Ep 1 "Base Projects" (Closed)

[Pyrotech]

Northwest of Tacoma, there was the heavy growl of a C-17's engines cutting through the air. In the evening, the blinking lights of the massive airplane flickered and shifted as it turned ponderously over the highway.

Beneath it, a ribbon of cars and vehicles drove along the road through the narrowed construction zones. The workers wore their orange jackets in the evening, and the mobile floodlights were over the zone.

One by one, they waved the cars through the partially closed off lane. Among them, the fire-red Peugeot waited. His wipers flicked once, twice, and that gesture betrayed his impatience. Pyrotech understood the need for stealth. He understood the need for the humans not to point a finger at them and immediately identify them as aliens from another world. However, there were times he simply wanted to shake off all restraint, transform and flick their line of marker cones off the line with his foot.

Really, there were ways to do these things correctly. They didn’t have to hold up every vehicle for five blasted miles if the humans had any sense, not in a situation like this. It was absurdly simple, bring in a temporary bridge and then divert traffic flow towards...

The Decepticon adjusted his mirror with a soft grumble that rolled up from the depths of his frame. No, it would be simple if they mostly didn’t have the same brain capacity as retro-rats. Not all of them, no, he could admit that. The ones that watched their inane television game shows and ah- what was that place? The Jersey Shore? Perhaps most of the idiotic ones hailed from there.

Finally, the Peugeot was waved through, and he aligned both mirrors and haughtily drove past the workers. Someone made a comment about his vehicle mode as he slipped by them, silent and sleek - ah, good, that was fine. He approved of that. Even he could admit it was a rather elegant mode. Not to mention it had a purpose - often in tight situations vehicles on the road got out of his way. No one tended to question a vehicle like his around certain areas...

Materials were first and foremost on the architect’s mind as he turned back into traffic. He’d been scouting Interstate Five for the last few weeks; hauling things back to his base, checking out every wrecking yard on the map. He’d found a few things he could use, had sent the Vehicons he’d gotten from Starscream out to pick up what he’d scrounged, but what he wanted more than anything was- thicker shielding. The sort he didn’t have to pound into layers on his own.

The Lewis-McChord Base might prove... interesting.

[Deleted]

Within the air craft hangars, somewhere around warehouse 3 on the base, all of the fighter jets stood perfect and pretty in a neat little row. The new shipment had come in just that afternoon, inventoried and arranged wing-tip to wing-tip for presentation to the Officer in Command; a presentation that had taken place not 20 minutes earlier when, lo and behold, the OC and the dear little Private discovered a 30 million dollar miscalculation in the shipment. One extra jet, sitting just like the others at the very end, as if it belonged with the rest of them.

Fast foreword those precious 20 minutes, and one could still hear the squabbling, hacking sound that was the human language rising to what must have been angry… no, enraged notes. Because, really, someone's head needed to be on the chopping block when an extra jet that shouldn't have been on the list to begin with suddenly disappeared. Given the number of jets now matched the inventory list, there was little concern. Human eyes were not fine mechanical pieces, after all.

But pity didn't stop Stormbreaker from cloaking her presence and sprinting the distance across the runway between hangar and the tree-line that led into the mountains. Alt-mode obtained, she needed nothing more from the area with the exception of the location the Decepticon flag-ship. A feat, considering the flight in had left her own communications fried. Unwilling to send out a mass communication over open lines, she settled in the cover of the wilderness to plan out her next move.

According to her internal chronometer, that had been exactly 20 planetary hours ago. Enough time to surf the native's network and download the languages, update a holo-avatar, and attempt to familiarize herself with what colony controlled what airspace and some of the military politics. She was just reviewing the weather tendencies (powerful, for sure, but it wasn't acid rain, either), when a certain movement caught her attention. Closing in at a relatively quick speed for a grounder, along the highway that carved its way into the tree line, was a red vehicular form - not dead like the other Earthen machines. Lively. What wasn't readily apparent was comrade or enemy. She waited, kept her cover to below the tree line and back away from the highway's visibility, and cycled up the blaster shifting from under her right arm's armor.

Plan made.

::Unknown: You have been target-locked. Decrease speed and identify yourself immediately.::

Killing an enemy wasn't exactly top priority, but information was. And, friend or foe, she needed them to slow down because either way, they'd likely have more information than what she had presently. She'd never been a believer in luck, but that this mech crossed her path when she did was certainly convenient.

<<Sorry this is so late! >< But hope this is okay! Just kind of took some guesses with their sigs. And I def just pulled stuff out of thin air for the military base. PM me if you need me to edit anything. >>

[Pyrotech]

Lights flickered past the mech as the humans commuted on the wide curves of the highway. Traffic was thinning as he continued into the hills; lights gave way to long twists of road with tall pines framing either side. Mist settled across his headlights, hazing their bright blue beams. It wasn’t that much farther to his destination.

Pyrotech’s tires hummed on the stretch of freshly paved roadway. Inside of the car was silence - he was alone with his thoughts. Blessed silence for a bit; the architect preferred it like this. At least the conversations he’d been having with himself lately had been good ones. The outpost was coming along better than he’d expected. They’d finished digging out and clearing the rubble to open up several spaces. He had a room of his own. With a door on it that locked.

He had managed to complete and carve out a bench for his work space though.

Then Pyrotech had spent two hours simply sitting in his well-earned desk chair musing over what else needed to be done. The perimeter stakes to let him know if someone got close that wasn’t invited. The second exit needed to be dug out - there was no way he wanted to spend time in a place with only one escape route for long. Actually, he might carve out a third, just for him.

Privacy was a welcome change. Not that the courier didn’t give him all the privacy he wanted. She stayed outside of the cavern and only set foot inside when she absolutely had to There was no way she’d go into any space he deemed his uninvited; she was incredibly careful about that.

While she had learned her lessons well, Pyrotech had no idea what the higher ups were going to foist on him once again for crew. Most of what they’d sent him last time were worthless cowards, barely able to function in Decepticon society, let alone a fighting force. Because of that, they were - well, they were dead. His wipers flicked across his windshield as his engine offered up a dismissive huff. Foolish to make towers from improperly cast girders, and absolutely worthless to attempt to make decent soldiers out of castoff dregs. Melting them down and starting over was often the only solution. To both.

The voice that abruptly cut into his thoughts took the red mech completely by surprise.

Target locked?

Out on this stretch of road? In this desolate area? What in the name of Primus would - wait, was that a femme’s..? Brake lights flashed crimson behind him as he immediately slowed, drifting to a stop in the center of the road.

He flicked his scanners out - and yes, it told him - Cybertronian. A barely audible growl snaked out from under the gleaming curve of his hood. Right now, this femme had the upper hand, and he had to assume her finger was no doubt on a trigger...

::Speed decreased,:: he replied calmly as he idled, his engine running near-silent. The red mech's accent was obvious; it layered each word with a soft, aristocratic burr. ::I am Pyrotech. I’m simply an architect, out on a building supply run tonight, nothing more... and yourself?::


<< Hey, no worries! I just have finished up with the joy that is the retail season myself, so now I can post and we can get this show on the road, hahaha. XD And you're fine, post is awesome. <3 >>

[Deleted]

The ready, hungry whine of her charged blaster dropped to contemplative purr, the responding voice in her head one that gave her pause. It did not lower the barrel of her weapon from where it was trained on its target - there was too much training for that - but it did suck her back into a time when buildings stretched up into the atmosphere and bridges and highways spanned miles, suspended hundred of meters in the air. To a time when the very artistic optics of talented architects were as valued as the newest frame models, and sought after within the upper class. To a time, she recalled, when the grand works one commissioned demonstrated one's power and prestige as much as the very frame one inhabited.

She'd never understood the ego that drove such actions, as many had done it only for themselves. For popularity. But she could understand popularity as a tool; a skillet. Architects, she had reasoned, possessed the ability to make the majesty a mechanoid felt they had a right to into something tangible. And in a high society, be the motive for personal gain or vanity, she saw architects everywhere.

But this one in particular…

::Provide indent codes.:: Came her patient reply, voice nearly as soft as his own with the impression of a high culture. As familiar as he was, optics alone could never be trusted. She was trained to look, could recognize a mech's frame and features, but it all meant nothing without a spark signature to pair with the identity. Anyone could change frame and feature… A quick scan of the area showed they were alone, no danger of being seen.

Like a protocat she emerged from the tree line, moving with a predatory grace that came from deep in her protomass. She was calm, no nervous plate in her frame, but her optics were locked on him and the molten tip of her blaster told of the way she was prepared to follow-through without an optic's reset.

She didn't pause until she was at the highway's edge, another scan to reaffirm they were alone… and then lowered her blaster. From here, she could get a read on his spark signature, just as he would be able to identify hers. And even after millions of years, she could recall the architect that had been commissioned to build her cohort's status.

"Pyrotech." She greeted casually, no apology in her voice… but at least the blaster was lowered. "Odd, to see you after all this time, here of all places."

<< OH man, I'm loving these two already. XD >>

[Pyrotech]

There was a slight shift of the vehicle's mode on the wet roadway. Sodden leaves plastered along the asphalt. As he waited for the femme to respond, he did something no car would ever do. He rocked his weight up and to one side slightly. Not a move that spoke of any sort of sudden launch of attack, but one that simply relayed his obvious disgust at the fact there was something organic and rotting touching his frame. He set his tires back down out of the mess.

When faced with someone who had the upper hand and pointing weaponry in your direction, there were limited possibilities. The mech knew from long experience that announcing himself as an architect was much more likely to be dismissed by the Autobot clods that puffed their bravado out in backwater little worlds. It had served Pyrotech well many times to come across as rather harmless; I'm just passing through, not interested in a fight.

Although, part of him was spoiling for one. Pyrotech had been holding a nasty grudge since Australia. Especially for one certain mech. If he ever crossed paths with him again... Buried under his plating, his fingers clenched slightly, his systems twitched -

Enough of those thoughts- he couldn’t afford to let them get the best of him right now, not when... wait. This voice. It was familiar. The soft accent was similar to his own, and now it brought memories of tall towers and elegant rooms overlooking bright landscapes of colored light from cities far below. Before Cybertron had gone mostly dark then? Yes.

Immediately, he answered her query with his identity code. Then, ever so carefully, he lightly flicked a questing brush of his field against hers. It was a polite gesture, the merest touch - as if she’d offered up a hand to him, and he had bowed over it in greeting.

She stepped from the woods and his recognition solidified. Business, back before there had been factions and foes based on a sigil. The company she’d worked for had been one with excellent taste and understood that the buildings they operated reflected on them as much as the products they produced.

“Stormbreaker?” he murmured as she stepped from the tree line and lowered her blaster. “It has been a long time, hasn’t it?”

There was a chuckle from underneath the gleaming red hood, and then the car shifted itself. His transformation was smooth and silent; the mech easily rose to his feet. In this mode, he was much the same in appearance as he’d been when they’d last met. Even his color was the same; deeply polished crimson. He was heedful to turn the cannon on his shoulder away from her and off into the darkness.
.
“Odd, yes, but certainly not unwelcome,” he offered with a smile. “Forgive me, I had no idea you were on Earth - but then again, I’ve been a bit out of touch lately.”

“How are you?” Pyrotech asked her, as if they were crossing paths at a corporate party instead of standing on a filthy road on a backwater planet.

[Deleted]

His armour reflected red and gleaming, even in the darkness of night - she remembered well it having that ability. As a youngling it was one of the reasons Pyrotech ranked higher on her list than others. It was so much like her cohort-mate, who preferred the deep, rich hues of the rust sea in reds and warm greys. She was not a sentimental femme, but her spark did not beat cold, either. Reds were one of those few sights she could find comfort in, if only because they reminded her so of one of the few mechs (now long lost) she cared most about.

“Indeed, it has.” She said, the white hot tip of her blaster cooling to a deep red, and finally its natural grey before receding back into her armor. Stormbreaker herself had changed. Her armor, once ornamental shades of blues was now streaked with grays and blacks until only the deepest of her original blue plating remained, blending her well into the darkness. Weapons had (obviously) been configured into her frame, and her wings and stance were such that suggested the battle-hardened confidence that came with combat. Strength was in those slender limbs. She always spoke softly, and very little (it was her young, red frame-brother who enjoyed socializing), but her optics that were once expressive now shined cool and calculating.

The little youngling, the new-spark of her cohort, the blue half of her Red frame-mate, had been tempered into something else. She, like the other youths of her generation, had grown up.

“Understandable. ” She continued, returning his smile with a small, polite one of her own - though it did not reach her optics. “I have only been planet-side for less than a rotation. You are the first I have seen.” It was implied in the way she spoke - not only the first she had seen of the Decepticons, but of their race at all. “Though I would be better, had my communications not been compromised… Good that you drove by when you did… ” And she turned the eerie, deep orange glow of her optics back on him. “If you have contact with the flag ship I’ll need you to hail them.” The ends of her mouth turned up in a ghost of smirk, optics shining just a bit brighter in that millennia-buried humor. “Loathe as I am to separate an architect from his supply hunt.”

[Pyrotech]

Pyrotech casually settled his hands on his hips. His doors lightly shifted behind his shoulders and smoothed back. He watched that glow at the end of her weapon subsiding- ah, she had recognized him as well, but... she was certainly not the same femme that he had known back then. In fact, if they had passed casually within the confines of a base, he might not have paid much more than a passing glance to her. Not because she was unattractive, far from that. In fact, she was quite the sort he would choose to talk to on a balcony high in the dark, their glasses of high-grade betwen them.

It was how Stormbreaker moved, striding straightforwardly towards him. No cocky, rude swing of her hip that lured your optic in and if you looked, you'd get a snarling rebuke not to look. He didn't like that in a femme at all.

In fact, when those sorts did it, all Pyrotech did was chuckle and dismiss them for the idiots they were. Those particular femmes hadn't joined the Decepticons because of politics, or believed in Lord Megatron's vision of how to restore Cybertron.

No they'd joined because of their egos, their baseless desire to prove themselves better than a mech. They had a chip on their shoulders; they spat and argued and when that didn't get them what they wanted, they pouted and whined. It was a sorry attempt to flatter others into thinking they were fighters, warriors. Actually, they deluded themselves into thinking that they were of any use to the cause. They were a distraction at best and you lost good mechs at the worst.

Stormbreaker did not move like that. No sassy little twich of wing to direct his attention to her feminine wiles. She was a warrior with places to be and no time for anyone passing by her that was not part of her assignment. Her colors had changed for ones more suited to a fighter, and so had her frame, weapons built in, not a silly little pistol made for plinking away at crystal targets. Pyrotech approved, the same way he approved of reinforcing buildings to stand up to the rigors of war.

Ah, there, her sense of humor. He remembered, she'd always been quiet, but now it was different. Experience and time had settled along her, muting her as much as her paint.

Pyrotech chuckled softly. "Please, please, seperate me from it. Unfortunately I would have had to drag it all back by myself to the bunker anyway," he told her. "It's fine." Then he inclined his head and brought one hand up to rub against his chin.

"I have the ability to contact the Nemesis, yes. Wait, your communications are compromised?" he said, lifting a brow-ridge in honest surprise at what Stormbreaker was explaining.

"Then you have just arrived on Earth? I had figured they had assigned you here and you were on a patrol over this dreary little state scanning for Autobot activity. This isn't the case? How did you end up here... and are you on your own?"

[Deleted]

The audio finials atop her head twitched back with the slightest of movements - a tense and rigid gesture akin to narrowing of optics, though she never did any such thing. It was almost instinctive, the way she studied and reanalyzed him as soon as he sprung his questions. That was the training that kicked in - she was the one who asked questions and relayed her information… new situation, she had to remind herself. New circumstances and a familiar spark signature - not a complete stranger.

“Yes.” She replied, the swivel of an audio towards their surroundings taking the hawk-like attention away from Pyrotech, tensions easing away from him and back down the road. She’d been on her own for… quite some time. Though as that was how she often worked, how she preferred to be, she had hardly noticed with the exception of a lack of communication. “This is a backwater planet - there are many sectors that still remain uncertain as to its whereabouts… I was sent originally to find it, though I lost communication… some time ago. I only have access to mass-wave. I would have flown myself, but this planet… surprisingly has militarized air-zone. So you can understand my reluctance to broadcast over open comms in an unfamiliar territory…”

And in a softer voice, more as an afterthought she adds, “I was not designed for extended space flight…” Her finials twitched back to the direction of the military base, pausing briefly to study the area in the distance before she refocused her optics on him. “I would suggest we continue conversation in a secure location, however… The native military base is not far.”

<< Sorry for the wait on this! Also took some liberties with her sitch, but I can edit if needed!>>

[Pyrotech]

"I don't think there's many here designed for extended spaceflight," the mech offered, lifting a hand and spreading his fingers as if to reassure her that the issue was a minor one. He simply watched the finials on her head move, flicking- she was constantly observing her surroundings. Not as if she was going to turn and bolt the moment something was out of the ordinary; oh, he was used to that, and it was downright annoying to him. He couldn't stand that sort of jittery, over-reactive nonsense. Utter waste of fuel, right there.

Stormbreaker was none of those things. She was wating for someone to breach a perimeter she'd set for herself, and... it had been a long, long time. No longer a naive little pretty fluff on someone's arm, escorted here and told not to worry about it, the evening was covered. No, this was someone who'd changed their focus, their dedication to that of a fighter. Even more interesting.

"It does," he agreed with her. "That's one of the reasons I never understood the need to be in the air, to be honest. Nothing against you or anyone else, of course. It's just here, this planet, the ground seems to be less... ah, noticeable."

A pause. "And it is utterly sensible not to broadcast," he murmured. His doors lifted slightly as he eyed her. "There are Autobots about, and you never know where one of them might show up on your tail."

A faint smile. This was true, but, really - it was nothing he couldn't deal with. Nothing he didn't enjoy taking care of. These new ones, the ones that knew nothing of the planet, they were so easily disarmed with a bit of polite conversation, with a sidelong smile and an apologetic air. Silly little things, not a single firing neuron among them.

He glanced around them at the dark road, at the trees bending on either side with the wind. They'd been lucky so far, this area tended to not have large amounts of traffic but it was all it was, luck. The last thing they needed was to be standing and quietly discussing the situation and have some little human bit of refuse pull up with a cell-phone. He'd been careful all these years, no sense in causing a stir over this.

"No, it's not far," he nodded. "Let us move. Are you able to keep a low profile in flight, or shall we just walk? Really, it is up to you, I have no problems catching up with you if you wish to fly; it will just take me a few minutes. I understand if you're more comfortable up there."

His voice was low and maybe even a bit sympathetic; as if he simply could relate to the fact that fliers often felt out of place on the ground, as much as he was uncomfortable in the air. "As long as we keep off of the road there should be no issues with anyone driving past. We aren't in an area we need to worry about a random human walking by in the woods."

<<ooc: No, no, no worries. I was running a bit behind myself right now. It all worked out! >>

[Deleted]

The temperature had dropped a few degrees since they spoke, and with the surface sensors of her armor she could feel the humidity change in the air. It was dense, thick, and as she ran a radar scan of the area it revealed to her the storm cell that had, just a few hours ago, been some distance away. The speed picked up - it would arrive sooner than expected… the storm cell’s on this planet were not to be trifled with, but the idea of stretching her wings called her optics upwards despite herself. Enough so that he might have been able to catch the longing in her expression.

“No.” She said finally, her tone passive despite the way her wings absently twitched, itching to fly. “I will walk with you.” Much as she could disappear off the radar, that was only for a short time and ,it was more uncomfortable for a complete take-off in a still, silent night. Too many undesirable factors made her keep her pedes on the ground and receive a ground bridge to a secure location. Besides, it would be rude to leave an old acquaintance in the woods when a downpour was not far away. Setting her optics on Pyrotech, she offered a small, professional smile before adjusting her wings to accommodate the trees. “I appreciate your assistance.”

Soon they were under cover, making Stormbreaker’s plates relax infinitely more than they had been. Simply knowing she was on her way to base, a check-point, was more comfort than she had hours prior.. but there was still an uncomfortable lack of information. “How long have you been on this planet? Can you tell me the details of the situation here?”

[Pyrotech]

"Ah, you are most welcome," Pyrotech murmured. He started to offer his arm out, as if to escort her. Then he seemed to remember he was no longer in those places with high towers and sleek transparasteel reflecting every light spread out beneath them. He caught himself and simply tipped his head and shrugged. A rueful expression passed over him.

He lowered his his hand back to his side and shook his head.

"I seem to have remembered my manners, but forgotten where we are," he told her with a wry smile. "Forgive me. Memories. Better ones. Most of the ones I've had here I haven't cared for lately."

"How long? Oh, far too long," the red mech admitted. He absentmindedly rubbed at his chin as they walked along, leaving the roadway behind them. The mech led them to the edge of the tree line away from traffic but didn't go far into it, trusting that the distance from the roadway and the dark would keep them safe. He was also politely mindful of Stormbreaker's wings through the pines; he'd seen that longing expression on her face. Interesting that she'd stayed on the ground with him.

Not that he minded. He was polite though, and was careful not to let his optics linger at all on her frame. Pyrotech was many things, but not uncouth at moments.

"A few Earth years now. Three? It feels longer than that."

A quick curl of his upper lip in distaste. "So much longer. As for me, I was brought here to work on some outpost construction, and then..."

He sighed, his doors flattening back slightly as he paced with her. His stride was smooth and quiet; the moisture in the air beaded easily off his plating. Their footfalls were cushioned by the damp earth and the grass beneath them. Pyrotech didn't like that, he tended to keep to the bare ground he could find.

"I was stationed in Alaska for a while, and Australia. If someone asks you to go there for any reason, I would give advice - refuse that."

"As far as details go, the higher ups will no doubt have far more to give you when they debrief you back on board. I believe that the command will be delighted to see another flier.

"Lord Megatron is here and on our flagship with his high officers, well obscured. There are Autobots here, in a attempt to stop us from gaining the planet's resources. I find that they spend most of their time slinking around, even though their Prime is as well. The only unfortunate moment is that the Autobots have formed a bit of an alliance with the natives here, so keeping a low profile seems to serve us well for now."

"Earth - this planet - has a fairly substantial amount of resources," he offered, his dry accent smoothing his speech. "Including Energon Crystals. It has been one of the goals; mine as much as we can and stockpile for the objective...

"Our return to Cybertron to rebuild."

[Deleted]

High Officers. In the whole of the Decepticon Army, that could be any number. However, next to Lord Megatron’s very side on his own flagship, usually that could only mean a certain few… She wondered if the same was true for the Autobots, and which of the Autobot High Command had found there way planet side— Red Alert, Jazz, Prowl? And the amount of troops and resources there must have been, enough to warrant construction on an Outpost… she wasn’t sure what she had been expecting when she landed here, but apparently she had set the bar quite low. Not surprising, all things considered — wherever the Big Two were, the new Frontlines would be established… but after everything went dark, after everyone scattered, well. Shearwind always did say she was a pessimist.

Even so, the amount of random possibilities floating in her processor without a single detail to anchor any one of them, it made her plates flex and clamp like a predator digging its claws into the ground. It kept her stride long and smooth, the promise of a debrief, information, and new assignment. There were enough factors on this planet, enough new variables, that she almost found herself… intrigued. To the point of wondering which Aerialbots had landed here as well, if any. If Optimus Prime and Megatron were inhabiting the same atmosphere, it seemed any combination was possible. Three years… three short planetary rotations and suddenly this unassuming Earth had become a battlefield without even realizing it had made First Contact at all. Shearwind would have laughed. He’d have told the story for centuries. Outwardly, a ghost of a smirk crept onto her alloy before it disappeared.

“How interesting.” She said, and if there were anything in her usual monotone, it seemed that she was being genuine. “How are the Autobot troop numbers compared to our own?” Of course, she’d learn all of this within a cycle or two — but she was driven to scrape together information, out of habit, to her base coding. It was uncomfortable, otherwise, to feel.. adrift.

Just to the left of them, the orange of Stormbreaker’s optics (visible especially in the darkness), shifted to deeper within the tree cover to a pack of four-legged creatures. Without breaking her stride she observed, as they observed herself and Pyrotech. Though unlike herself, they appeared uninterested after a moment, and moved on. “Earth seems quite… diverse.”

[Pyrotech]

Pyrotech followed her gaze to where those shadows drifted under the trees. No, not human, and that was all he personally cared about.

"Diverse," he mused. "Yes, you could call it that."

His disdain for the planet layered across every syllable. To be quite honest, Pyrotech hated this world. He had nothing but disgust for it, from the stink of the ocean to the highest peak. He could not stand the mud and the rain and the snow, he loathed the dearth of elegant buildings and towers and pavement. This was a crude, ugly little planet.

Human cities were... tolerable. Not the ones that consisted of squat buildings and gravel roads. No, the only places on Earth Pyrotech could stand traveling through for any length of time were the ones with high towers and pavement. Where light gleamed off of spires reaching for the sky and where the air held familiar, mechanically created tones.

Artificial light burning away the dark, illuminating highways with ribbons of constant white and red.

That was the only place that had even the smallest bit of worth to him. The rest of the planet could damn well be hit by another asteroid. Preferably soon.

As long as he'd left it behind him, of course.

Glints of eyes flashed when he turned, shining blue-green and yellow. Pyrotech had often seen their kin come close to his bumper while up in Alaska. If they bolted in front of him at night on what passed for a downright miserable, poorly maintained road, then he saw no reason to stop. If wanted to keep alive so badly, they could scramble out of his way. The only thing he would purposefully avoid were large ungulates since those could cause structural damage at a good clip.

He was as uninterested in the pack as they were in the mechs, and continued walking onward.

"We have the upper hand," Pyrotech replied to Stormbreaker's query. "The Nemesis - ah, the command ship houses a large amount of Vehicons, both grounders and air support. The grounders tend to be under direct command of who they're needed to support but the air...."

A lift of his crimson shoulder in a light shrug. "Commander Starscream is here as well," he informed her. "He controlled the ship and the systems before Megatron was able to return. Our troops are able to find most of the Energon deposits and our numbers allow us the ability to strip them clean quickly."