Three Blind Mice - Closed (Mirage, Rook, ZZ, ???)
Jun 21, 2015 22:09:27 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jun 21, 2015 22:09:27 GMT -5
The ground didn't just shift as Mirage shifted his center of gravity. Under that knee and around his pedes, the slurry seeped, seeking the most minor and impossible of seams and juts and carrying past any such the most unpleasant of sensations; if one could have described "filthy" as pure sensation, rather than as a state of being, Mirage now had a very accurate description to go with the concept.
Also, something was wriggling under there, and if there were somewhere to go that it shouldn't, it would probably occupy that space in less time than it took to think about it. Nightcrawlers were contrary like that.
The infiltrator's makeshift light would reveal a most interest, and decidedly non-derelict, underside to the dilapidated trailer. It was not actually resting on the muddy bottom of the creek bed but off it by perhaps a Vehicon handspan. Long hydraulic arms ran the lenght of it, capable (if looks alone were to be considered) of folding down on themselves.The filth that crusted the bottom showed long scrapes and missing trails. Overall, and just by looks... it seemed as if the trailer were set up to fold in on itself like an accordion when power was ran through the hydraulics from the panel on the side. A terribly simple bit of deception that, while dormant, was basically undetectable unless you were right on top of it.
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Zoom-Zoom's sensors would paint much the same picture his lights had given him, though in a slightly more vivid palette.
The conduits and lines stapled to the sides of the shaft were all dormant: the sharp current of wind came not from the fans likely set at regular intervals along it's length, but because of the pressure differential between the surface and what might be a cave system of any size and depth on the other end. The moving fan at the very mouth of the system was drawing the only power.
Given the minicon's previous saboteur work, however, it was entirely possible that he'd find a familiar pattern there, partially hidden amidst the everyday minutiae: the thin lattice of wires and tightly packed, tinny electronic bundles of evenly spaced detection lasers. Standard and very low-key defense for Decepticon sites, the system was, against all odds, as dormant as the rest of its surroundings, and thus utterly useless.
Provided, of course, that it were the familiar system, and not something new and unknown that he wouldn't be able to identify unless he were on top of it.
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Rook tilted his head minutely to acknowledge Zoom-Zoom's file, optics dimming briefly and two fingers tapping lightly against one hip as he ran over it. He did not like the lack of visibility. He did not like the lack of information. He did not like anything about the ventilation shaft except that it was there, like an open door, inviting them for a look that might cost them their optics, and the heads attached to them.
To the minibot's question, as he finished the analysis, he offered a mild gesture of apology. ::My mistake, local idiom. Do we call it a trap or an open door.::
He vented slowly, turning his attention back to Mirage's idle banter as his processor tried to decide on a course of action; that the mech hadn't come to join them told the Aero that something still needed sniffing on that end, and he was content to leave it be as long as the amicable bickering remained both amicable and bickering - as long as no hidden cues were given as warnings. ::Oh, it's always the quiet, polite ones you have to watch. Lull you into a false sense of comfort and then do something impolite. The nerve.::
He finally came to a decision, and looked pointedly at Zoom-Zoom. ::It's your find, Red.:: He never, unless told otherwise, used actual designations when on the field, and it was a habit he couldn't shake. ::Do you want to go in and scout ahead? Or do we go find what the Thespian back there's poking after?::
Also, something was wriggling under there, and if there were somewhere to go that it shouldn't, it would probably occupy that space in less time than it took to think about it. Nightcrawlers were contrary like that.
The infiltrator's makeshift light would reveal a most interest, and decidedly non-derelict, underside to the dilapidated trailer. It was not actually resting on the muddy bottom of the creek bed but off it by perhaps a Vehicon handspan. Long hydraulic arms ran the lenght of it, capable (if looks alone were to be considered) of folding down on themselves.The filth that crusted the bottom showed long scrapes and missing trails. Overall, and just by looks... it seemed as if the trailer were set up to fold in on itself like an accordion when power was ran through the hydraulics from the panel on the side. A terribly simple bit of deception that, while dormant, was basically undetectable unless you were right on top of it.
================================================
Zoom-Zoom's sensors would paint much the same picture his lights had given him, though in a slightly more vivid palette.
The conduits and lines stapled to the sides of the shaft were all dormant: the sharp current of wind came not from the fans likely set at regular intervals along it's length, but because of the pressure differential between the surface and what might be a cave system of any size and depth on the other end. The moving fan at the very mouth of the system was drawing the only power.
Given the minicon's previous saboteur work, however, it was entirely possible that he'd find a familiar pattern there, partially hidden amidst the everyday minutiae: the thin lattice of wires and tightly packed, tinny electronic bundles of evenly spaced detection lasers. Standard and very low-key defense for Decepticon sites, the system was, against all odds, as dormant as the rest of its surroundings, and thus utterly useless.
Provided, of course, that it were the familiar system, and not something new and unknown that he wouldn't be able to identify unless he were on top of it.
============================
Rook tilted his head minutely to acknowledge Zoom-Zoom's file, optics dimming briefly and two fingers tapping lightly against one hip as he ran over it. He did not like the lack of visibility. He did not like the lack of information. He did not like anything about the ventilation shaft except that it was there, like an open door, inviting them for a look that might cost them their optics, and the heads attached to them.
To the minibot's question, as he finished the analysis, he offered a mild gesture of apology. ::My mistake, local idiom. Do we call it a trap or an open door.::
He vented slowly, turning his attention back to Mirage's idle banter as his processor tried to decide on a course of action; that the mech hadn't come to join them told the Aero that something still needed sniffing on that end, and he was content to leave it be as long as the amicable bickering remained both amicable and bickering - as long as no hidden cues were given as warnings. ::Oh, it's always the quiet, polite ones you have to watch. Lull you into a false sense of comfort and then do something impolite. The nerve.::
He finally came to a decision, and looked pointedly at Zoom-Zoom. ::It's your find, Red.:: He never, unless told otherwise, used actual designations when on the field, and it was a habit he couldn't shake. ::Do you want to go in and scout ahead? Or do we go find what the Thespian back there's poking after?::