We are a literate, intermediate to advanced AU Transformers RPG Based off of the first season of TFP with dashes of other incarnations sprinkled here or there. Characters from any continuity are welcome however must be restyled to match the TFPrime universe.
Active, with ongoing plotlines, we are always willing to integrate new characters into storylines once incorporated into the setting.
Post by fortressmaximus on Mar 29, 2014 9:19:39 GMT -5
The photon rifle was fast - within seconds another shot was charged and humming in the barrel. Maximus did not fire again however, his audials alert.
He had heard the muffled crash of trees deeper in the forest. To his satisfaction the tree he had shot had taken out a lot of brush in its descent. He supposed it was too much to hope that it had taken out the minibot as well.
Maximus listened. No shouting.
And no more pistol shots were fired back either. Hm. Maybe the tree really had crushed the little glitch.
Maximus eased out from behind the kapok. With his gun held in both hands he broke into a lope, crossing a mossy clearing quickly and quietly before the undergrowth snarled in front of him again. With a muttered oath he pushed through it.
His feet sank into the soil. Insects buzzed in the lush foliage. The trees were tall, their gnarled branches supporting a dense umbrella of leaves, while their trunks were green with moss. Vines draped from the jungle canopy. Maximus fought through the vegetation until he had reached the place where the kapok had fallen. A mess of uprooted trees and torn branches greeted his optics, but when he warily circled the mess he caught no glimpse of red paint. Damn.
A trampled path led into the trees. Maximus studied it. His optics narrowed. Hm.
He lowered himself to one knee and lifted his rifle, taking aim.
It kicked back into his shoulder as he fired a shot down the path. He heard it roar off into the brush. Let's see what it hit this time. Perhaps it would panic his quarry and flush him out, at least.
Last Edit: Mar 29, 2014 9:20:09 GMT -5 by fortressmaximus
As soon as Zoom-Zoom had hit the cover of the thick vegetation, he'd picked a twisting path away from the clearing, hoping to make his trail confusing to follow. His pace had been slow initially, giving him his frame some time to recover from all the slag he was putting it through.
Then his audials picked up the sound of Fortress Maximus crashing through the organic growth towards him. He tensed, it was tempting to start running again because that, quite frankly, was terrifying. He resisted the urge though. This close, all it would do was provide the big mech with his location.
His decision proved to be the correct one when he heard the sharp crack of that fusion rifle again and the sound of falling vegetation. To his relief, he'd wandered far enough away from his original heading that it was away from him, sounded like it was to the West of him.
He marched on, the vegetation was getting thicker and almost impenetrable. It definitely made progress slower but Zoom-Zoom needed the break. Hopefully it would slow Fortress Maximus down too.
Then his pede came down and wound up sinking a lot further then expected with a loud slurp. Zoom-Zoom froze with sick trepidation and tried to examine the ground before him. But the thick cover of the organic growth blocked it from view.
He ran a sensor scan over it, it had a high percentage of hydrogen and oxygen bonded together in liquid form. Water plus dirt...oh, please let it not be mud.
He carefully tried to retrieve his pede but his balance wavered where he stood. He shifted his weight to his other leg. The ground there was a bit firmer. Another sharp spike of pain went through his processor as he stood.
Post by fortressmaximus on Mar 30, 2014 9:38:22 GMT -5
The thick vegetation tangled in his limbs and hampered every step, but the aggravation was worth it when Maximus staggered from a grove of buttress roots and capirona trees and spotted the red minibot not five hundred feet east of him, struggling in a mire.
For a moment he stood where he was, surprised. The minibot was mud-splattered and stuck. He did not look pleased about it. Chuckling darkly, Maximus laid his rifle back against his shoulder.
“End of the road,” he said.
He bore down on the minibot. His foot hit a soft patch in the undergrowth and he lurched. Annoyed, Maximus glanced back. His greater weight sank him deeper into the sludge before it bottomed on firm soil, but he was a good deal taller than the minibot and was able to trudge free of the muck. His plating was stained with black mud and crushed greenery by the time he reached Zoom-Zoom.
Maximus wasted no words. He caught the minibot by one wrist and hauled him straight up out of the mud. He did not lower him back to the ground but let him dangle.
"You have exactly two minutes to convince me you are not a Decepticon," he said. His voice was low but something livid simmered beneath it. His red optics narrowed. “At this point I would suggest that while you may not consider playing the part of a deserter who unwisely fired upon a former officer a very good move for the sake of your dignity, it would be an invaluable one for your lifespan. Be anything but a Decepticon. Otherwise...”
Approximately 7.4 kliks late. Because of course whatever Primus forsaken soul who had crashed landed on the planet just had to hit the dirt while he was deep within the lower levels of the base, inspecting the pipework for any signs of corrosion or leaks. Primus only knew how well maintained they had been by the humans before they handed over the ownership of the silo, and Red Alert wasn’t keen on the idea of leaving things unchecked. For all he knew there might have been a neglected pipe down there somewhere, leaking and rusted over, ready to burst. He could have sworn he had heard something dripping down there, though whether the sound was from a leaky pipe or simply condensation buildup, he couldn’t say for certain.
That’s what he was roaming around in the basement for; to find out where that damn dripping sound was coming from before it drove him up the walls.
Unfortunately, his search was waylaid by poor timing and exploding alien aircrafts. Ratchet had comm’d him shortly after Fortress Maximus’ departure from the base, and filled him in on the situation. With a sigh and a grumbled promise to the godawful dripping sound that he would hunt it down later, Red Alert turned on his heel and set his task to the side for the time being. Fortress Maximus needed backup, which was by far more important than locating and eliminating the minor annoyance which had been plaguing him for the last four days. Under normal circumstances, he would have felt more confident in the other mech’s ability to hold his own against any lone opponent short of Megatron (or, he grimly remembered, a Phase Sixer), but the former warden wasn’t exactly in the best physical condition as of late. Depending on who (or what) greeted him at the crash site, he might have had need for the extra assistance.
With this thought in mind Red Alert made his way out of the lower levels at a slightly quickened pace, while Ratchet gave him a brief rundown of the situation. Within minutes he made it to the groundbridge, which Ratchet had prepared for him in advance, and by that time he already had a bad feeling about the situation. The crash had been violent, apparently. The ship had been set ablaze, its occupants likely dead or injured assuming they didn’t eject themselves from the ship before it blew.
Red Alert frowned slightly, his mouth set in a grim line as he stepped through the bridge. Decepticon or Autobot, he wasn’t looking forward to finding corpses.
When the bridge deposited him at the crash site, the first thing Red Alert was aware of was the smell. The air was humid, thick with the scent of foliage and loam, smoke and burnt vegetation. The reek of it made his expression twist, his lip curling slightly in distaste as he shut his optics against the awful combination of scents assaulting his olfactory sensors. He recovered quickly enough, scrubbing a hand over his face as he scanned the area, in search of Fortress Maximus. What he saw made his optics brighten in alarm, and his hand still against the lower half of his face before dropping back against his side.
Primus on a bloody Piston, he was late by not even ten minutes and the place was in ruin. It looked like a disaster area - the ship was scorched, the ground torn and blackened where it had crashed and skid, and the surrounding trees and brush were licked with steadily growing flames. Red Alert glanced around, hurriedly searching for any sign of Fortress Maximus or the ship’s occupants. He found nothing--they had to have left the area. He thought, briefly, of comm.ing Fortress Maximus and finding out where he was, what was going on, but he did not want to risk distracting the other mech with a sudden and unexpected call if he was in the middle of a fight. Besides, he did not need the other mech to tell him where he was in order to find him--he had optics, audials, and olfactory sensors designed for tracking mecha down.
With this thought in mind he searched for and found footprints in short order, and followed them into the forest in a hurried pace. He paid mind to where he was finding his footing as he ran, though he did not have the time to spare for his usual cautiousness. The thought that all hell had broken loose in his absence spurred him forward, and when he heard the sound of a rifle being fired in the distance he threw most of his caution to the wind and broke into a full sprint. (Thank Primus he had been sparked a scout. Having a knack for getting places quickly and avoiding obstacles in one’s path with a bit of creative maneuvering came in handy with situations like this.)
He heard Maximus’s voice before he saw him, his frame was obscured by the thick foliage in Red Alert’s path, but he could hear him clear as day. He sounded angry, which wasn’t a good thing, but at least he didn’t sound pained or injured. By the time Red Alert had cleared his way through the brush, he was slightly winded, increasingly worried, and completely lost as to what it was he was looking at. Fortress Maximus had a small, scorched and mud covered bot hoisted up by the arm, dangling off the ground, and he looked three seconds away from finding a rock to bash the little mech against.
Taking stock of the situation, Red Alert asked the most pressing, relevant question.
Zoom-Zoom had heard Fort Max's approach long before he'd seen the big mech. The warden had quite simply bulldozed his way through the organic growth to the minibot. While he was doing that, Zoom-Zoom had the time to contemplate his final words and actions and whether there was a way out of this that didn't involve his immediate termination.
He folded his pistols backs into servos. His vision wasn't doing all that great and he'd probably just waste his time and make the big mech even angrier if he tried shooting him. Then, like a wrathful god, Fortress Maximus had emerged from the thick vegetation and made his way over. Zoom-Zoom winced as he was hauled up by his arm, his joints creaked in warning. The movement had been sudden enough that the wires shifted once more and Zoom-Zoom lost his visual feed completely again. He didn't risk moving his head again to fix it though, that could set the big mech off again.
Then Fortress Maximus delivered his ultimatum. It didn't take much imagination to figure out what would happen if he thought Zoom-Zoom was a Decepticon.
"I am an Autobot!" Zoom-Zoom squeaked. "Really, I am! Or I was. Actually, I'm not even sure. It's uh, complicated. What do you call it when your entire faction just gets up and abandons Cybertron without letting you know? Getting left behind-"
Another voice broke in and Zoom-Zoom fell silent. Another Autobot? It had to be, judging by the familiarity with Zoom-Zoom's captor and the lack of firefight. Zoom-Zoom twitched his helm in the direction that he hoped the other Autobot was in. "Just to be absolutely clear, I surrender!" he called out. "Please don't let him hurt me!"
Maybe the other Autobot would be able to calm Fortress Maximus down. Maybe. The way his trip to this planet had gone so far, he wasn't counting on it.
Post by fortressmaximus on Mar 30, 2014 20:15:23 GMT -5
Startled, Maximus looked back.
A familiar red and white robot stood at the edge of the mire, framed by trees. It was Red Alert. Ratchet had said he would alert the security director about the predicament as soon as he could. It looked as if the old medic had come through.
Maximus greeted the sight of him with something akin to relief. While he did not dislike the motley crew of Autobot stationed on Earth, he viewed the director with a degree of respect separate from the others. Red Alert was always on duty and always took his job seriously. Maximus had never agreed with the opinion that his fixation with security bordered on obsessive. No base was ever truly secure. No one could ever be prepared for the worst. Maximus had learned that hard lesson firsthand.
He did his best to calm his temper as he turned to face the other Autobot, Zoom-Zoom still held captive by one wrist. With a soft exhalation he straightened to his full height, reaching back to clip his rifle to its place at the small of his back as he did so.
"Our Decepticon shuttle had a sole survivor," he said. He eyed the minibot with distaste. "He ran when I marched him from the wreckage. He claims to be a former Autobot, but so far has proven either unable or reluctant to provide any form of code to back that up. I believe he said he was Special Operations. Do we have any current or former ranking spec ops agents among us who could verify his ident?"
Red Alert looked between Fortress Maximus and the minibot dangling in his grasp, eyeing them both as the latter pleaded for his life--which was an understandable reaction, given the situation he was in. Even if the little red bot hadn’t declared his surrender, Red Alert would have been able to surmise he had given up by his cowed expression alone. Not that he could be blamed, really, for looking worried. A mecha had to have serious bearings to keep calm while a mech of Max’s size and presence was hoisting them up by the arm, practically snorting steam. He didn’t know what exactly had happened between the two in his absence, but he assumed the shuttle’s survivor must have done something to set Fortress Maximus off, beyond making a break for it. He did not know the former warden to be the sort of mech who would blow a fuse with so little provocation.
That, however, was a minor detail which could be sorted out later. Finding out what the mech did to torque off Fortress Maximus was secondary to finding out whether or not he was actually a Decepticon, as the craft he arrived in implied. He doubted the little red troublemaker would try anything (not in the position he was in, not if he had a single functioning logic circuit in his head) but still Red Alert eyed him warily as he walked forward through the thicket and approached the two, while Fortress Maximus filled him in on what he had missed.
What he heard made him frown, his mouth thinking into a line as he glanced at the bot still dangling in Fortress’ grasp. He was the sole survivor of a crash-landing in a Decepticon ship. He ran from a supposedly fellow Autobot. He did not seem to have, or was reluctant to provide any evidence that he actually was an Autobot.
Things were not looking too well for him.
He could, possibly, be an Autobot, but at the same time he could be a Decepticon claiming a false allegiance to save his hide. It would certainly explain why he had arrived in a Decepticon shuttle, why he had run away from Fortress Maximus, and why he was reluctant to hand over the identification codes he might not even have. Red Alert narrowed his optics at the bot, not willing to sway one way or the other until a more thorough background check was performed.
Turning his attention back to Fortress Maximus, he nodded an affirmative. “Mirage, possibly Rook.”
Their input would be useful in identifying the bot, assuming he actually had the codes he claimed he did. Only time would tell if his words were truth or fabrication.
“We can forward the codes, have them confirm their legitimacy before we take him back to base. Assuming he’d be willing to hand them over.” He added, taking another sideways glance at the bot in question.
“--Until then, I think you might want to return his standing privileges before his arm twists out of socket.”
He was not criticizing Fortress’ for his use of force, exactly, he was just pointing out that maybe putting the red bot down would be a reasonable idea, now that he’s given his surrender. Fortress didn’t even have to let go of his arm (in fact, Red Alert would prefer he didn’t.) He just felt that dangling the mech off the ground wasn’t entirely necessary.
A pseudo-calmness settled upon Zoom-Zoom when there were no sudden demands to his execution. Rather, the two Autobots were taking his claim of allegiance seriously. He wondered almost idly if he could manage to pull off the thruster manoeuvre again but decided it was suicide to attempt it now.
"He ran when I marched him from the wreckage."
"Hey," Zoom-Zoom protested. "I ran because you held a fragging fusion rifle to my head and were about to blow it off. Then I offered to surrender, twice even and both times you tried to kill me. I think my actions were completely justified."
A mech in Zoom-Zoom's position would probably feel humiliated, being held up like he was. The minibot was so relieved to be in one piece and had not been violently ripped apart that he ignored the discomfort. It did not escape his notice though that it would take frightfully little effort to break his arm.
Then, the second Bot said they had Spec Op Bots around. Zoom-Zoom's attention was fixed, he didn't recognise the names but then again, a good Spec Op Bot was one that no one knew about, ideally. And given Zoom-Zoom's rank on the bottom, he had little clearance to know much about their ranks beyond the mechs that had made up his division.
He had an opportunity to speak now and he was going to make the most of it and as talk fast as possible without waiting for Fortress Maximus to set him down. "I don't have my ID codes," he confessed, finally owning up to the truth and his stupidity. Boldly, he ploughed on ahead despite that very bad start to the conversation. "As I was saying, I wasn't around when everyone decided to vacate Cybertron and nobody let me know about it, I was off on a mission. Then I got back and the planet was dead and I didn't know where the Autobots were." Zoom-Zoom didn't like to think back to those vorns. It had been a dark period of his life. "I was considerably upset about this and had...a crisis of faith if you will. Deleting my ID codes and ripping my Autobrand off were probably the least questionable things I did during that time. Then I got myself together and I've been looking from my Spec Ops cell ever since. Been all over the galaxy searching."
Now that he was marginally calmer, he was able to speak more rationally. He tipped his head behind him towards Fortress Maximus. "I've been out there by myself for a long time," he said. "I maaaaay have forgotten how to deal with other mechs properly."
It was no apology nor did he outright say that he'd gone more than a little mad being by himself. Or that he was terrible with dealing with other people in the first place. "Still have the codes for the Ninety Second Division," he added almost in afterthought. "Know the whole fragging handbook if that'll mean anything to you. It's probably all out of date though."
It wasn't the best story but it was the only one he had. He hoped that the sheer stupidity of the truth would at least convince them to take it seriously. Decepticons generally had better cover stories.
He did hope that if Fortress Maximus decided to put him down, it wasn't back in the mud. That would be unfortunate. Especially since he still couldn't see.
Post by fortressmaximus on Mar 31, 2014 18:58:10 GMT -5
Maximus listened with a stony expression. He was beginning to regret that he had declined to mention that the minibot had opened fire himself shortly before offering to surrender.
However, Red Alert looked calm and wary. The security director was a good shot, and his rocket launcher was not for show. If this Zoom-Zoom tried to run again he would suffer even worse luck for it. That was an assurance.
Reluctantly, Maximus lowered his captive to the ground. He did not let go of his arm, but at least it slackened the pressure against the minibot's shoulder joint. The height difference between them meant that Zoom-Zoom's arm was still upraised in Maximus' fist however, as if trapped in the world's unhappiest high five.
"We can't ground bridge him back to base until we've confirmed his story," said Maximus. He frowned. "What do you think the chances are that either Mirage or Rook would be available right now to verify these out of date codes for this old unit of his, the Ninety Second?"
The little red bot began speaking. Red Alert found he disliked most of what he had to say, especially the part about his temporary desertion. Or at least, that’s what Red Alert was calling it. Deleting his ID codes and removing his brands, only to have a change of spark later, did not negate the fact that he had at one point abandoned his allegiance to the Autobots.
If his story was true and he ever really was an Autobot, that is. The story seemed a little too convenient for Red Alert’s tastes, and he made no secret of this. It showed in his field, and in how he kept eyeing the minibot skeptically, not even bothering to pretend that he didn’t find his entire story to be dubious at best.
It wasn’t until the minibot named a specific division and boasted his ability to quote their handbook that Red Alert began to think his claims might have some credibility, but even then he wasn’t willing to jump the gun and assume he might be telling the truth after all. Not until he actually backed his words with proof.
He watched the mech as Fortress Maximus lowered him back down to the ground, looking at him as if he half expected him to sink back into the mud. With his arm still held tight in Maximus’ grasp, Red Alert could not help but think the minibot looked like a recalcitrant, mud-covered toddler being chastised for misbehaving. He blamed the considerable size difference between the minibot and Fortress, as well as the former’s pitiful-looking state. Red Alert almost felt bad for the poor mech, but Decepticons and Autobot deserters didn’t exactly top the list of mecha he sympathized with.
“Mirage was still on base, last I checked.” Primus only knew if the mech hadn’t disappeared somewhere in the time between then and now, though. “I’ll try his comm., see if he’s available. In the meantime, you--” He nodded towards the minibot, giving him a pointed look. “--had best get those codes ready.”
Oh, oh. Ground. Under his pedes. That was good. Slag, it was terrifying not knowing what was going on. Fortress Maximus's grip on his servo was actually surprisingly comforting, it provided a point of reference for him in his blindness. That didn't mean he liked it there though, Zoom-Zoom was compiling a mental map on the area. Because escape still had to be an option, he just wasn't sure how he would do it if he really needed to.
He could feel the suspicion of the new mech practically radiating off him. Zoom-Zoom wilted a little at this, Primus, couldn't he catch a break? Like. Ever?
Get his old codes ready? Zoom-Zoom could do that. He'd give them the entire fragging history of codes the Ninety Second division had used throughout the war, up until the point he'd been separated from them. He didn't want to be accused of concealing information on top of everything else, better just to hand all that he knew over.
Zoom-Zoom compiled it all together in one large file. Handing over such information to an enemy back on Cybertron would have guaranteed instant death for the entire unit and Zoom-Zoom was repulsed that he was using it this way. There were the ciphers they used to encode their transmissions, codes words they used in casual conversation to communicate mission objectives secretly and other bits of information about the unit had operated. It was many terabytes worth of data, of detailed and intimate information about his cohort. Zoom-Zoom had learnt it all, it'd been practically branded into his long term memory banks. His squad leader had been adamant about it.
And had sat on the minibot until he'd complied.
"I've got the codes," he said with a confidence he wasn't actually feeling. "I'll ping em to you or download to a datapad or however the slag you want them transferred."
Post by fortressmaximus on Apr 1, 2014 8:28:00 GMT -5
Mirage was on base. Good. Maximus relaxed a little. The sooner they could get this minibot's story straightened out, and see him either released into the watchful eye of a spec ops authority or booted into a makeshift prison cell, the happier he would be.
He kept his grip firm, his stance tense. Despite his neutral air what the minibot said earlier still rankled. He knew that what had happened at - the prison was common knowledge. Army scuttlebutt did the rounds. It had been a long time since he had been openly confronted with it though. Fearlessly. Most people shut up about the subject if he was within earshot. Talked about the Wreckers instead. The Wreckers.
Zoom-Zoom's words cut through his rising irritation. Maximus quickly returned to the present.
"Datapad," he growled.
He gave Red Alert a questioning look. "Unless you or Mirage have some pretty good firewalls set up against transmissions from an unconfirmed source."
Last Edit: Apr 1, 2014 8:28:23 GMT -5 by fortressmaximus
Had Red Alert not been preoccupied with contacting Mirage and informing him of the situation, he would have given Zoom Zoom the same reply Fortress Maximus had, albeit without the growling. There was no way in hell he was going to allow himself or Mirage to accept a direct transmission from someone of questionable allegiance. That would just be foolish. A corrupted datapad could be wiped or disposed of; processors, on the other hand, were irreplaceable and much more difficult to sweep up. They could afford to lose a datapad. They couldn’t, however, afford to have even a single soldier out of commission for however long it took to clean out their head. Not when they were already as outnumbered as they were.
That, and he couldn’t imagine Ratchet would be very happy to have to clean something nasty out of someone’s processor because they didn’t use common sense and take precautions while handling data of dubious origin.
“I know I do, but that doesn’t mean I’m eager to to test them out.” He replied absently, as he finished his conversation with Mirage. “As for Mirage---well, I would assume he knows a thing or two about keeping his head secure, considering his mind hasn’t been torn to shreds yet.”
Such tended to be the fate of many a special operative. One could only be hacked or plagued with a virus so many times before the damage started to show, and when it did...well, there was a reason there were so few spec ops mecha left at this point in the war. Those that remained were alive and (mostly) stable because they were good at what they did, and even better at avoiding the beginners mistakes which were responsible for their low numbers.
Right on cue, as if summoned by the mention of his name, a flash of light exploded behind the three and Mirage stepped through the newly opened groundbridge, with a dataslate in hand. He nodded a silent greeting to both Red Alert and Fortress Maximus, before casting a curious glance at Zoom Zoom. He looked the minibot up and down, before frowning slightly in distaste at the mud and scorch-marks covering his frame. He certainly hoped they planned on hosing him off somewhere before bringing him back to base.
Looking between the two security mecha once again, Mirage swept his hand loosely in Zoom Zoom’s general direction. “I assume this is our…” Oh, but what was a non-insulting word to call this mech? “...alleged ally?”
Primus, ask a simple question and everyone jumps on you for your forward thinking. He was trying, you know, to be co-operative. Zoom-Zoom longingly contemplated running again but then the sound of another groundbridge opening up again shot that plan to bits. Also, Fortress Maximus's firm grip on him and the other Autobot and...well, just about everything, yeah.
He turned his head carefully in the direction of the third mech, the Spec Ops bot. He hoped. He hadn't gave away his lack of vision yet or if he had, the other Autobot hadn't brought it up. It was the connections to his processor that were damaged, not the wires that powered his optics or visor.
Either way, he didn't want to acknowledge his huge glaring weak spot. "Let's just get this other with," he grunted, ignoring the hostility of yet another mech. He cycled open a port at his free wrist and allowed a data cable to unwind.
Slowly and carefully, so as not to alarm anyone, he held out an expectant servo. He could not see the Spec Ops bot but hopefully, this would force him to directly place the datapad into Zoom-Zoom's grasp without revealing that the minibot couldn't actually see anything. Even more hopefully was that the pad was a design that he was familiar with so that he'd be able to connect his cable to it without fumbling around like an idiot, looking for the receptacle.
And even more hopefully, Fortress Maximus would actually let go of his other hand so he could do it. Or the Spec Ops bot could do it if they didn't trust him to have both hands free.
Well, someone was certainly grumpy. Then again, Mirage supposed he would be rather put off as well if he were streaked with mud and soot, and had the misfortune of running afoul of Fortress “guns in his legs” Maximus. Of all the mecha to cross, the poor minibot just had to stumble over the one with a hair trigger temper, a low tolerance for uncooperative, mouthy mecha, and few scruples with using lethal force. Ah well, at least the minibot was still intact and relatively undamaged. That is more than he could say if he had been wearing a certain purple brand at the time Fortress Maximus found him.
With a polite, perfunctory smile, Mirage took the data-cable Zoom Zoom offered to him with a quiet “Thank you” before connecting it to the data-pad and waiting for the data to transfer. While he waited, he glanced up from the data-pad, helm tilting slightly as he looked to Zoom Zoom.
“It says here you were part of the 92nd division, yes?” He asked idly, as he scrolled through the datapad.
He had no real reason to ask; if Zoom Zoom was true to his word, then his question would be answered as soon as he took a look at the now-uploaded codes. He simply felt obligated to make small talk. After all, if Zoom Zoom really was a special operative, then chances were high that they would need to work together at some point. First impressions were important, especially with mecha whom he would have to work in close proximity with, and Mirage had the distinct feeling that Zoom Zoom had not been very warmly received as of yet.
As he glanced from the stern, severe expression of Fortress Maximus, to the wary, critical expression of Red Alert, Mirage couldn't possibly imagine what gave him that impression.
“I am sorry to say I have not had the pleasure of working with anyone from that particular branch. He added, as he began scrolling through the datapad with a swipe of his finger against the touch screen.
As innocuous as his comment may have sounded, there was a reason he had never worked with anyone from the 97th division. They were not exactly on the highest tier of skill or quality when it came to spec ops work, to put things mildly, and within the division mecha were usually paired with partners of equal rank. Unless, of course, a mission required certain sacrifices to be made, in which case the more “disposable” agents were sometimes grouped with peers who far surpassed them in terms of ability and experience. That, however, was a terribly grim thought, and between the disgruntled security mecha and their haggard guest, Mirage felt the atmosphere was quite grim enough already.
Hence why he buried those dark thoughts back into the shadows of his mind, where they belonged, and focused on dissecting Zoom Zoom's codes and searching for any indication that they might have been counterfeit. It was a simple enough process, it was simply time consuming. A thorough search required an acute attention to detail, and with Red Alert standing right beside him, Mirage didn't even bother entertaining the thought of only running through the data once. The mech would insist upon double if not triple checking, of that he was certain.