Ep 1 - "Storm Warning" - (closed)

[Pyrotech]

<< Set in Oregon, up in the Dalles >>

The I-5 corridor stretched like a ribbon of grey in the Oregon landscape. It wound through the oak forests, curved across the hills, spanned bridges. Then it drifted through high rocky areas and slumped down into the wet valleys. It paused for pockets of population; big cities, small towns, and even long stretches of farm fields...

All along it, it branched off into side-roads that did exactly the same.

Tonight in a salvage yard south of the Dalles, halogen lights haloed with rain. Shadows drifted over the shattered remnants of cars. Some were ruined by the miles and years they had traveled when they were in use; rusting hulks with blown engines and tattered upholstery, hunched over their rotting tires in old, tired lines.

Others were ruined by every conceivable accident a car could have; mangled front ends spilling wires and smashed out headlamps; grilles gnarled like mechanical prizefighters.

Scattered throughout these vehicle heaps were crushed cubes that sat in viscous puddles of old oil and smeared coolant, and around them were heaped the mechanical remnants of human day to day life. Old monitors and televisions, boxy and heavy; ruined refrigerators that still held a whiff of rotting food and decaying meat; appliances of all shapes and colors. Batteries. Juicers. Old rusting lawnmowers and poorly-designed pressure washers.

Apparently, this was where also where all those gift blenders from quickly-rethought marriages ended up after their short stint in co-habituated kitchens.

There was no human guard here in the salvage guard. No need for one; it was a remote location and most things on these mechanical things were stripped to the strut, having gone through multiple places before ending up here. Besides, it was surrounded by a sturdy chain link fence with razor wire at the top, enough of a deterrent to most...

Unless you were what had simply stepped over it.

Pyrotech now strode through the pathways of human discard. Each step the Decepticon took, lifted his feet a touch higher with obvious disgust; as if he were a cat having to forge a trail through wet grass. Glossy red plating was elegant and polished in the dim lights, and optics glowed an equal shade of red in the shadows.

The security had been simply a mere annoyance to a machine from a completely different world. One from which organic life didn’t exist, and if it had, it might have found itself in the cast-off pits of some forgotten corner.

Materials. He needed materials, scrap he could use and remold to build his small outpost. That was his mission tonight in this place. He’d been here before a while back, and remembered this place. He remembered a lot about it. Hidden. Dark. A place to dump junk when he was done with it and needed to brush his hands of a mess.

He walked carefully through, stopping here and there to turn over a bit of scrap of metal. He was searching and cataloguing as he went along. That was no good. This could be. Note the position of that and when he had the Vehicons with him; he would use them to drag it out of here and put it to use.

Pyrotech finally paused at one area - open ground except for a scattered heap of cars and rusting beams.

Well... this, this was familiar. In fact- not even a headlamp out of place. Just as he’d last seen it. A smile quirked the corner of his lips. Then he glanced around him and stepped forward to set his palm lightly on the rusting curve of one of one of the myriad of car hoods.

[Deleted]

2 weeks.
14 local days.
336 local hours.

That's how long they had kept her off the roster and out of the sky. To an ordinary Flier, it'd seem like cruel and undo torture, but for her, it was just another thing to deal with.

Sliding south from the International Border as well as through Washington State, being an air frame had its advantages in the still untamed rigidness that persisted in the Pacific Northwest. Road wound and meandered, placing time between two sites just a minor distance away.

Flight eliminated that, though Nova did miss the 'wasted time' aspect of being groundbound. But only just a little.

The dark of the night, and the dull gloom of a late evening rainstorm did much to hide her alt form from the prying eyes of so called 'night owls' and the soft roar of her engines were passed off as thunder.

For the last 20 minutes, as the local life measured it, Nova had been tracking an unknown signal moving through the area. Crossing the Washington/Oregon border, she snap turned to her left and arced back northward toward the unaware river town.

She landed silently, which was surprising given her frame type and bulk. A smug through crossed her mind. Try that in for size, Starscream. A quick scan placed the signal close by. She carefully moved closer, easily stepping over what the locals called a 'security fence'. She quelled a huff of laughter.

[Pyrotech]

Pyrotech ran his hand lightly over the curve of metal in front of him. His expression changed slightly, a shadowing of his optics as if he was deep in a thought, or was dwelling on some old memory. Rust flakes scattered off, and he lifted his hand and rubbed his fingers together. The red stained his fingertips before he chuckled.

There was a little hiss; followed by a wisp of steam. He dropped his hand back to his side. The light rain was beading up on Pyrotech’s sleek, glossy finish. The water trickled quickly down, and dripped off the edges of the doors behind his shoulders.

He looked around again before he eyed the stack of cars and scattered junk. Hmmm. All alone, and things were exactly as he left them. He paced for a moment, taking a few steps back and forth, the wet dirt pushed up under his weight. The area smelled of gasoline and mechanical decomposition.

Pyrotech seemed to make up his mind. He turned and walked over to the cars; then the architect set his palms flat on the nearest one and was just about ready to push it. One final flick of his sensors in a lazy sweep, and then he suddenly stilled. His optics shuttered and then narrowed. The cannon on his left shoulder twitched.

He immediately took his hands off the rusting wreck and turned in a circle, eyeing the junkyard about him.

Wait a moment..

His sensors indicated that he was right, he wasn’t alone.

They hadn’t hailed him. Instantly, Pyrotech tensed up, and then he frowned. Another quick sweep told him that no, this mechanism had come from the air, and that made him tense even more; damned fliers, he’d had it up to– ah, wait. No hail, no greeting. No gleeful little snark over the lines between them. No lasers. Which was good. Right now, he hated lasers, right down to his very spark.

Hmm, maybe- ahhh, that was it. It was likely one of the Vehicons Starscream had promised him. Idiotic drones, half the time they failed to notify you of their arrival.

Rather unfortunate timing, but... he did have things to haul back to the base. They knew he was here, so he didn’t bother moving. Why waste the fuel. Instead, he set himself steady in the dirt, waiting for them to find their way to him.

"Well, hurry up then," he called out after a moment. His dry, cultured voice contrasted against this place of broken cars and rusting stacks of garbage. "I haven't got all night to wait."

[Deleted]

Slag.

Nova paused, awaiting the first rounds. In the intervening seconds, she went over what she heard. And relaxed a bit. It was clear the 'Con was issuing a command, not a challenge, so by extrapolation, he was expecting one of the Drones. She also noted the light hint of irritation in the voice. A slight smirk crossed her face, as her right arm shifted to ready mode, capacitors already fully charged. Might as well oblige the mech.

She slowly came forward, the soft wash of rain sliding off her frame. Her grey coloring gave her a good bit of camouflage, her darkened sea-green optics the only thing giving her away. "And why, pray tell, do you not?"

Her right arm was bent at the elbow, and aimed at him, more precisely the cannon set on his shoulder. She seemed to give off an air of confidence, but not the cocky feeling that usually seems to flow from 'traditional' Autobot Aerials. If there was one thing more dangerous then a cocky Autobot, it was one who was cooley confident.

[Pyrotech]

Pyrotech hadn't expected a voice. Well, no, honestly he had. He had expected a 'yes sir,' if anything, not the warm curl of a femme's voice drifting through the wreckage. He cast an odd glance behind him to the junk piles, and then caught himself.

As the flier slipped from the gloom and the rain and materialized, Pyrotech's surprise manifested in the quiet raise of a brow-plate. He tipped his head, he looked at her- his gaze sweeping over the dark angles of wing, of flank. A femme. A femme flier, tall and confident, her weapon aimed at him. Well, that was rather unpleasant - but likely a bit of confusion on her part, since they were both Decepticons, no doubt. His optics flicked over her; hunting for a rank insignia.

Instead, he found that bright red sigil.

She’s an- Autobot, Pyrotech realized, and his doors flicked back ever so slightly, the motion augmenting his confused body language. Well, she was certainly not what I expected. My, how things have changed since I was last here, haven't they?

Oh, what an interesting place for a chance meeting.

Ah, no. A rather fitting one, actually.

The architect shifted his weight and eyed her weapon locked on to his own- and then he instead focused on her green gaze. He did not lunge or charge or swing or even spit out some anti-Autobot remark. In fact, he was terribly careful to make no threat, no motion that might be considered aggressive. She had the gun, he didn’t doubt she could and would fire; there was truly no sense in being shot at close range, thank you very much.

A respectful dip of his chin. Carefully, the red mech turned the cannon away from her, and aimed it off into the rain and the scrapped cars. Then he slowly lifted his hands and spread his fingers to show her that there was no weapon held in them.

"Because I'm rather tired of standing here in this miserable weather," Pyrotech offered. He twitched a door, but only to shake some of the rain off as if he was a fastidious cat.

"Forgive me. I thought you were someone else." An oddly apologetic smile curled the corner of his mouth. "I see I was utterly mistaken."

[Deleted]

Nova lowered her cannon in a sign of solidarity, though keeping it raised enough to be able to respond swiftly should the need arise. "That much is clear." She glanced at the mass of metal behind him. "Never though you Cons would take an interest in such primitive technology. Please correct me if I'm wrong."

Mentally, she checked off having secured the most obvious threat to her spark, while drawing up another list of possibles. Plenty of environmental, but that was a given just about anywhere.

"But let's be truthful. You really didn't answer my question."

[Pyrotech]

Her weapon lowered slightly - ah, there, that was much more pleasant.

The femme was wary and a bit on her toes, but... still confident in her abilities. Well, she was a flier, he'd never met one that didn't have a bit of an ego against the lowly grounders. They considered themselves better. Wings and all that. That didn't bother him. You just learned to deal with it in some way if you were a Decepticon.

"I suppose I didn't," the red mech admitted with a wry grin, and then brought a hand slowly up to rub at his chin. "No no, not interested in the technology, of course not. There's nothing here on Earth that even comes close to anything that Cybertron has to offer."

He shook his head and lowered his hand back down.

"Why I'm here? I'm simply an architect. An excellent one, mind you," he chuckled softly, "but at the moment, I'm afraid there's not much call for the sort of things I build. The might of the Decepticon army isn't interested in sturdy bridges or rather elegant high-rises, so... I've been rather reduced to using my talents as a scrounger. I'm always keeping an optic out for useful materials."

"You're new to the States, aren't you?" he asked her thoughtfully after a moment. "I don't recall meeting any other Autobot fliers recently. Well, not femmes. I would have remembered a femme. Then again, I've been out of the country for a while."

[Deleted]

"After a fashion." Nova said as she waved her free hand casually. In truth, she had been to Earth once before, ages ago...right around 7 million years ago, give or take a few millennia. She smiled softly. "Hard being out of the comms loop then, huh? Obviously, Starscream will want to know that his hold on the skies just got a bit weaker. A Storm has rolled in, and it's a dangerous one."

She chuckled silently. Let him process that one.

[Pyrotech]

The red Decepticon simply nodded, even as a thin smile drifted across his lips.

"A bit," he agreed, with an equally causual nod. "The lack of communication among all Cybertronians down here on Earth has been something we all could fault, but..."

He chuckled, and his doors flicked again. The mech leaned back against the cold curve of the hood behind him and made sure he didn't move his shoulder cannon anywhere in her direction. She might be standing there, but he knew for a fact, fliers on the ground tended to shoot randomly. They were far less confident with their feet on the earth.

On the ground, you could reach them. Most of them couldn't fight once their wings were clipped. Yes, yes, they had all the advantage of flight, but on the ground, they could die as easily as any other mech. Air superiority only applied when you were in it.

"Starscream?" he echoed. Well, that was interesting, but not surprising. The Air Commander did seem to make a lot of friends and influence a lot of mechs... well, perhaps not that first thought. To have a random Autobot femme down on this backwater planet tossing a verbal poke at Starscream to what she figured was a grunt groundpounder? She obviously wanted it to get back to Starscream. He could oblige her of course. It was the polite thing to do. Not to mention it might earn him another office chair. Maybe even a desk. He could use a new desk.

"Well, I'm sure you don't mean this dreary weather being dangerous," he said. His soft, cultured accent drifted between them. "So, I must assume it's you. Of course, now I'm curious. Old rivalries? Or did you both go to the Academy together at one point?"