Ep 1 - The City of Roses (Closed)

[Feldspar]

Long hours on the road had turned into an even longer evening. The morning hadn't began with a desperately needed cup of coffee. It had dragged itself into an afternoon that was thick with grey cloud and rainy up and down the I-5 corridor. There had been detours and stops at abandoned junk heaps along the way; the places where humans tossed old mattresses and burned out computers furtively out of truck windows at five AM in the morning and hoped they didn't get caught.

Several long hours were spent searching through the sections of railroad tracks winding right off the highway. They hunted through miles of parked cargo trains that seemed to be huddled together against the weather; most of the faded cargo carriers were tagged with bright splashes of spray paint and eloquent four letter words.

Now it was close to midnight. The weather had gotten worse until it was absolutely miserable. Hard, driving rain interspersed with windy gusts; those who were still out on the roads were being forced to alternate between taps of the brake and surges of gas to keep them straight between the lines without hydroplaning.

Even the sturdy, solid curves of a fire vehicle seemed to be having difficulty remaining straight on the road as the cage-like structure of the Interstate Bridge loomed. Once it had made the bridge, the wind slammed into it and pushed it from side to side. The vehicle's near-silent engine gave a deep, throaty mechanical grunt, and it seemed to settle down over the tires. Bright headlights narrowed; windshield wipers flicked the beading rain disdainfully away from the front curve of glass.

Keeping pace just off of the vehicle's left flank, a low-slung dark Trans AM toiled and struggled against the road conditions. The car’s threadbare tires were having a hard time keeping the nose-heavy vehicle from skidding sideways. When a hard rush of wind shoved it nearly into the side of the red car, the pop up headlights raised immediately higher. It quickly braked and fish-tailed, and then settled back into place.

“Watch yourself.”

Instant rebuke. Immediately, the black car’s nose dipped.

“Yes sir.”

Silence settled back over the comm lines until the cars crossed the last metal expansion joint and were back on solid ground.

“Fifteen minutes to the meet-point from here, correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. I’m hoping that for once they sent me someone who is actually worth something.”

---

The parking lot at OMSI was empty, except for a few scattered cars here and there. The brick structure and the glowing glass pyramid were softly lit; the pouring rain caused it to be enveloped in a heavy haze. A banner across the front snapped and rippled in the wind; proclaiming the upcoming exhibit - Dinosaurs Downtown.

Deep puddles were in the low points in the lot; nothing that would phase a true Oregonian, but the tourists often shrieked as they landed ankle deep in completely impractical shoes. Wet leaves had been blown into slimy piles against the curbs. A constant gurgle of water slipped into the slotted drains around the property.

Poor Ghost Wind had been unceremoniously ushered into a groundbridge about an hour ago and given his orders from a rather bored sounding Vehicon. They were that he was to meet an officer named Pyrotech down in Portland, Oregon. They’d set him down a ways outside of the city, but given him plenty of time to get through what little traffic there was on the roads tonight.

To be specific, he was to meet him in the OMSI parking lot, for a mission that required Ghost Wind’s particular set of skills.

... probably something that involved sewers.

[Deleted]

As far as Ghost was concerned, the planetary weather systems were about as predictable as a senior officer the morning after a bad binge night.

The spitting water didn't bother him much; at least it was just that, water. Yes, he was soaked to the ever-loving struts, but nothing was getting pitted or melting. High point, as far as he was concerned.

He could have done without the cold, and visibility was flaky as slag, but it was an urban area; visibility was short as it was anyways. It worked to his benefit as he figured out the street systems for this Portland place. Making good time had to go hand in hand with keeping a low profile.

The Tomahawk rumbled through the driving rain, driver appropriate attired with protective gear, speed never wavering beyond two or three miles past the local speed limit. He didn't need to be stopped and asked for weird paperwork he'd then have to bother falsifying somehow, not when he was already having a familiar argument with his mind as it ran in circles like a mildly hysterical petrorabbit.

They want my particular skills. Probably something to do with tunnels.

It's never something to do with tunnels.

Or shooting things. I can shoot things.

It's never that easy when they ask for you alone!

Ghost sighed inwardly. The problem with the argument was, his Inner Paranoid was right: it was never that easy, that straightforward. It would have helped if he knew half a bit about the officer he was meeting with, but since his arrival on the 'Nemesis' he hadn't even seen an officer by that name. Then again, he'd spend most of that time pulling duty on the great warship's conduits, doing blessedly risk-free maintenance. Not a lot of officers of any rank to be seen down there. Idly he wished he'd had half a chance to ask someone for the latest gossip on this Pyrotech character; oh, well.

Really, at that point he was just hoping it wasn't something that'd get him killed. Or disciplined. Discipline in the 'Nemesis' was a can of sludge he really didn't want opened on his head. If it came down to disciplined, he'd rather take killed, honestly.

Alright, seriously, enough spazzing out. He brought his runaway thoughts to a sharp halt. It won't be about finding trouble, it'll be about trouble finding you if you don't focus.

He circled the area around the parking lot once without entering it; no need to be an idiot on top of it all. He made the acquaintance of a few potholes that were working very hard on redefining themselves as sinkholes and learned that he was better off avoiding any sort of street-level water accumulation, no matter how shallow it looked. Not wanting to lose a tire, he eased into the parking lot and rolled slowly between the puddles and cracks on the pavement, coming to a stop in the dim spot between two lights.

And so it came time to hurry up and wait.

[Pyrotech]

The wind picked up. Rain and wind drove against the mech as he waited. A gust rocked one of the random cars in the lot so hard that the alarm went off. It wailed and chirped a protest about being left alone. After a good four minutes of this some human appeared in a window and spent a while trying to turn it off by pressing the key fob rapidly and waving it around in the air. They were obviously reluctant to go outside and brave the rain, but finally they had no choice- the front door slid open and they huddled in the alcove until the car was silenced and then hurriedly darted back into the warmth of the building.

It wasn't long after that that two sets of lights turned into the parking lot. Two cars passed under the soft illumination of the overhead lights; one appeared to be a fire-fighting vehicle, all curves and sleek edges, the finish a bright crimson red. The second was some sort of sports car, but the angles and edges didn't quite match the newer styles seen all over the roads. It hit the first parking lot speed bump and bottomed out with a nasty scrape of undercarriage.

A second after that, there was a flick of sensor across where Ghost waited. It was just a quick brush, a distant, idle verification that he was a Decepticon than anything else, right before a voice cut through the rain and the night to smooth into his comm systems.

"Ghost Wind, yes?" it commed over a commonly used frequency. There was a pause as the car turned easily, water spraying up along the front fenders. The bright glare of headlights fell across the Tomahawk's outlines even the red vehicle came to a stop in front of him. A wisp of steam curled out of the polished silver grille; the engine was nearly silent. Actually, the hiss-whirr of its windshield wipers was way louder. The vehicle sat and seemed to peruse the Tomahawk for a long moment.

"You're timely, at least. That's good. I am Pyrotech. Is it too much to assume that they briefed you on what I require of you before they sent you down here?" the mech asked.

Behind Pyrotech, the low-slung black car slowed down. A left hand turn signal flashed as it rolled forward. It seemed to realize that there was no need for it in a parking lot a moment too late; and the pop-up headlights scrunched down slightly with a bit of embarrassment.

It quickly came to a stop off of the red car's flank, crouched among the puddles; the long hood dipped low. There was a hard thunking noise as the transmission disengaged into park, and the lifters chattered and rattled. It ran rough and jittery, obviously in dire need of a tune-up.

[Deleted]

If ever he'd met a body that needed to hit the medbay, the dark Trans AM qualified. Twice. Probably three times over. Ghost Wind's hopes of getting out of this particular bit of shenanigans intact (more or less) started sinking.

But that's not the kind of thing you tell an officer when you're up close and personal and he's telling you what to do, and so the Tomahawk's engine thrummed quietly to life even though the 'machine' held perfectly still; he was keeping only passive watch on his surroundings, most of his attention on Pyrotech.

Paradoxically, knowing to some degree what might come of working under this particular mech settled Ghost. Yes, the dark vehicle looked rattling. Yes, the officer was, by contrast, impeccable. But that was life; that's how things went more often than not, the marked difference between officer and soldier. And the Trans AM was not dead, was not twitching, was not covered in suspicious dents or weld-marks.

Alive was always a bonus, never a guarantee, and he'd totally take that bonus gratefully.

Yes, sir. His tone was even, respectful as he could make it. Ghost had found out early on that when he tried to do military-perfect he came off sounding snippy (somehow). A couple of, ahm, disciplinary actions later he'd learned to just speak... quietly.I'm afraid my briefing was limited to meeting you here and putting my particular skills at your command.

And if a mech like that was into sewer maintenance and power conduits, Ghost would eat one of his tires. Pshyeah, right.

[Pyrotech]

At Ghost's soft response, the red mech was silent. His only outward sign of his irritation was a flick of his windshield wipers that had a bit more force than was obviously necessary to clear the beading rain from his windscreen.

Inwardly though, he was seething. He'd asked for at least two Decepticons to run this mission, and he'd specifically mentioned he could use someone who might have some firepower.

Instead, they'd given him a bikebot. Yes, yes, he did seem to be a larger one, with an actual engine, but Ghost was still a blasted bikebot, and Pyrotech found most of them to be utterly useless in most cases. Little breakable things that took one hit- not to mention it seemed to be a look that the Autobots preferred. He'd run into several of them in Australia.

They had been a handy test of the roo-bar he'd been wearing. It had worked well for both large mammals and mechs who equated bravery with stupidity.

So, one bikebot, that apparently had no idea what even he was going to be doing tonight, and likely had no tools, no capability. No doubt he was once again something they'd dragged out, brushed off, and figured that it would have to do. Pyrotech had already had been through at least six of those sorts of mechs since he'd been stationed on Earth- ah, wait, eight. He'd been through eight, counting Thermal and Siphon after the last debacle.

Expendable soldiers, that's what they gave him to work with, yes. The ones that weren't worth anything, the idiots who couldn't put on their own license plate right side up. The ones who accidentally or on irritated someone in the string of command and needed to be taught their place in the scheme of things.

Things hadn't changed.

Nor did Pyrotech want them to. Job security and all that. His irritation smoothed out. He made it work. He always made it work.

"We brief as we go, then," he decided. "The longer we linger, the more chance that the Autobots may randomly feel the need to go out for a random patrol. Courier. Take point, get on the quickest route to the Rose Quarter. Now. Ghost, you are with me."

The dark Trans AM shifted over all four tires somehow; it flattened even lower to the ground in a vehicular nod.

"Yes sir," she said. "Rose Quarter. Understood."

Immediately, the car turned, swinging wide, and turned to head out of the dark parking lot. It carefully crept over the speed bump this time.

Pyrotech turned also in a smooth, three point turn. He waited for Ghost to follow him.

Once they had turned left and were headed down back towards the highway, Pyrotech began to speak once more.

"We are heading into the tunnel systems of the MAX Light Rail," he said. "Unfortunately, the area is still live and being used by the trains at the moment. We have to go down a few miles I believe, and then there should be a maintenance tunnel we need to follow down. There are several components that we will be taking from down there; relays, capacitors, and ventilation systems. Our goal is well as a large capacity Fairbanks Morse generator that they've just decommissioned and moved to one of their storage sections in there."

"It should be practical to take and modify to run off of something other than diesel," he mused. "We may need to cut power to that area, and switch or sabotage some of the systems. I assume that is what you have training in, working in these situations?"

[Deleted]

If it hadn't been totally inappropriate, Ghost Wind would have transformed onto his knees and thanked Primus right there and then. But he'd stopped keeping up with the whole spiritual thing a good long while ago; that and, if he was using that tire he couldn't afford to eat it.

By Primus' rusty left ball bearing, tunnels. Pyrotech wanted tunnels. Life expectancy was increasing.

And yet he had the distinct feeling the officer was not pleased. Cranky officers made Ghost nervous; cranky officers tended to throw troops out under the (you're so funny, Ghost) proverbial train. Until he could figure out if and why Pyrotech was sour, though, there was nothing he could do barring putting his head down and doing what he was told.

The Tomahawk turned smoothly to follow just to the side of the fire vehicle, at rear tire height - a respectful two steps behind. Briefly his attention was on the Trans AM, a little worried about the, ahm... well, whether their guide was going to break down mid-guiding, but as neither smoke, sparks or fluids came out of anywhere, and since Pyrotech wasn't concerned, he figured this was a normal thing. Or what passed as such. Either way, good with him. His avatar was black-clad, slick in response to the local weather, and showed not one bit of possibly human skin.

Live rail's nothing new, sir. You could see a train, or a freight container, bearing down on you - their headlights always betrayed them. You couldn't see a corrosive cloud until your back-aft melted off. Leaving the area blind is not issue; if you mark it, I can shut it down. Shutting down things wasn't hard; shutting down things while you're getting shot at, or while trying to get out from a nest of Autobots before they stir up and get to the shooting part, that was hard.

He had to add one last bit with a trace of his relief. Tunnels and tunnel systems I can most definitely do, sir. That, and fighting. He'd be looking up the target, and he kept an inner whistle to himself while he looked once again at the three of them. Well... he could do the carrying, too, but he did kinda hope Pyrotech realized shooting when your arms were full was kinda hard.

[Pyrotech]

Ahead of them, the AM was picking her way through the sparse traffic. Apparently she had decided that the main highway wasn’t the fastest route based on the weather and the traffic. Instead she was leading them down towards the narrow streets of downtown Portland, and seemed to have an a more than passing knowledge of this place.

A left turn led them into a cobblestone alley. The bricks were slick and green with algae and grease; they had to squeeze past a big steel garbage bin, but the shortcut bypassed five or six blocks of stop lights.

When they were back on the main road, the spires of an old metal bridge gleamed in the distance. There was a blinking neon and incandescent sign that drew your eye. It was bright even in the rain; the leaping white deer bounded endlessly over the shining script that proclaimed the city’s name.

Pyrotech didn’t acknowledge how Ghost was following him, it seemed to be more than he expected him exactly where he was.

“Good,” the red mech murmured. He’d caught the mech’s note of relief. Interesting.

It was. From the sound of it, they’d actually sent him what he needed. Now that he thought about it, a bikebot might be able to get into some of the smaller places that he personally did not want to go. Pyrotech had no intention of crawling down in to oily tunnels on live tracks, there were a few items that he could use though in places that would have been tough to reach for him. It would be easy to stockpile them somewhere in a local dump and then send the Vehicons back for them.

“That’s what I needed to hear,” he told Ghost. “As far as fighting goes- I do not expect it, but I always plan for it. So far the Autobots have far more pressing matters. They don’t bother with this area much, which is fine with me. There were a few scouting around earlier...”

A soft chuckle. “I believe I have that under control for now,” the mech admitted with a bit of cool amusement, and the red car shifted in the lane. He rocked up on his struts in an offhand shrug. “So you can fight, then. Weapon or hand to hand."

[Deleted]

Ghost was hardly paying attention to their surroundings, other than to make sure he stayed firmly within that two-step distance of Pyrotech. Subconsciously he was growing easier in mood the grottier their surroundings grew, but it was not something he could have explained.

It just felt more familiar.

His interest was focused entirely on the officer. The courier was leading, and seemed to know where she was taking them; the officer was following, and he seemed to trust she knew her business. Ghost was happy to put his head down and bring up the rear.

The bridge drew his attention more than the neon did. It reminded him of his first days Above, when the War had been fresh - well, fresh for him. Back then everything Above had seemed just as spindly and awkward as the old human structure, bereft of the solidity and structural support of beams, walls, bulk everywhere.

The memory was easily shoved aside for more immediate tactical concerns. Ghost kept the sigh of relief carefully hidden at the news of the Autobot's lack of a presence. Only so many things a mech can keep watch for, and he had the feeling that in between the goods, the officer, the 'Bots and his own hide, Pyrotech would expect Ghost to watch the first two... Well, he'd probably expect him to watch all four, but he'd only be upset if the first two went to slag-all because of the third.

Weapons, primarily, sir. Mid- to long-range, but not sharpshoot level. The Tomahawk was absolutely thrilled to have a chance to throw that rolling doom right off the hovertrack before it even left the station. I am not a sharpshooter, for the love of little cogs, don't even let him get that idea. His voice, however, remained as even as it'd been so far. I can engage hand-to-hand, but I know my limitations, sir. What about human interference?

Ghost knew most higher-ups didn't think much of the natives. They were tiny, they were fragile, they were awful disorganized and fairly easy to isolate. But then again, so were scraplets.

While Ghost had had very little contact with the fleshlings, he kept in mind the two things he'd learned about them during his brief interlude among them, all the better to compare them to the tiny devourers: there were billions of them, and they were exceedingly trigger-happy. The question wasn't put so much because he expected humans to be an issue down in some abandoned tunnels or other, but because he really needed to know if his Field Officer would be watching for them; otherwise he'd have to make them Item #5 on his watch list, and that list was awful long as it was.

[Pyrotech]

Several streets later, they were cruising up the curving onramp to that steel bridge. Water pooled along the roadway, making it sleek and treacherous. The AM slowed down, it was obvious the dark car didn't trust the conditions not to hydroplane, but that's all it took before her tires caught and pushed her on. Black steel trusses criss-crossed over them; this was a tight, old double decker bridge, claustrophobic and daunting. The open space of the river below funneled the wind; it slammed hard against them and threatened to push them into the span if they did not hold a steady course.

The cars were on the top deck. Looking through the expansion joints to down below, there was a slow moving railway cargo car being pulled ponderously out of the city.

Ghost would now also realize that set into the roadway around him were steel tracks, low and polished by route and weight. The light rail route, no doubt. Obviously this path would take them back over the Willamate River one more time and into the center of downtown. Two green spires glowed in the distance, and a large, curving structure dominated the skyline as they drove off of the bridge and back down into the city center.

The courier halted at one final stop light. Her blinkers flicked indecisively; obviously she wasn't sure if they should go left or right.

"Go left," Pyrotech ordered her sharply. "North entrance. We want the Red Line service section."

"Yes sir," she murmured.

"Ranged weapon," Pyrotech mused, not even bothering to acknowledge her response as he turned his attention back on Ghost. "Good. As far as the human interference should be minimal. We avoid what we can, and what we can't avoid - well, accidents happen down there in the tunnels. Construction is nasty business sometimes. Such a shame."

Up ahead of them, the black car twitched. Maybe it had hit the edge of that manhole cover in the road, who knew.

"Regardless, there is not much concern on my part for humans at this point. I've timed this. They switch off their teams and they are waiting on a part for the generator to be shipped."

A chuckle. "They'll be waiting a long time, I already have it. Such lack of security on these things, yes? Oh, though, how it works in my favor."

He was silent after that; two more roads, up a corner, and then... they turned around a long, sweeping stretch of road and into a huge parking lot. It was empty tonight, there was no basketball game or convention going on, no concert or home and garden show. The dark car ahead of them took care to stay out from under as much of the lighting as possible as she swept around an empty ticket booth, turned into one side lot and then another- and finally they were next to a short, squat concrete structure. It was surrounded by several other concrete buildings with several service trucks parked around them.

The front of it had a large roll up steel door across one entire side. The entrance seemed as if it was large enough for two small trucks to drive through, and tall enough that Ghost could easily stand upright going through it. There were rail tracks leading to the door, they curved away out towards another far off set of buildings.

The Trans AM waited as Pyrotech came to a stop. The red mech sat for a moment over his tires, and then pushed off the wet roadway underneath himself. A moment later he had transformed and was standing upright in the dark parking lot. Rain beaded off his glossy finish; he flicked his doors back as he surveyed the door and the area around them.

"This should take us directly down into the main system," he said out loud, and rubbed his chin. "This is an old entrance that they no longer use, there are no cameras or alarms here. They protect their cars better." He turned to look at Ghost and gestured for him to transform. "Down below is the barrier that you will disengage."

[Deleted]

Privately, Ghost Wind allowed himself a moment of relief that he'd seen the bridge coming. He had no fear of heights; just because you were underground didn't mean you wouldn't run into vast, canyon-like structures, usually from the top. No, what made him nervous was the spindly appearance of it. His processor and his optics might tell him that the bridge was obviously sturdy as a flyer's ego, but some part of him was still certain the whole mess was going to crumple like cheap plastic the moment he set foot on it.

By the time they actually drove onto it, he'd had time to force his Inner Paranoid to accept common sense and shut up. It made it easier to pay attention to Pyrotech, even though he had to swerve briefly to avoid the in-set rails, and again to balance himself against the gusting wind. He was sincerely looking forward to being underground, out of the weather.

He drew a few more tidbits of information from the officer's out-loud musings. One, he didn't care if a bit of a mess came from dealing with human interference, and thank goodness for that, because that was another thing the locals did awful well: make a mess of whatever encounter they entered. The rest of it seemed to be a lot of self-patting on his back, and as it required no response from him, Ghost kept quiet. He did not even try to do the fawning half-noises that others may, because he'd discovered pretty much right off the get-go when he'd signed on that he sucked at them. Probably because he hardly ever meant them.

They were led by the courier into an area that resonated by its silence. Ghost, already halfway falling back into his old tunnel habits, felt momentarily disoriented by the faint echoes returned to them from the buildings around them, but not from a ceiling above his head. He shook himself mentally; the command to transform helped him refocus, and reminded him he was still Above.

Careful optics followed the rail tracks as they came and went. Service area, Pyrotech had said to the courier. Good. Trains moved slow through service areas, and even if they came into public sections of the rail, he could hope the regulations to watch your aft and your sides when you were around such places meant the drivers were used to slowing down. Every little second could count when you were racing trains.

Automatically he looked around, searching for power lines, energy conduits, pipes or pipe intakes. They had to start somewhere, and humans (weirdly enough) liked to run some of them on the surface or (even more weirdly) above it. "No problem, sir. Doubt security gets any fancier. Am I taking point from here?"

Some cheeky part of him wanted to ask, and are you actually coming? He didn't, of course. It was just another knee-jerk reaction to the impeccable appearance of the officer when contrasted against that of his courier.

[Pyrotech]

There was power run to the building. Ghost would be able to sense that most of it was under the parking lot, run in buried pipes, crisscrossed perhaps an arm's length deep under the asphalt. There was an undertone around the area that perhaps only he could sense; a low, drumming thrum of the power grid that mazed around this place. Very few surface lines here, and- oddly enough, there were very few overhead lines that

There was also the constant sound of grates set into the low points of the parking lot that diverted the torrential rain. It was a constant hush and gurgle as it foamed down into the storm drains.

The red mech strode forward and reached down on the left side of the rolling door. His thumb and forefinger daintily closed around the heavy mechanical lock on it. There were no electronic key-code pads here, no fancy security. In seconds, the lockstem had turned cherry red, then white; and then it began to melt, hissing and steaming in the rain.

Pyrotech twisted it off in an easy motion, and then reached for the heavy steel bar. He lifted it off and then nudged the big steel door upwards. It rattled and thunked back; it hadn't been used or oiled in a while.

In front of them was a concrete area. Ghost would be able to see that was a large concrete slab at first, maybe a few hundred feet across and seventy feet wide. There were parts and pieces everywhere; old city vehicles that had been stripped down to their bare frames, tires flattened with age and rot. Grimy headlights bulged out of their casings. There was a long metal side panel of one of the trains resting along the left wall, along with a bunch of old mechanical signs that had once headlined buses and the light rail, proclaiming what station they were headed to.

There were other things here too, rusting cables, tow chains, oil drums stacked along the side that had leaked coffee colored stains along the edges of the floor. Bits and pieces of maintenance equipment; coiled electrical cable and a pile of copper wire. It was a storehouse for the broken parts and useless pieces. The tracks out side led in and past all of this-- and then sloped down into a near pitch black tunnel.

"One moment," Pyrotech informed Ghost, even as he gestured at his companion.

The car's long hood ducked in a nod, and then she transformed. At the end of it, she ended up positioned like a sprinter at a starting line, crouched with her weight over her fingertips, one knee drawn up, leg behind her.

"Go see if there's been any recent human activity," Pyrotech ordered her.

The courier nodded and shook herself onto her feet, then trotted forward. Blue optics peered at Ghost from under the brim of her helm as she passed him; there was a soft draw of her intakes, and then an unsure, but respectful nod of greeting. Her robot form was strangely silent, especially when compared with the rattle and thunk of her car mode. She padded into the entrance, water shedding off of her plating and dripping on the dusty floor.

Then she lifted her nose; there was another soft few huffs. She was obviously searching for scent.

"No," she called back to them finally. "Nothing, sir."

Pyrotech nodded. "Good," he muttered, and then eyed Ghost. "Now you can take point. We'll follow."

"It should be not too far until there's a split in the tracks. We need to be on the right hand side."

[Deleted]

Ghost crouched down, weight shifted mostly onto one leg in a half-kneeling posture. It meant he could spring upright in a hurry but also that he could get off a half decent shot even if he had to rush it. He kept quiet, still and respectfully back as Pyrotech picked the lock, making a mental note not to let the officer get hold of him in a temper. Just in case.

All around him the sounds that promised time Below teased him. He knew the sound of rushing, churning, dripping liquid, and while water was not usually what ran through the sluice pipes he was familiar with, the echoing song of it was still easy to identify. There was a smell to it, too, as it carried away surface oils and particulate, that was as unmistakable as the reedy gushing of it. The grid of electric power ran neatly somewhere underfoot, chaos to anyone but its original weaver unless you knew why some streams could cross and why some never should.

Idly he figured that he'd need two good, solid shots to get to the conduits through the blacktop, if push came to shove. He doubted anything about this operation would be that... graceless, though. Pyrotech didn't look like the type to use a hammer where a laser cutter would do the job.

The rumble of the door going up made him glance around warily, just in case the noise could miraculously summon bad news. The rain, the dark and the isolation seemed to be working in their favor so far, though. The guts of the building where they were to start the trip were full of odd bits and ends belonging to the human transportation system. Wasteful idle lot, he thought briefly. Didn't they do re-purposing?

Then again, maybe that was why they were on-site. Pyrotech might have some use for all the junkstuff piled up haphazardly all over the place.

His optics brightened by a noticeable degree at the sight of the tunnel. Here, then, was the human Below. As loud as their cities were, what would it be like down there? Quiet or noisy? Dry or humid? What did they have living down there with them? How d--

His thoughts derailed altogether when the courier transformed; she was nothing at all like her vehicle mode, and he made another mental note: her raggedness seemed to be part of the disguise, not part of her. Her nod startled him, and his expression showed it. Grunts though they both were, she still had seniority on him by the simple expedient of being with Pyrotech first. His return nod was polite and respectful, not quite a salute but halfway there. Better not risk irritating someone with a direct line to an officer's audio.

Her behavior at Pyrotech's orders made Ghost's head tilt briefly until he realized she was scenting. It was a rare thing, to have keen enough sensors to ID airborne particulates, particularly stagnant, days-old ones; not just that, she seemed to be keyed in special to the locals; Ghost was still having trouble telling them apart in general unless it were by the color of their armor, and they changed that on a daily basis...

His attention turned back to the officer with her all-clear, and he straightened up as he was called to take point. "Sir", he acknowledged, moving forward into the glum.

There were too many things that were likely to crackle and crunch underfoot; Ghost focused on picking a path that wouldn't trip anyone up, even in complete darkness, far more than he worried about being perfectly quiet - if the courier said they were alone on this leg of the trip, then they were alone. On the other hand he was pretty sure there'd be more than sharp words thrown his way if someone went down faceplate-first into the dusty and oily mess of the floor.

It was a relief to be out of the weather, even more so to enter the dark of the tunnel. His pedes inspected the slope and texture of it, one hand found a wall and ran up it to the ceiling, checking the shape and size of it. He found nothing beyond what he'd expected: sealed concrete, one set of low insulated pipes, another bunch of cables higher up. Soot, grit and volatilized oils clung to the wall in imperceptible quantities.

This would, indeed, be a train tunnel.

Humans didn't have hover tech, at least not in large quantities, and that was a blessing - anything coming their way would be loud and vibrate along the metal railings long before it were on them. Or so he hoped. However, the ties and the gravel that sometimes supported the rail itself would make footing... well, interesting for anyone not knowing to pick up the right rhythm on their footsteps. Once they went in and got what Pyrotech wanted, he didn't want to make following them out an easy job, and a trip from any of them would leave pretty clear tracks of their passage.

As a courtesy to the other two with him, he deployed his bow. The energy string lit up the dark with a faint, ocher glow, just enough for low-light vision without blatantly advertising their presence, as headlights would have. Staying close to the right-hand wall, the back of his hand less than an inch over the concrete of it, he led the way to that first junction, audios, vents and surface sensors reaching outwards, learning what passed as empty for this tunnel so that he may identify 'not empty' if and when it came 'round the corner.

"Watch your step, sir."

[Pyrotech]

Pyrotech had turned to roll down the door behind them. It plunged them into pitch dark for a moment before the light of Ghost's bow softly lit up the gloom. There was the steady sound of water dripping off of their plating and pattering down onto the concrete floor. The mech didn't flick on his headlamps, obviously he felt the same way about blazing light along their passageway.

Their footsteps echoed; Pyrotech easily picked his way along without hesitation. He'd only nodded at Ghost's remark to watch his step. The side of one heel scraped along one of the metal rails; he curled his lip and hoped that it hadn't gone all the way through his finish.

These sorts of dank places were familiar to Pyrotech - too familiar recently. He was tired of living in holes in the ground like a retrorat, frustrated at making do with limited materials. Ah well, at least he had a decent chair again. Next on his list would be a desk that he didn't smash a knee into every single time he sat down at it. A chunk of an old aircraft wing across rocks was barely acceptable, but he'd done more with less in the last few years.

At least he wasn't in Alaska in the freezing cold. Something to be said for that. Oregon was at least mild in climate and you weren't sliding all over the roads or worried about breaking through an iced over river crossing and sinking to the bottom.

[Dart]

The courier stepped aside quietly as the soft glow cast by Ghost's weapon passed by her. For a moment he would get a good look at her; scratched and and scuffed and obviously terrain worn. She'd also apparently not seen anything like wax or a buffer in a long time, and the brightest light on her was her optics. The femme's finish was dulled and matte; mud splattered up her legs. A silvery lightning bolt was across her chest; and it drew attention to her sigil--

Which was marred with four dangerously deep burn marks that were about the same width as Pyrotech's index finger. They were perfectly spaced, precisely so. The edges of the damage were flaking and peeling away.

She had seemed equally unsure when he nodded back at her, but now that the door was down and he was heading forward; she seemed to shake it off giving him plenty of room. She was careful not to crowd him or get too close as he worked his way down the tunnel, sniffing here and there at the air as they continued down.

For Ghost though, the tunnel was quiet compared to the bustle of the city. Pleasantly so. It was also delightfully dry and slightly warm. There was a faint motion of the air; obviously they had ductwork down here to circulate and keep moisture from building up.

The only sounds were that soft whirr of the air systems and the ones of the three mechs themselves; Pyrotech's heavier stride, the courier's soft pace, and his own foot falls.

There was minimal power routed down here in this area. The path was surprisingly easy; even while the rails themselves were narrow, there was room on either side and ample room to move - in fact, he and the courier could have stood next to each other without touching the walls.

On the walls were smears of oil and grime though that had never been cleaned; the curving concrete was patterned in streaks of heavy soot. There were old scuff marks in the mess; when the light from Ghost's bow drifted across them, he could make out that they'd probably been caused by equipment rubbing against the walls; there were curving tire patterns and some deep scrapes cut into the stone.

Above them, a conduit hummed and thrummed; only audible to someone like Ghost - high voltage electricity surging along the line buried in the roof of the tunnel; that was how the light rail ran here; on a criss-cross of overhead lines.

They were leaving fairly clear tracks though, the rain shed off of their plating dripped onto the dirty gravel and tracks they were moving around. They'd have more than enough room to stand on the concrete on either side though, and it was better footing. It was empty though, and the farther they went in, the quieter it seemed.

The corner approached and if Ghost sidled around it -- ahead of them was a long stretch of tunnel.

Behind him, the femme paused and sniffed; then shook her head. Obviously nothing human up ahead this way.

Ghost would sense something though - the echoes of the tunnel were slightly off. There had to be some sort of barrier somewhere in the dark up ahead of them. It didn't sound solid though, there was air movement of sorts. Maybe a grating?

[Deleted]

Not that he'd needed further excuse than the glimpse of the gate lock melting away, the quick glance he perforce passed over the courier made a fairly lasting impression on Ghost. Nope, he wanted nothing to do with the officer if a bad mood and arm's reach somehow came together on the same equation. He wondered if either of them had been to the 'Nemesis' recently, or if Pyrotech just rather have the femme look like she'd been pulling triple shifts for the past... forever.

Not his business, though, and he really didn't want to get any more involved than he already was.

Between steps, he drew up straight every now and again just to let the sense of the tunnel wash over him. The currents of air would grow stronger if they drew closer to the ventilation systems; they would grow complicated if heavy vehicles were moving quickly nearby. At the moment, however, the warmth was merely a wonderful little bit of respite from the rain outside and a way to quickly dry themselves so they'd stop dripping and leaving water marks for anyone to follow right up to their rear fenders.

Occasionally he would pause and set a pede, with utmost lightness, over the railings. It was a calculated risk, because though he felt the power humming in the lines overhead there was nothing that said the rails were dead. Humans were weird that way: they build redundancies in odd places they never used, and left them lacking where they were truly necessary. He didn't want to be caught unaware by traveling vibrations, though, and they would not travel well through gravel; the air was full of warmth and the idling current of its ventilation systems, and it was not a good monitor, either. That left the long lines of potentially conductive metal. They shared with him the silence of everything else around.

Given that the officer had already tripped once and that the courier could detect no natives to become restless down here, Ghost ground his mouthplates a bit, before moving to the concrete walkway. He had to work on shaking off the well-practiced habit that said such easy walking surfaces were always traps. Always. These are humans, not 'Bots, you dummy. He leaned his weight on it and found it solid through. So far, so good.

And then the turn rolled up, and he found himself in need of peeking his head around it. He hated that; if someone was waiting (and nine out of ten times someone was) you might as well have a bullseye painted on your faceplate.

But then again, that's why he got paid the big bucks, wasn't it? Except he didn't...

Ghost crouched down low and snuck his head around the corner. The quiet motion of warm air and empty spaces welcomed him, the jarring cutoff of sound further ahead telling him this was, after all, the right way to go. Likely that was the barrier he was supposed to dispose of; he was just hoping he wouldn't get sent back out in the rain after he'd gotten Pyrotech and his aide through.

Stepping lightly he followed that right-hand turn, bow leading, and followed the echoes.