his feathers. He then 'spaces his blade with a touch and proceeds to collapse amongst the injured.
"I should have guessed," Whirl tells Blast Off, leaning in to give him an affectionate headbonk before unceremoniously dumping Lifeline onto the floor of the shuttle with a heavy thud. "You hold tight for a second, there's something I gotta do first." With that, he pops out of the shuttle and very casually, almost too casually, saunters his way over to the dejected form of Clockwise. "Aw, don't look so sad. We have a beautiful little cell in the brig waiting just for you." He crosses his arms and tilts his hips. "That is, unless you put up a fight. In which case, I'm gonna have to do to you what I did to Lifeline. Tenfold."
Frisk has a somewhat grossed out look as smelt-and-energon drool sticks to the side of his head from that lick, but literally shakes it off and trudges over to the dragon, climbing up his leg and sitting on his side. He.. will just chill here with his fellow wounded, holding the holes in his side. A thumbs up is given Whirl's way when he threatens Clockwise. He doesn't know what she did to Lockjaw but she is gonna pay for it.
Blast Off hesitates as Whirl comes close. He feels so awkward, unsure....but Whirl leans in for a headbonk and it fills the shuttle with relief and gratitude. His lone optic dims, then brightens again as Lifeline is dropped close by. "Alright. Hurry- and be careful." He watches through the windows as Whirl heads back to Clockwise. Maybe he should have shot her, too... but somehow right now his main concern is just getting out of here.
Clockwise looks back up as she's addressed. Her servos flex, needles starting to poke out as her cord seem to hiss defensively. However, the threat hits. The needles slide back into her fingers as she pushes away. She's not going to fight, though. "I don't understand how you can't understand what this all was for."
"Tch..." Whirl is disappointed, he was really hoping she'd give him an excuse to rough her up. Though, does he really need one? She played a pretty big role in what happened here. "It's probably because I'm not fucked in the head." He bends down and snatches her by the wrist so he can yank her up onto her feet so he can escort her to one of the escape shuttles.
Just kidding, that was only half of it. The other half was so he could stick her in the gut with a claw. He makes sure to get in there nice and deep, and then twists violently to really tear her a new one. "Magnificent," he hisses.
Oh. Well. Blast Off didn't shoot her, but looks like Whirl's got everything under control. With stabbing. That works too. He just makes a soft huffing sound and turns back to his controls, preparing to launch. "Don't kill her, Whirl, she has things to answer for...." he calls out, then waits for Whirl to enter so they can leave.
Clockwise flinches as she's grabbed and forced back to her feet. And then one of those lovely claws Whirl has is shoved into her abdomen. She gives a cry, nearly collapsing from the pain, before crying out again. She grabs his claw, trembling and vents heaving. She does here Blast Off though. "Please, please don't kill me..."
Whetstone goes home.
"Oh, so you can feel pain," Whirl says, surprised. He withdraws his claw and wrests it from Clockwise's grip only so he can flick it and splatter her own energon across her face. "What you're feeling right now is just a fraction of what you inflicted upon my crew. Upon my partner. /Upon me./ But I won't kill you. Do you know why?" He steps in close, close enough for the barrels of his chest cannons to jut into her frame, and whispers. "Because killing you would make the pain stop."
Whirl then man-handles Clockwise in the same fashion he did Lifeline, lifting her up onto his shoulders and carrying her back to the ship. "Alright, shuttlemuffin. Let's get the hell outta here."