Flash "Between a Wreck 'n a Hard Place" -Wreckers-
Apr 29, 2012 15:39:03 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Apr 29, 2012 15:39:03 GMT -5
This day is turning out to be... unpleasant.
The massive bot cringed as a plasma blast impacted the ground beside him. He reacted, firing several rounds from his autocannon that forced the firer to take cover again. A pained expression was upon his countenance inferring his condition as he forced his cannon up and over the container he was taking cover against, the slug-thrower roaring as he fired several blasts into the surrounding ruins. As best as he could tell, the weapon had no hit or effect but drew more fire from barely visible optics dotted throughout the mangled wrecks before he took cover again.
The contents of his short train must have been something remarkable; the Cons were not known for sending so much hardware to deal with a single blockade runner. Even for the number he had already slew, pairs of red optics still blinked back from nearly every hole he looked into.
He didn't know what had hit him in the first place but he knew that it was something that he could not have avoided; such a slow moving weapon had tracked his every attempt to evade but closed until it contacted his hover systems, sizzling them and blowing out his activation circuits. He couldn't have expected that or how quickly he lost control. He didn't have any idea how his entire form had not crumpled on contact with ruins of the Cybertronic Wastes; chalk it up to construction, he did. He didn't know how the crash had not shattered the energon couplings or the containers themselves providing him with such convenient cover the Cons were unwilling to shoot through; other bots would have had to jump to even see over them but he merely had to stand.
Have to... count myself fortuitous in this crash... He grunted and cringed again.
Fortuitous was a questionable way to describe the crash, he realized. It had damaged his left side leg assembly and, for his sturdy constructions, that was saying something. The knee joint was in shards on the platform around him, the armor and hydraulics remained attached but only by a few partially frayed nerve conduits. He could still stand only due to the strength in his remaining leg. He'd cut the pain receptors only to not throw off his aim but it seemed like his last stand.
Pistongasket was immobile,the proud blockade runner knew what that meant for his future prospects.
He had sent out a distress signal on his ballistic path to the ground but even if it had gotten through he had no way of knowing; his coms were offline. Gasket had tried to get them functional again but whatever had happened was hardware related; he could not access his com panel without shutting down other critical systems and that was just not an option at this moment.
The battle had gone on too long, the cons's fire was getting more reserved. Gasket was tired, his frame battered and strained. He'd taken a plasma round to the chassis and his right arm, autocannon included had been damaged by incoming enemy fire though the weapon itself was still nominally functional.
His autocannon ammo was holding but he could not hold up to another major push unless they got into melee range and even then, his leg meant his effectiveness was fractional. Groaning he shunted energy into his rail-cannon as the massive device came alive with a low din. Glancing back to it he sighed, the gimble was damaged; he had to sight-aim. Venting with purpose he pushed his form up and over the container again, took an instant to aim, and released the bolt of blue destruction which impacted the ruins right of his intended target; a scream and muffled explosion followed indicating that perhaps his targeting wasn't so faulty.
This silenced the guns from the Cons again but only for a few moments but soon it was back and more intense than ever, slug rounds and plasma pinging all around him, some grazing the containers. His optics shot this way and that, the dark blue form of another con trying to sneak around his cover meeting his attention. Angling his cannon around he fired several rounds, one which scored a direct hit on the cons shoulder, making the smaller bot fall back.
Again he vented, placing his offhand on his leg, careful not to disturb the form or deal extra unintentional damage as he let his back strut prop against the container as his optics looked up into the clear Cybertronian sky. In his cortext was a single thought, begging, hoping to Primus that his coms had gotten through, that his plight was not unknown.
The massive bot cringed as a plasma blast impacted the ground beside him. He reacted, firing several rounds from his autocannon that forced the firer to take cover again. A pained expression was upon his countenance inferring his condition as he forced his cannon up and over the container he was taking cover against, the slug-thrower roaring as he fired several blasts into the surrounding ruins. As best as he could tell, the weapon had no hit or effect but drew more fire from barely visible optics dotted throughout the mangled wrecks before he took cover again.
The contents of his short train must have been something remarkable; the Cons were not known for sending so much hardware to deal with a single blockade runner. Even for the number he had already slew, pairs of red optics still blinked back from nearly every hole he looked into.
He didn't know what had hit him in the first place but he knew that it was something that he could not have avoided; such a slow moving weapon had tracked his every attempt to evade but closed until it contacted his hover systems, sizzling them and blowing out his activation circuits. He couldn't have expected that or how quickly he lost control. He didn't have any idea how his entire form had not crumpled on contact with ruins of the Cybertronic Wastes; chalk it up to construction, he did. He didn't know how the crash had not shattered the energon couplings or the containers themselves providing him with such convenient cover the Cons were unwilling to shoot through; other bots would have had to jump to even see over them but he merely had to stand.
Have to... count myself fortuitous in this crash... He grunted and cringed again.
Fortuitous was a questionable way to describe the crash, he realized. It had damaged his left side leg assembly and, for his sturdy constructions, that was saying something. The knee joint was in shards on the platform around him, the armor and hydraulics remained attached but only by a few partially frayed nerve conduits. He could still stand only due to the strength in his remaining leg. He'd cut the pain receptors only to not throw off his aim but it seemed like his last stand.
Pistongasket was immobile,the proud blockade runner knew what that meant for his future prospects.
He had sent out a distress signal on his ballistic path to the ground but even if it had gotten through he had no way of knowing; his coms were offline. Gasket had tried to get them functional again but whatever had happened was hardware related; he could not access his com panel without shutting down other critical systems and that was just not an option at this moment.
The battle had gone on too long, the cons's fire was getting more reserved. Gasket was tired, his frame battered and strained. He'd taken a plasma round to the chassis and his right arm, autocannon included had been damaged by incoming enemy fire though the weapon itself was still nominally functional.
His autocannon ammo was holding but he could not hold up to another major push unless they got into melee range and even then, his leg meant his effectiveness was fractional. Groaning he shunted energy into his rail-cannon as the massive device came alive with a low din. Glancing back to it he sighed, the gimble was damaged; he had to sight-aim. Venting with purpose he pushed his form up and over the container again, took an instant to aim, and released the bolt of blue destruction which impacted the ruins right of his intended target; a scream and muffled explosion followed indicating that perhaps his targeting wasn't so faulty.
This silenced the guns from the Cons again but only for a few moments but soon it was back and more intense than ever, slug rounds and plasma pinging all around him, some grazing the containers. His optics shot this way and that, the dark blue form of another con trying to sneak around his cover meeting his attention. Angling his cannon around he fired several rounds, one which scored a direct hit on the cons shoulder, making the smaller bot fall back.
Again he vented, placing his offhand on his leg, careful not to disturb the form or deal extra unintentional damage as he let his back strut prop against the container as his optics looked up into the clear Cybertronian sky. In his cortext was a single thought, begging, hoping to Primus that his coms had gotten through, that his plight was not unknown.
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