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2018-05-17 Firin Mah Lazer

From Transformers: Lost and Found

Firin Mah Lazer
Date 2018/05/17
Location Rigard- Machine Room
Participants Rodimus, Minimus Ambus, Prowl, Soundwave, Lieutenant, Wheeljack, Bulkhead
NPCs Pipes
Scene GM Tez
Summary Tempo's button is finally pushed, and everything ends happily and nobody dies! Hooray! (Warning for death)

In Tempo's heart, right where the base joins with the barrel of the massive cannon, Prowl, Bulkhead, and Wheeljack are faced with the unthinkable. After everything that they went through to gather the artifacts, collect the energy, defeat the Harbingers, and defend against Unicron, they might not be able to stop him. In the last minutes before he was finally close enough in range to shoot, the drones were able to break past the line of defenders and tear apart Tempo's targeting systems.

To knock Unicron out, and certainly to purge the corrupt code and reset him, it will require a direct hit to the tainted spark. But buried as it is beneath the miles of metal, it's not actually quite sure where it is located. One might assume oh, just aim for the middle and that would be reasonable, completely reasonable, if Unicron's middle weren't in fact a devouring maw, feeding even now on Cybertronian technology -- on the bodies, even, recovered by the worms and drawn into the suction of a wide, diffuse tractor beam that rakes across the land.

The two massive prongs that flank Unicron's maw have sunk into Cybertron's nearest face, raising mountains that stagger the imagination in their height, and leaving valleys that carve so deep that Cybertron beats and bleeds warm beneath.

The maw pierces Unicron's core, dead through the center where one might expect the spark to lie, which means that Unicron's spark is displaced, located somewhere else in his massive body -- and all of the automated systems that would track the heart of power are offline, or more -- are gone, and all of the machinery that would turn the cannon to aim in that direction have been melted to slag and ruin.

They were so close, too.

"We can do the calculations, can't we? With the energy reading's we've gathered while he's been approaching?" Bulkhead's pacing, hand to his great chin, optics narrowed. The concentrated look can't quite hide the tightness of his shoulders or the fatigued bright-white that rings his optics, nor the worried frown that he struggles against. "We have readings. We have signature readings for Unicron, we used them to track him - maybe, maybe we can take Brainstorm's device and finetune it. If it can track Unicron himself across the galaxy, we ought to be able to reconfigure it for this, right?" He stops, looking to the other two. "What do you think?"

Prowl had been running around with his little squad of Rigardian police cadets and some particularly loyal Badgeless. He's in the middle of boosting team morale by berating someone for friendly fire when the call comes in regarding Tempo's targetting. Cursing, he leaves his small battalion for the control room, and when he arrives, he dives right back into berating. Up until Bulkhead soothes him with techy ideas. "Whatever it takes."

Prowl gives the nearest console an angry kick.

<FS3> Prowl rolls Unarmed: Success. (7 6 6 2 4 3)

Prowl stubs his toe.

In the lead up to their final plan, Wheeljack has been getting little rest-- there was so much to prepare before, and so little time to do it with Unicron making his way closer, but now in the time since the news about the targeting systems broke, he apparently hasn't stopped moving since then. He's smeared here and there along his armor with energon, and grease, and soot, and his optics and fins both oscillate between over-bright and dangerously dim. Every few minutes he'll launch himself out of his seat to pace, but right now he's sitting, his hands clenching and unclenching at the edge of his seat, bouncing one leg madly as he looks between the screens and Bulkhead.

"Maybe we can tie in that model we had Arrow make," Wheeljack suggests, then cuts himself off. "But wait, no, did we ever update that? I don't think we did. Frag. Um. Brainstorm's device might be a good plan. It's too bad we can't just send someone into Unicron with a tracker to find the right place and help us target." Wheeljack shakes that idea away, an idle speculation. "If the attraction between Unicron and Cybertron really is like magnets we can use the energy shifts and the known location of Vector Sigma and Tempo to triangulate." Prowl's kick against the console goes entirely unnoticed. It's questionable whether Wheeljack actually still remembers he's here.

<FS3> Bulkhead rolls Engineering: Great Success. (8 5 4 3 2 7 2 3 7 8 2 1 5 5)

This is the first time in many long hours of fighting that Minimus Ambus has stripped down to his medium frame. The Maximus Ambus armor has taken significant damage and is covered with a truly hideous layer of worm... stuff. He ought to be running on fumes considering the ratio of effort and intensity to, say, rest periods that he has taken throughout the course of the last few days.

"I trust your engineering," he says with a slight jerk of his chin in Bulkhead's direction. "Make the attempt. I'm contacting Soundwave, I believe he may have relevant expertise in terms of ... energy signatures."

Words to action, Minimus is already doing this, keying rapidly in the staccato beat of fingertips along the inside of his arm as he sends a quick, to the point message to Soundwave.

<FS3> Wheeljack rolls Engineering: Good Success. (6 3 7 3 5 3 1 5 2 1 8 5 4 5 4 6)

As Unicron begins to tear into Cybertron in earnest, the close press of Unicron's immense power begins to distort signals, making it difficult to reach Brainstorm and his device. There's a seed of an idea, there, though: reconfiguring Tempo so that it can work by tracking some other device, instead of its own, now destroyed. That idle speculation of Wheeljack's refuses to stay shook, and crawls back up into his surface processes. There's still a big problem: actually moving Tempo to fire. That's about when Rodimus breaks in: "I've got an idea," he says to the terror of all nearby. On the way, he's commed Lieutenant, Pipes, spreadding terror: he has an idea. Meet him at the space bridge. Of course, to get there, one has to go through here.

"Please don't kick the equipment, Prowl," Bulkhead says offhandedly, stroking his chin in thought as he peers at Wheeljack. His plating doesn't look much better, though it's definitely covered in more scorch marks and actual injuries than Jackie's. He might've run off into a few of the worm battles. "If we can get to Brainstorm--"

Of course, that's when Unicron gets close enough to start screwing with their communication signals. "Were you able to get through to Soundwave, Minimus? My comms aren't getting through--Rodimus?" He stops, again, optics flickering in surprise. And then he squints. "What is it?"

Prowl buckles slightly, palms flat against the console when that kick only returns the pain. "Now? Really? /Really?!/" It's not directed at Bulkhead. He continues to have a bit of a moment with Tempo, as if it's Tempo's fault the worms got in and screwed everything up, before shoving away and pacing. He nearly clips Minimus in one frustrated pass, then looks up when Rodimus pops in, expectant.

And sure enough, in true Wheeljack fashion, he's working his way into a long ramble with the idea that won't let him go. "I think I have some material here, and of course Tempo and the Matrix, maybe we can get readings off of them, there's sure to be scanners around and if we can still get the signals from by Vector Sigma I've got sensors near it. Though maybe not--" Wheeljack cuts himself off with a flash of fins as Rodimus pops in, turns away from Bulkhead and the screens to blink. "What is it? And how much scientific precedent did you ignore to get to it?"

'I've got an idea.' is only said from the third worst mech to hear that phrase from. At this point in time, Lieutenant isn't one to complain. Rodimus may not be captain anymore, but the avian will still drop what he's doing to answer his call.

Lieutenant enters with the familiar blue truck tucked under his arm. Seems like there's more here than expected. Maybe this is also part of Rodimus' plan? Who really knows right now.

"Do you think that is helping?" Minimus snaps at Prowl, and then restraints himself with a visible shake of his head. He turns a sight widening of his gaze at Rodimus even as he finishes sending the message to Soundwave, and his weight balances backwards on his boots. He resettles himself, chin lifting, and says, "What is your proposal, Rodimus?" in a tone of voice that only very mildly reasserts his command authority over this ... gaggle.

Rodimus points at Wheeljack, catching the end of his idea, and flashes him a fierce grin: "All of it. And it sounds like you've got the other end of the idea." He glances over at Minimus, and links his fingers in a laced grasp before him as he says, "Tempo, Vector Sigma, and the Matrix are bound. We take the Matrix in, lock on, and blast him. He won't react to Lieutenant and Pipes--" Who is definitely here, by the way. "--so they'll get me close enough." Under his breath -- but not under it enough, he says, "If they can hold it together long enough. Anyway! We don't have much time. What do you need to get it done?" he asks the nerds, like Minimus isn't actually the one in charge here.

"A moment," Lieutenant holds up a hand, just to clarify what was just proposed, "You want us to assist you in suicide am I correct?"

"We need an escape route, first of all." It's about what Bulkhead expected of Rodimus, and his tone comes out sharper than he intended it to. Like a parent who's caught their kid's hand in the cookie jar. "I think we can, at the very least, use what readings we have to bridge you into Unicron himself, but the crucial point will be bridging you out. We'd have to time it exactly, right after the gun had fired and was on course, and, and get you out in those few seconds -- no one is doing that, Lieutenant!"

It's a second later Bulk realizes he's pointing at the avian and had maybe a little bit yelled. Resetting his vocalizer, he steps back, and shakes his helm. "We can work the calculations to get you out in time. You won't still be in there when the blast hits."

Prowl waves Minimus off, as prickly as ever, but he does stop pacing. "If anyone knows bridges it's you, Bulkhead. So-" He addresses Rodimus. "You need a shuttle? ...Do you want to be launched?"

"I didn't ignore science to get there!" Wheeljack says, protesting what is clearly the most important factor here. He's exhausted, his priority trees may be a bit scrambled in this instance. "I just bent a couple rules here and there." He does, however, shake his helm and stand to come up next to Bulkhead, waving in Bulkhead's direction to catch his attention. "We need to make sure they've got a signal to send to show us when they've finally gotten to the right place. Can't send a flare... Rodimus, do you think you can get the Matrix to be extra Matrix-y when you've found the right spot? And you know what the right spot will look like, don't you?" He looks to Bulkhead, fins flashing. "We're going to have to manually move the gun, too. Unless Tempo can move himself, that's going to take some creative demolition."

Minimus Ambus opens his mouth. Then he closes his mouth. A low fume of breath seeps through him, whirring through his systes. Despite the fact that he is in command of this group, he stands there for a moment, his jaw iron hard, his shoulders set and still.

"I -- what?" Rodimus looks taken aback by Lieutenant's question, and his first retort is blistering hot -- but catches on the tip of his tongue, vocalizer cracking into static. His voice is flat, then quiet as he says, "No. And you don't have to come. I want your help getting Tempo to fire, but if you can't or won't -- that's okay. It's your choice." He doesn't say 'I understand', because he clearly doesn't. But he still accepts. With fairly minimal judgment.

"Nope, spacebridge in, I know where to go," Rodimus says to Prowl, impatient, as he stirs to start heading toward the bridge room. "Tempo, if I draw some coordinates, can you bridge us there?" he asks the room around them. "Jackie, Bulk: you guys are gonna want to make sure it locks on. And we gotta move, it's already tearing things up." He pauses, turning back to glance over at Prowl. He seems to be avoiding looking at Minimus.

Tensions seem pretty high, considering the planet is being up rooted, infested, and Bulkhead actually shouting. The avian can apologize for his comment later for upsetting the mech. "I am coming, regardless." Lieutenant can't speak for Pipes but he's made his choice. Whatever happens, it'll be nice to at least have some contribution to this mess other than killing worms that never seem to stop. Pipes is finally put down to stand on his own again.

Something in Bulkhead eases, and he nods to Rodimus. "Alright. If you know where to go, we'll get you there and out again. And we'll make sure Tempo locks onto your position."

It takes a moment for Wheeljack to catch Bulkhead's attention, so focused is he on making sure this isn't a suicide mission, that he turns to his partner with a distant expression before it clears into focus. And then he swears. "I don't know if Tempo can't move himself - I'd say first we should try for manual controls from here, but..." Now he's squinting at Wheeljack. "'Creative demolition'? It sounds like you have another idea."

Prowl parts his lips to tell everyone to get on with it, but Minimus is overseeing here, so he looks over. When his limited patience runs out, he tilts in, voice low. "He'll be fine. He's Rodimus."

"Good luck," Prowl says to Lieutenant, prideful in this fleeting moment.

Wheeljack looks between Rodimus, then at the console, then to Bulkhead. "No, I--" His fins flicker, then settle into a resolute, even glow. "No. I'm sure that the crew here can take care of Tempo, especially if the manual controls still work. You test those. I'm going to..." Another pause. He steps closer to Bulkhead, takes his hand, squeezes it. "With the communication lines like this, we won't be able to reach them over there if there's something that needs hacking, or wiring, or anything. We only have one shot at this, literally." In a brief, tender gesture, Wheeljack goes up on the tips of his toes, bumps his faceplate against Bulkhead's. "I promise I'll come back. We've still got that guild to build together, right? You just focus on setting those coordinates." And with one final squeeze of Bulkhead's hand, he steps away, and turns toward Rodimus, grabbing his toolkit and a scanner as he heads toward him and the door. "I'm going too. Nothing like working under pressure!"

Rodimus's gaze returns to Prowl just before he passes from the room. He doubles back, catches him by the arm, and leans in to ask: "Make sure it works." He presses Prowl's arm, then jogs back toward the door, and Wheeljack, and Lieutenant and Pipes. "Okay, good. Perfect." His gaze sweeps Wheeljack's features, but whatever he finds there causes him to nod as he continues on toward the spacebridge, to produce a crayon drawing of where he wants to go that in fact somehow makes sense to Tempo.

Matrix: check. Zombies: check. Wheeljack: check.

The space bridge opens, and they step through, thrown into the chamber just outside of Unicron's innermost spark.

Bulkhead's spark is already sinking when Wheeljack speaks, though he's not sure why. Maybe it's the glow of his fins, or that phrase: the crew here can take care of Tempo. As if Wheeljack isn't part of that crew.

Bulk nearly doesn't return the squeeze; he's too busy going numb. "Jackie..." he says quietly, optics dimming, leaning automatically into the bump. "You can't...but...we..." His optics don't quite well up, but the look on his face hints that he's very close. It's only because of the company around them that he doesn't, and he wants to hug Wheeljack and try to keep him from leaving but--

He's already gone.

Taking a deep invent, Bulkhead scrubs at his face, then turns to the consoles. "We need to test those manual controls," he says, voice steady. "Prowl, Minimus - do you think you can handle Tempo? I have to work the calculations to get them back on time."

Prowl's stress-fueled confidence wavers when Rodimus touches his arm. He watches the three mechs depart, and swallows the tightness in his intake before turning to Minimus and Bulkhead. "...Yes. Right. Controls." He beckons Minimus as he skims the surface of the broad console for the controls that are hopefully properly labeled.

"I will assist with the spacebridge," Soundwave announces, to the surprise of everyone. Well, the assisting isn't a surprise so much as Soundwave himself being the surprise. He's in a corner, lurking- its hard to say if he's been there a while or just stepped in. He looks cold and tense, despite having to have sprint here not long ago.

Soundwave steps forward, closer. "If I can keep up a connection with Rodimus's team and have control of the bridge, I can eliminate faulty reaction time and help provide a swift extraction," he explains further, already trying to ferret out a secure connection with the away team. Easier said than done.

"What?" Minimus is staring off after them still for a noticeable time. He looks blankly around at the others, and his fingers close into fists as he shakes his head. "Do it," he says. His voice is controlled, almost prim. He strides to the console on long strides, spine rigid. "We have this. Ah, Soundwave. There you are."

Bulkhead looks up at the new voice, and something like relief briefly crosses his features. "Join me here, Soundwave. I can do the calculations for you. Just make sure you follow them exactly on extracting the away team; too early and we won't have a lock, too late..." He trails off, shakes his helm. No, there's not going to be a too late.

<FS3> Bulkhead rolls Engineering: Good Success. (2 4 1 4 4 6 6 3 1 7 3 8 5 6)

<FS3> Soundwave rolls Hacking: Great Success. (5 2 1 7 4 7 8 2 2 1 4 3 4 7)

Prowl startles only /slightly/ when Soundwave emerges from the shadows, as he moves down the console to find a sunken cockpit of sorts, wide enough for three mechs, with an expansive screen displaying an impressively clear image of Unicron's surface. He slides down and grasps the w-shaped control yoke, tilting it every so slightly to one side. C'mon Tempo, move.

Soundwave tears through the interference of Unicron's biting presence to pull a thin, faint signal from the background noise. A familiar signal, and one he knows quite well. He's able to isolate it, and to set Tempo's systems to track it, but it's faint, and could be disrupted at any moment. And Tempo's not moving yet.

Bulkhead is faced with a choice: he can help Soundwave ensure that Tempo locks on to the right location and get the titan moving -- and it's going to take the help of others, of Minimus and Prowl, all of them pushing the right buttons, pulling the yoke just so, at just the right time -- or he can get the spacebridge set up. He can't do both.

Soundwave doesn't move from his spot. Working through Unicron's immense presence is a struggle- its his simply his own stubborn pride that enables him to grab onto the signal and lock. Because he is Soundwave and he is superior.

The red light of his visor going hazy at the edges and his shoulders bowing from the effort, he continues to fight to keep his grip on the familiar signal. "I know what to do, Bulkhead," Soundwave says stiffly, his monotone sticky with static. From his side unfurls a cable, the end snapping its claws. "I will handle the spacebridge, if Tempo will allow me a connection," he offers.

"This is going to take all hands," Minimus Ambus says grimly. In ways, he practically radiates tension, but in other ways, he has become such a pinpoint of hard focus that he is almost restful, auditory pollution speaking. He sets his fingertips to the controls, scarlet gaze flicking across them in an assessing way. "Time is of the essence. Let's move."

Working beside Soundwave, Bulkhead falls into the calm of mathematics more easily than usual. It's a comforting escape, the numbers that dance through his processor, the trees of formulas that form and branch and grow as he works through this problem. Until he realizes there's another problem, because in fact it's two things he needs to do. And he can't do both.

Gritting his teeth, Bulkhead starts to hiss something, then cuts himself off and nearly sags with relief at Soundwave's offer. "Okay," he says. "Yeah. You, you handle the spacebridge. Prowl, Minimus!" Looking around the box, he calls out, "Be ready to move Tempo when I tell you to!"

Tempo -- with a hint of reluctance, perhaps -- allows Soundwave to connect.

<FS3> Soundwave rolls Telepathy: Good Success. (8 7 1 6 1 5 5 8 5 4 3 1 3 3 5 2)

While the sudden flood of data is almost overwhelming, that's kind of what Soundwave does: sort through the noise to find the signal. But he's no more able to handle two things than Bulkhead is, as the distant flame of a signal flickers and wavers and threatens to be lost if he doesn't focus on tracking it. Wordlessly, Tempo offers: it's his spacebridge. He will make sure that they return.

<FS3> Bulkhead rolls Engineering: Good Success. (4 4 5 4 2 4 7 5 6 7 3 1 6 3)

<FS3> Prowl rolls Reaction+reaction: Success. (1 4 7 1 5 6 3 1)

<FS3> Minimus_Ambus rolls Reaction+reaction: Good Success. (8 2 5 5 8 8 1 4 6 4)

Soundwave falters, curling inward from the onslaught. Connecting to a titan's systems and trying to weave through Unicron's signals-- its too much. He tries to muscle through it, the strain physically manifesting with a trickle of energon eking out past his visor. The flame flickers, though, and its enough that Soundwave quickly ejects himself from Tempo to instead cradle that matchstick in the unrelenting ocean. "Negative, Tempo. I just... Need a moment and we will try again," he says, vents cycling quickly.

Soundwave falters, curling inward from the onslaught. Connecting to a titan's systems and trying to weave through Unicron's signals-- its too much. He tries to muscle through it, the strain physically manifesting with a trickle of energon eeking out past his visor. The flame flickers, though, and its enough that Soundwave quikly ejects himself from Tempo to instead cradle that matchstick in the unrelenting ocean. "Negative, Tempo. I just... Need a moment and we will try again," he says, vents cycling quickly.

<FS3> Soundwave rolls Hacking+3: Good Success. (8 4 7 1 5 3 3 5 1 4 2 6 5 6 3 7 4)

Minimus Ambus closes both his hands down on the yoke, gritting his teeth as he hauls. "Use your knees," he orders Prowl, like this is in any way helpful advice.

The signal comes through strong and clear suddenly, and Soundwave's able to isolate it and draw it forward just as Prowl and Minimus bring Tempo around under Bulkhead's direction. They are locked in -- and ready to fire. On the viewscreens around them, a sudden warning: Unicron beam is sweeping across the planet's surface toward Tempo and New Iacon beyond, pulling up by the thousands the corpses on the battlefield. The ground begins to shake beneath their feet, as though Tempo might be pulled up as well -- and the lock, lost.

Bulkhead waits for the right moment, then orders Prowl and Minimus to move Tempo. And they do, and Soundwave is covering the space bridge, and it looks like things might work out - until the ground starts to tremble beneath them. Bulk's optics spark to a near bright white, and he shouts, perhaps unnecessarily, "Soundwave, do you have the spacebridge ready?! Tell me you have it ready, we have to fire now!" Swearing, optics leaking, he orders hoarsely, "We don't have anymore time. Do it now!"

Prowl readily wedges a knee under his side of the control yoke, apparently open to any and all direction in this very real moment of peril. It's clear on the bright targetting display before them, and in the rattling of their surrounding instruments. Prowl finds his fuel pumping cold. When Tempo shifts and locks, and Bulkhead sounds the cue, Prowl jams the heel of his free palm against the console's surface, breaking the safety glass protecting the firing trigger. He probably breaks his wrist.

Every sensor, every screen, and every display blank in a sudden white brilliance. Each of them have stood before Vector Sigma at one point or another. They have all felt that touch of home. This is nothing like that. This is a searing clarity in which all of their virtues and all of their vices are laid bare to them, and they see even one another as silhouettes of motives without pretense or illusion.

And still: acceptance. Still: acknowledgement. Still: understanding.

Then it is dark, and on the single working screen they can see the bolt lance forward from Tempo's gun to pierce Unicron's side.

And then it is quiet.

Minimus Ambus stares at the display in a kind of frozen stillness in the aftermath of the quake, of the firing. He is not the one to break the silence. It is beyond him. He finds his fingertips lifting towards the screen as though he can reach something by grasping for it, and he's not even sure when he lifted his hand.

Soundwave stumbles against the consoles, grabbing onto them with both of his hands as the ground becomes unstable. His tentacle hovers over the connection Tempo offered, ready to engage once more and take control of the bridge. He's about to attempt a second time when--

Soundwave hears his name.

Fingers attempting to dig holes into the console, more energon pooling behind his visor and slipping through, and he tries to connect to Tempo proper. But whether he successfully plugs in or not, he doesn't know. He's washed away in the sudden surge of Tempo's weapon.

Soundwave misses the display of successfully hitting Unicron, too busy trying to clear the ringing in his head as he leans heavily against the console. Vents, labored and vision clearing white noise- his audios hunt. Find it, find it, find it. He searches for a specific spark song, a familiar one.

It's not there.

Bulkhead's fingers dig into the console in front of him as the weapon fires, as the world goes white. He doesn't pay attention to the silhouettes of the others, waits for his vision to clear and the image of the display to resolve in front of him. He sees the beam pierce Unicron; he knows it hit home.

And though he asks anyway, Bulkhead already knows the answer when he breaks the silence with: "Did you get them back, Soundwave?"

Prowl mi-i-ight actually want to die with all of the worst (and /some/ of the best) parts of him limned against his being. The wild, otherwordly sensation passes and they're left shrouded. It's only when Minimus' hand reaches for the display that Prowl remembers where the hell they are and what just happened. He says nothing, optics impossibly wide.

There's a thud.

Soundwave's tentacles fall to the floor, their biolights so dim as to be offline. Its gone. Its gone. Its so quiet. Just so quiet...

Soundwave tries to keep himself braced and he succeeds in keeping his grip on the console. B his knees hit the ground. He looks at the tiles of the floor, the white spark of his visor fizzing back into a deep, dull haze. His head dips, unable to keep it up as his fingers tremble. He digs them deeper into the console.

His energon, still warm and magenta drips past his visor, plinking against the ground. Soundwave doesn't say anything. Too busy listening to Rodimus's silent perish song. Minimus Ambus stands almost perfectly still. His only motion is the slow curling of the fingers of his outstretched hand into a fist. His hand drops, falling limply to his side. The heavy thunk of Soundwave hitting the floor is almost enough to jar him out of his reverie, but ... not quite.

While the others remain silent - beyond the sound of Soundwave hitting the floor - Bulkhead slowly straightens up from the console. His optics dim, even as his shoulders tense up into a posture Minimus in another time might have found acceptable.

"The three of you should go." Bulk looks over at them, expression blank, voice toneless. "There's nothing else to do here but run diagnostics on Tempo's systems and check for damage from the weapon's firing. They're going to need you out there to lead in the wake of the battle, and you'll want some time to yourselves before that, I imagine. I'll take care of everything here."

Bulkhead confirms that they've actually survived, and that's helpful, because it wasn't entirely obvious to Prowl. Soundwave fails to answer anyone, so the rattled cruiser pulls himself out of the sunken control console to stalk over and loom at his side. "Where's the rest of our team, Soundwave," he asks, toneless.

In a distant way, Minimus considers fury as a possible reaction, but the part of him that thinks about reacting is muted, remote. Cut off from his own emotions, he looks at Soundwave on the floor. He turns his head to look at Prowl, looming. He finally shifts his shoulders a little, and then ducks his head. He bows under an invisible weight, teeth grinding with the set of his jaw.

Minimus's voice is very quiet. "He knew," he says. That's all, though. That's all he's got.

Soundwave is trying to acclimate to the new sound of the universe. The one in which Rodimus's personal symphony does not reside... But he's not given this- at least not to a degee he finds acceptable.

There's a crack like a whip as Soundwave's tentacle snaps to life to slap Prowl away. The Autobot cop the unfortunate brunt of Soundwave's fury at this cruel life that always finds a way to take things.

Soundwave then pushes himself up and transforms, rocketing out of the room with little regard for anyone he may hit or run over. It's unclear where he's going-- he's just going away from here. It could be a while before anyone sees him again.

Bulkhead watches the assault on Prowl with nary a twitch, then steps aside for Soundwave. He's said his bit. Leaning back over the console, he gets to work, and if his hands are trembling as he types, well, doubtful either of the other two are going to pay him any mind anyway.

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