Ep 1.5 - Mothership (Closed)
Aug 25, 2014 15:12:57 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Aug 25, 2014 15:12:57 GMT -5
Finally. Foresight’s starship had traced the mass of Cybertronian signals to its terminal – a blue, organically-inhabited planet, if its local communications network was of any clue – and his journey had reached its end. He could leave his dingy spacecraft and regroup with his noble higher-ups. He could play an active role in the Decepticon victory. Or the war was already over, and he could lend a servo in colonising this planet, or whatever else his people were doing there. It all started here, and he was ready to do his duty.
He tugged on the controls. Eased the ship down. Dropped the landing gear. With a muted clunk, he’d hit solid ground, and cut the engines’ power. Lowered the ramp too, the hot air rushing in and hitting him like a wall, but his mind was elsewhere and the grumble of his vents barely registered. Nothing ran through his processor but "finally", "thank Primus", and the thought of stretching his poor, poor hydraulics.
He made his way off the craft, only to pause for a brief survey of the environment. It was devoid of sentient life and any indication of it; nothing in front of him but rocks and plains. Small plants and smaller creatures. Even crouching down, the organics were difficult to fully make out, and too fast for him to catch, try as he may. He'd have to try again later, and his mind wandered to exactly what later might entail.
Foresight didn’t have really have anything planned. He'd followed evidence of fellow Cybertronians here, but hit a dead end - the Decepticon base was hidden. Of course. What, then? Destroy things, make a scene? Cause for unwanted attention from Autobots, or Earthlings, maybe even both. Radioing for help was almost as risky: with no idea which frequencies were used by who, it was another shot in the dark. And with his creaky, underused joints, debatable hands-on experience and a complete lack of backup whatsoever, a fight was one of the last things he needed right now.
Well, he could decide what to do later. No rush. First, he could take a little look around. Build a temporary map. Maybe even scan an alt-mode. He picked a random direction (compass said it was north-west but he didn’t care in the slightest) and resumed walking. It didn’t matter where he was headed. He couldn’t think without information, so hopefully he’d find some.
He tugged on the controls. Eased the ship down. Dropped the landing gear. With a muted clunk, he’d hit solid ground, and cut the engines’ power. Lowered the ramp too, the hot air rushing in and hitting him like a wall, but his mind was elsewhere and the grumble of his vents barely registered. Nothing ran through his processor but "finally", "thank Primus", and the thought of stretching his poor, poor hydraulics.
He made his way off the craft, only to pause for a brief survey of the environment. It was devoid of sentient life and any indication of it; nothing in front of him but rocks and plains. Small plants and smaller creatures. Even crouching down, the organics were difficult to fully make out, and too fast for him to catch, try as he may. He'd have to try again later, and his mind wandered to exactly what later might entail.
Foresight didn’t have really have anything planned. He'd followed evidence of fellow Cybertronians here, but hit a dead end - the Decepticon base was hidden. Of course. What, then? Destroy things, make a scene? Cause for unwanted attention from Autobots, or Earthlings, maybe even both. Radioing for help was almost as risky: with no idea which frequencies were used by who, it was another shot in the dark. And with his creaky, underused joints, debatable hands-on experience and a complete lack of backup whatsoever, a fight was one of the last things he needed right now.
Well, he could decide what to do later. No rush. First, he could take a little look around. Build a temporary map. Maybe even scan an alt-mode. He picked a random direction (compass said it was north-west but he didn’t care in the slightest) and resumed walking. It didn’t matter where he was headed. He couldn’t think without information, so hopefully he’d find some.