Ep .5 - Oregon - From the Sky - Open!

There were plenty of ships in the universe custom-made to bear up under the terrific strain of atmospheric reentry. Legion had had the pleasure of flying a few in his lifetime, and the memories of soaring high over hard-fought battlefields were among his most cherished. He might have been sparked, built and trained for ground-pounding, but even front-line combatants were allowed to dream of the glories of flight.

There was, however, absolutely nothing glorious about this particular flight. In fact, calling it 'flight' in the first place was being generous. This was a textbook example of what the Aerialbots had so derisively referred to as 'falling with style', and it felt every bit as horrible as they'd sworn it did.

It wasn't his fault, really, at least not when you got past the whole 'you're piloting this deathtrap, of course it's your fault!' bit. The ship- Pit, even calling it a 'ship' was a stretch- technically wasn't his at all. The nameless hunk of glorified scrap metal had been a Decepticon troop-transport until he'd appropriated- alright, stolen- it for his own (mis)use some months before. Legion therefore had nothing to do with the absolutely horrific condition of the thing's engines, flight systems or databanks. He was blameless, really, even if he was the one to give the shuttle a last encouraging pat and tip it into the morass of conflicting air currents that was Earth's upper atmosphere. Innocent, totally innocent. Right?

He should've known better than to brave open atmosphere in a ship rated for spacefaring, but that warning, like so many others, had been merrily disregarded. Twenty-nine thousand feet above Earth's surface it came back to haunt him with a resounding BOOM. The secondary starboard engine made like a supernova, exploding with enough force to send the shuttle into an ungainly barrel roll.

"Oh, fok this."

The shuttle plummeted another eight or nine thousand feet straight down before Legion could wrestle it back on-course. Details of the land below were slowly swimming into view, fast-flowing rivers slicing through patches of bare stone interspersed with patches of primordial forest so thick he doubted anyone, be they Cyberontronian or organic, had ever set foot in them. Earth might have been trying to kill him already, but frag if the place wasn't the prettiest slaggin' thing this side of the Crystal Gardens-

Bang. The primary port engine followed the starboard's lead, making every rivet and weld in the poor abused shuttle groan in protest.

"...fok me!"

Seven thousand feet to go and the shuttle's hull quite literally bowed to the inevitable. Plates above and around Legion buckled in as if punched, gale-force wind howling in through the newfound rents.

"FOK EVERYTHIN'."

The shuttle's steering systems were in open rebellion, ignoring every command the mech at the helm relayed as if their lives depended upon it. Slowly, though, every nut and bolt shrieking in protest, the shuttle's nose edged towards the horizon. Thirty feet above the whitecaps the shuttle finally- finally!- leveled out, wingtips clipping storm-tossed waves. Somehow, some way, he'd managed to bring the thing down less than half a mile offshore, well away from the prying eyes of curious organics. Beaches, it soon transpired, were excellent places to land crippled transports. Smiling broadly enough to make his faceplates ache, Legion cut power to the engines and coasted the final few hundred feet. The shuttle shuddered to a standstill half-buried in beach sand, newly-exposed internal systems sending up great gouts of smoke and steam. It wasn't a neat landing, nowhere close, but that didn't stop Legion from capering in delight as he worked his way free of his safety harness and out onto the night-dark beach.

"Any landin' y'ken walk away from. Don' remember who said that, but fok, they're righ'." Straightening- and unsubtly working out knotted-up linkages in the process, he cast his optics towards the sky in search of his pursuer. "Arrigh', wings, where th'Pit are y'?"

Wings was a no-show, and so were all his little 'Con buddies. Offhand Legion couldn't decide whether the utter lack of opposition irritated or amused him. He'd spent the past way-too-fokkin'-long cooped up in a shuttle made for mechs maybe two-thirds his size- nothing would've worked out the kinks quite as well as a good ole-fashioned brawl. Since none seemed to be forthcoming, putting out the fires steadily trying to devour his scrapheap-on-wings noble conveyance would have to suffice.

A chill that had nothing to do with ambient temperature coursed up his spinal relays a few moments later, slowing his extinguishing efforts to a near-crawl. Legion might not have considered himself much of a soldier, but he hadn't survived quite as long as he had on good looks alone. The soldier's sense that had saved his aft a thousand times before gnawed at the base of his helm like a particularly virulent case of rust-rash, insisting over and over again that something out there wanted to kill him in the most spectacularly gory fashion possible. A surreptitious scan of the beach came back clean- well, as clean as any scan of an organic landscape could- but even that reassuring reading couldn't silence the voice of paranoia screeching in the back of his processor. Something was wrong, very wrong, and even as he returned to piecing apart the blazing shuttle he kept trying to figure out just what.

There. Well off the beach and out of easy grappling range, knelt down to minimize the target he presented, stood his shadow-in-mech-form, and unless Legion's optics really had gone to slag that really was a very large, very mean-looking blaster aimed square for his spark. WELL NOW. That changed things, didn't it? The shuttle and its fiery demise could wait; right now he had a mech to placate and/or bearhug into submission.

"...this jus' keeps gettin' better'n better." Straightening, Legion tossed the tools he'd been destroying aside and reached for the sky. "C'mon now, mech, don' shoot me."

It took a few moments longer than he'd expected, but eventually the Con thought to look behind him. Even then, Skydive could tell he hadn't been spotted until he saw the other's optics alight with recognition, and he found himself very surprised. Through his visor, everything was tinted orange, but over the years he'd learned to distinguish most coloration through it. This mech had bright blue optics, not the deep red he'd been sure he'd find.

Faced with this new data, he looked over the mech more searchingly, looking for something that gave away his faction, but in the dimness of the evening light any sigils the mech wore were hidden by shadow. That and he was kind of far away.

"C'mon now, mech, don' shoot me."

Skydive did not. Even if the mech had been a Decepticon he likely wouldn't have opened fire unless the bot had attacked. The war was supposedly over, to shoot first was a crime in Skydive's book, so instead he likely would keep the other at gun point until reinforcements arrived.

However, Skydive knew full well that optic color wasn't always an indicator of faction. The giant's hands could at any moment turn into weapons, so Skydive kept his arm cannons trained expertly on the bulky shape.

"State your designation and allegiance," he ordered with conviction, but his voice still came out a tad unsure. Someone much older and wiser probably wouldn't have wavered, but Skydive was neither. "You look...Autobot, but I - "

::This is Optimus Prime. We have your location and will be arriving in moments, Skydive.::

The Prime's transmission honestly startled Skydive, although a swift and strong response was exactly what he wanted. Immediately, his servo flew up to acknowledge the Autobot leader's message.

"Understood, sir. On standby."

His attention then returned to the mech on the beach. He debated announcing the Autobots' arrival, but decided against it. If this Cybertronian was hostile, his reinforcements would hopefully have the element of surprise.

-

OOC: Btw, I don't think he's expecting a ground bridge. He thinks they'll be coming on foot. Just fyi.

Of all the things Optimus could have expected to be on the other side of the groundbridge, to mechs in what looked to be a rather awkward standoff was very low on the list. The second mech was not one he recognized as a known Decepticon, though that did not rule him out as a threat. He did not, however, look to be someone spoiling for a fight.

Motioning Airazor to hold as the 'bridge collapsed behind them, the tall mech took a step forward with both arms primed to weaponise in an instant. He did not, however, wish to escalate the situation if it could be talked out.

"Skydive, report." He did not take his optics from the massive mech, trusting Airazor to watch Skydive and their surroundings for any incoming attack. Though this was not a situation that felt on the verge of combat.

Outta th'scrap-heap, straight inta th'smelter. Fok me...

There were precisely three mechs in the world that Legion respected enough to fear. One was an Autobot medic notorious for throwing wrenches, another was an engineer who defined the term 'good things come in small packages', and the third... well, the third had just come barreling out of a ground-bridge ready to blow him into bite-sized pieces. As grateful as Legion might've been to see the Prime alive, well and ready to kick aft, he wasn't terribly eager to be the aft kicked into next orn.

"Used t'be one, but tha's ancient history." No point in hiding it; basic personnel files were public for a reason, after all. "Been workin' wif Blazewing's unit fer a few vorn now. Was workin' offa Teyonu lookin' fer energon deposits 'fore everythin' went ploin-shaped. This-" Fairly certain he wouldn't get shot for his efforts, he jabbed a thumb towards the wreckage of what had once been his transport. "-was th'first thing I could get m'servos on t'get out. Ain't sure who else got outta there, but I ken give y'names if y'want 'em."

Skydive froze as the Prime raised his hand, as if to stop Skydive from speaking, and he had to concentrate to keep his EM field from spiking with the embarrassment he felt inside. Did he really come off that hard as a 'book worm'? That the Prime would supersede his word lest he started on a full report, right here, right now?

The Aerialbot had to think really hard to decide whether or not this was right.... If the Prime hadn't cut him off, would he or would he not have started his tale from the beginning? With a moment's reflection, he concluded that it was...possible. He wasn't that literal-minded, but they had just averted a potential crisis so a report might have been necessary. He just didn't know, but he'd watch for that in the future. He used to be teased about that, earlier in the war, but he thought he'd gotten better. He'd be sure to scrub that out.

Realizing he was self-analyzing at a time it was likely not welcome, he snapped back to attention as the Prime asked his next question.

"Yes, sir," Skydive replied, answering for himself. "I've been travelling alone for some time." After a moment's hesitation, he added, "I have not made contact with the other Aerialbots since being separated some time after leaving Cybertron."

He looked to Legion, then the mangled ship, and he concluded it unlikely the other mech was travelling with company. It was most probable the mech would admitted such by now if he was.
-

Jazz, meanwhile, had been listening over the open comm, checking out their newcomers. From his seat at the mainframe console, he pulled up service records for "Skydive" and "Legion". Skydive, Aerialbot, combiner, vocoder match, looked good....

Legion.... Well. A fellow signia switcher. Jazz dug just a bit deeper. It might be biased of him, and particularly ironic given his own situation, but he knew from experience that a mecha who'd switched sides once could do so again. As he skimmed Legion's file, he noticed something ELSE interesting. Teyonu, hmm? That name sounded familiar from another file he'd skimmed through, right after he'd gotten here, out of curiousity and a desire to fill in the gaps in his knowledge of his cohort.

::Hey, Blue. I say the name Legion, what's it mean to you?::

Evidently what it meant was a flurry of excited glyphs and some squealing of high enough pitch to shatter most Earthen glass. Jazz had to put the rest of the response through a half-speed filter before he could catch it all, but he smiled. ::Good guy, huh? All right, all right. Yes, he's on Earth. Prime's talkin' to him. No, not here yet. You can glomp him when he gets here. YES, you'll be the first to know.::

Jazz switched frequencies. ::Prime, vocoder prints and schematics confirm those two are who they say they are. Blue even vouches that Legion is one of the "most awesome mechs ever". Both our newbies are clear, s'far as I can tell.::