Ep. 1 - We're All Mad Here (Closed, Ravage)
Jul 14, 2014 22:30:23 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jul 14, 2014 22:30:23 GMT -5
(Week 2, possibly after Setting Up Shop unless Felds wishes it otherwise :3)
Despite his vastness, finding privacy within the 'Nemesis' could be notoriously difficult. His hallways were riddled with sensors of one sort or another, providing audiovisual input at the very least. Automated logs keep track of who went through which door, who keyed what code against which lock, and who took which lift where. One need only know how to find and read such logs, and every last life within the great warship was made uncomfortably public. Soundwave did so regularly; there were, he suspected, very few mechs that knew how well the 'Nemesis' kept track of his crew, and even less that knew the full extent to which the warship served as one of the 3IC's tools of espionage.
It made him well aware, fortunately, of those few places where one could go and find privacy.
The ship's fusion chamber was full of razor-sharp shadows. As the automated arm picked up and dumped cube after energon cube into the core with its immutable sense of timing, those shadows danced and shifted, but were never gone. The room was never dark unless the 'Nemesis' himself were dormant. Its gates were always closed, and unless a delivery were being made to feed the ship's prodigious appetite, no one wanted to be in here.
Soundwave was perched on one of the highest points in the cavernous room, on a curving support beam, one hand holding onto the nearest anchor point to the ceiling. He'd found himself with one entirely unusual off-duty moment; no search protocol needed his immediate presence at the moment, and even his remote connections to the ship's systems were giving him no feedback that demanded his conscious attention.
The ship and his crew, apparently, were at an odd nadir of activity. It wouldn't last, Soundwave knew - it never did. But for the nonce, he had it in his hands and needed only to decide what to do with it.
The ping he sent out was limited to an extremely narrow frequency, used almost exclusively by himself and his cassettes. It was a simple tidbit of location, with no command or urgency glyph attached. Laserbeak offered his usual, and immediate protest, but nonetheless roused and detached from Soundwave to begin an idle perimeter flight around the vast chamber. The slender mech sat cross-legged on the highest point of the arching beam, hands on his knees, and seemingly watched the play of light from the core.
Despite his vastness, finding privacy within the 'Nemesis' could be notoriously difficult. His hallways were riddled with sensors of one sort or another, providing audiovisual input at the very least. Automated logs keep track of who went through which door, who keyed what code against which lock, and who took which lift where. One need only know how to find and read such logs, and every last life within the great warship was made uncomfortably public. Soundwave did so regularly; there were, he suspected, very few mechs that knew how well the 'Nemesis' kept track of his crew, and even less that knew the full extent to which the warship served as one of the 3IC's tools of espionage.
It made him well aware, fortunately, of those few places where one could go and find privacy.
The ship's fusion chamber was full of razor-sharp shadows. As the automated arm picked up and dumped cube after energon cube into the core with its immutable sense of timing, those shadows danced and shifted, but were never gone. The room was never dark unless the 'Nemesis' himself were dormant. Its gates were always closed, and unless a delivery were being made to feed the ship's prodigious appetite, no one wanted to be in here.
Soundwave was perched on one of the highest points in the cavernous room, on a curving support beam, one hand holding onto the nearest anchor point to the ceiling. He'd found himself with one entirely unusual off-duty moment; no search protocol needed his immediate presence at the moment, and even his remote connections to the ship's systems were giving him no feedback that demanded his conscious attention.
The ship and his crew, apparently, were at an odd nadir of activity. It wouldn't last, Soundwave knew - it never did. But for the nonce, he had it in his hands and needed only to decide what to do with it.
The ping he sent out was limited to an extremely narrow frequency, used almost exclusively by himself and his cassettes. It was a simple tidbit of location, with no command or urgency glyph attached. Laserbeak offered his usual, and immediate protest, but nonetheless roused and detached from Soundwave to begin an idle perimeter flight around the vast chamber. The slender mech sat cross-legged on the highest point of the arching beam, hands on his knees, and seemingly watched the play of light from the core.