[ti]Ep 2.5[/ti]Bird Dog Four (Closed – Skirmisher, Bluestreak)

[Deleted]

Week 3, Day 1 – Time: 1315
Location: R-4809

NORAD ID: 43485
INT'L CODE: 2018-048G
PERIGREE: 613.7km
APOGEE: 725.8km
PERIOD: 98.0 minutes
SEMI MAJOR AXIS: 7020 km
RCS: Unknown
LAUNCH DATE: Unknown
SOURCE: United States (US)
LAUNCH SITE: AIR FORCE WESTERN TEST RANGE (AFWTR)

----

There was a yellow desert, and a vast blue sky.

And somewhere above that…

A star, racing swiftly. Ninety-eight minutes for one revolution. Pretty impressive. But Maximus wasn't supposed to know about that particular and recent military secret, so he kept his damn mouth shut and tried to look as impassive as people had come to expect from him. He marginally succeeded, he thought. Truth be told, a mixture of curiosity and wariness about this whole business was starting to eat at his neural net.

So.

They had driven out to the R-4809 site over an hour ago. He was vaguely familiar with this restricted site; Tonopah was maybe ehh, thirty miles to the northwest. A whole lot of parched and empty nothing. He had been assured that the usual fence-hugging bug-eyed telescope alien enthusiasts and resident crazies had been driven off by base security the night before. He hoped that was the case, because Primus, he was standing right here, quietly baking beneath the noontime sun. As big and bold as a dead tree on a salt flat.

Parked nearby were two vehicles. Their long tire tracks swerved off into the distance they had driven from. One was a silver sedan of some sort. The driver's side door was open, all but inviting in a patina of dust. The second vehicle was a large white van – very clean. Very spotless, save for the dusty wheel wells. No windows on it, save for the cab ones, which were tinted. No plates. It was the deadly serious sort of van that disappeared internet weirdos in the name of homeland security.

Its rear doors were thrown wide open. A handful of liquid nitrogen tanks were already gathered around the bumper. Inside the van, things hummed.

Maximus stood a safe distance away with folded arms, his feet square. The sun was trying its hardest to fade his paint and put a dent in his internal operating temps, but he ignored the heat and the glare and warily sized up the humans who were calling the shots on this particular Black Rock field test. First, there was the DoD man. Mr. Serious Business. He wore a white dress shirt and black vest, sleeves rolled, and a neat red tie with dark slacks, despite the fact that it was something shy of a hundred degrees out. Hm. His glasses shone white in the sun.

The DoD man was speaking amiably to the two base guards who had been assigned to the test. Nothing fancy, just two men in khakis. As far as Maximus knew they were mostly there to assist when needed, like when they had unloaded some heavy looking hardshell cases lined with mysteriously fitted foam interiors from the DoD man's silver car. Hmm.

That left the engineer.

She was nowhere sight. That made Maximus just a little nervous. Probably still inside the van. She'd been rummaging around inside it since they had arrived, preoccupied with her calibrations. He craned his head. Sure enough, a feminine leg was girlishly cocked out of the back of the van, foot comfortably clad in a simple black canvas running shoe. A jangling charm bracelet hung off the ankle. Her mumbly voice echoed from within. What had she concocted this time around, he wondered. Was it going to explode. Was it going to melt down. Was it bigger than a breadbox. Was it going to make Agent Fowler want to kill himself if it ended up on the evening news. Let the guessing game begin.

She had made a single request of him.

Since it didn't start with, oh Maaaaax, what kind of blast radius can your armour withstand, he'd taken it seriously. Also she'd given him the big blue eyes. Turns out he was a sucker for big liquid soulful eyes. God damn it.

But this had been a simple request, sort of. So he'd listened to it in earnest rather than pretend to be a tank. That never worked, by the way. One day it might.

Two Autobots. Nice ones. Professional ones! Who could maybe take a rocket or a drone to the back of the head like a trooper. Also this one, his name is Bluestreak? Do you know him? Could you reach him for me? Giant blue eyes?

Feeling played, Maximus opened his internal comm and keyed in some private frequencies.

"Good afternoon," he radioed. "I'm hoping I've got a hold of Bluestreak and-" Crap, Fowler had told him this name once, what was it, fellow security bot- "-Skirmisher. This is Maximus. Can you read me?"

[Skirmisher]

“Connection established. Initiating security and countermeasure checks. Identity confirmed, Fortress Maximus,” Skirmisher said, having had a private encrypted transmission filter over his own com-line. The Enforcer had within the last few breems previous overseeing a well-deserved oil bath given the rationing, or at least he'd preferred to have adhered to the rationing of resources when it came to oil-baths.

One might have assumed it had been a practice carried over from his previous assignment with the older Earth Garrison or that the Enforcer had been more on the shy side of things, but Skirmisher had preferred maintaining the notion of rationing given the Outpost's current state. He'd retired to his quarters to have read over some of the data PaDDs in his quarters, and had after a while placed the reading on hold to have disassembled the Ion Magnum to have cleaned it. Meticulously placing the parts on the desk or rather the titanium ledge that had doubled as the desk furnished in his quarters in addition to the bunk and a massive bench capable of sustaining a Cybertronian. Having been trained to have cleaned his sidearm the moment he'd been programmed as an Enforcer or rather the Guilds had chosen for him, he'd continued the practice in insuring his sidearm had been fully functional and hadn't had a possibility -- even the remotest due to dirt or some other sleight -- of misfire or jamming. Cleaning the sidearm had taken some time, but once he'd finished he'd reassembled the sidearm without even having looked at it. He'd disassembled his sidearm, the Ion Magnum, and reassembled it so often, he'd only had to feel where each part had clicked into place or slid into place.

Checking the sights and scope of the sidearm, he'd dry-fired the sidearm squeezing the trigger back slowly before having reactivated the ammunition cell. Allowing the panels of the concealed compartment on his left flank slide open, he'd held the Ion Magnum stationary while a rack and holster slid out to have taken hold of the sidearm before having slid back inside the cavity with the panels closing behind seamlessly. He'd managed to have finished when the transmission from Fortress Maximus filtered over his internal com-line.

“Your signal is coming in strong,” he'd said.

[Bluestreak]

How many times had he taken this apart in the last few weeks?

Five? Eight? More than that?

Bluestreak had kind of lost count but that didn't surprise him, really. Sure, cleaning and re-adjusting his rifle was something he needed to do. Besides, all the crops on the farm game that he was playing were totally watered, his buildings repaired, chickens fed, and he'd petted and brushed his virtual cow several times and it was as happy as it could possibly be.

That heart meter was full, but hey, he impulsively kept checking it every half an hour. Can't have an unhappy cow.

Way back when, his instructor had downright drilled it into his head. It was the little things that led to catastophic failures of every system.

Which was true- he'd sat through enough seasons of home repair shows on television late at night to watch what happened when contractors thought they'd cut corners in your build. Or deciding that your garbage disposal was tough enough to take on chicken grease and rice at the same time. Whoo boy, nope, nope, sure wasn't, that was a terrible disaster. All that living room furniture had been floating the next morning, whooch.

Fiddling around his weapon on his desk kept his hands busy; okay, it kept his brain busy because right now nothing was helping. The soft blue light of his desk lamp shone over his gear and washed over his potted plant he'd gotten during that one mission. He was pretty delighted with the plant, Genevieve was thriving and green and happy and it had even blossomed a few times. Apparently the internet was right about that too - peace lillies were tough little plants.

"Remind me that I need to get you a bigger pot," he said out loud, glancing at the tiny fluff of green carefully set on the top shelf of the desk. "I dunno what color pot you'd want though? Tan? Green - oh wait, no no, that's sort of uh, does green work with green, I can't remember if that's a decorator no-no but it probably is, isn't it? White? Oooh, what about orange, or blue, or maybe we go for one of those two tone ones I saw the other day when Bulk and I passed by that nursery on patrol, those were nice, I liked those a lot..."

The plant didn't answer - but that was probably good, considering it was a plant.

His fingers continued to work, testing that, screwing this back on, adjusting the trigger and wiping down his work - even as his optics were focused on the peace lilly.

It was stress relief, and he needed that right now. Bluestreak was trying to stay chirpy and upbeat. He really was, because- well, everyone else was having a tough time. Everything was absolutely stressful at the base, between the nasty whatever it was that was infecting folks and poor Bumblebee, ugh. Not to mention the truce and what that entailed, and the fact that they were on rations and that sure didn't look like it was getting better anytime soon. In fact, it had gotten a whole lot worse.

Poor Prime appeared to be under a lot of stress and strain, and it was hard for him to watch that, because-

That never stopped for him. Bluestreak was certainly glad he didn't have to be the one weighed down with all these choices. None of them were good.

Bluestreak sighed, then leaned back in his chair with a grunt and settled his hands behind his head and stretched--

Right before the comm-line crackled in his head. It was so unexpected that his arms pinwheeled and the chair jerked back and wobbled. Somehow, the silver mech managed to grab the edge of the desk and wobbled there; the doors behind his shoulders desperately trying to counterbalance him from ending up flat on the floor.

It took him a second to catch up to who this was. His optics shuttered in a blink. Whoa, wait, what's up, why would he be asking for me...

"Oh, oh yes, yes sir, yes, Maximus," he answered, even as he clambered to pull the four legs of the chair back to a safe position. "I can, I'm here - oof, one second, hang on, there, I've got it, whew, yes I can read you, absolutely. What can I help you with, sir?"

[Deleted]

Braced and waiting for banter, Maximus was caught off guard when both replies came through crisply. Maybe a little distractedly in Bluestreak's case, but hell, he wasn't complaining. Skirmisher sounded downright brisk. That was refreshing.

"Afternoon," he said. "Thanks for verifying the signal strength, Skirmisher. I've got you five-by-five as well."

He glanced back at the humans and pressed his hand to his audial. Hopefully anyone who looked at him would recognise his phone-call face and not interrupt. At least they all looked busy. Doing classified things. Maximus wandered away a few strides to ensure privacy.

"Anyway, sorry for the last-minute call," he said. "I've had a request come through for a pair of Autobots to assist one of Black Rock's contract engineers in a field test. These are people from the same military that gave you the Omega Base silo, so no need to worry about maintaining secrecy. Not sure what the test entails, but I suspect it's guidance-system related and not live-fire. Don't quote me on that, however."

He eyed the van. "The only requirements I was given were Autobots with military experience and a degree of professionalism. Oh, and the engineer asked for you by name, Bluestreak."

[Skirmisher]

“A field test? Guidance system related with the possibility of a live fire exercise?” the Enforcer inquired. “It's a source of curiosity. Optimus Prime has through the Treaty mandated to maintain covertness when in regards to the local humans, and to avoid the more tabloid-sensational variety. How many of these humans would there be at the site?”

While the Praxian hadn't been one to have committed his actions to have violated the Truce, he wasn't one to have overlooked even the remotest possibility of him or of their kind having been discovered by the planet's local dominant species. The kind of revelation, he'd been certain would have spread among the planet's many tribes and nation states only increasing the existing paranoia and leading to even more convoluted theories raised and sworn to by conspiracy theorists. He'd understood to continue their presence and to maintain their mission, the act of being covert had held a far higher priority than in rooting out Decepticons. The other reason for the emphasis on being covert had been the existence, and the increasing threat of M.E.C.H. with their machinations and avarice to have captured more Cybertronians for their deviousness. If this had been Cybertron and if he'd still been among his fellow Enforcers in the Praxian Department, there would have been stings and raids held to cease and eliminate any of the ambitions of M.E.C.H., but he'd been on Earth and his city had been melted to molten wreckage. Regarding M.E.C.H., he'd known from his having read about M.E.C.H. to the data recording tapes and from the accounts from Optimus Prime and the others that M.E.C.H. held as many faces as the Quintessons and had their claws in almost every sector public or private within the human governments.

“It shouldn't take long to obtain permission to depart the Outpost, but I doubt the Ground Bridge will be utilized. It would be better to err on the side of caution and restraint when dealing with humans of unknown intent. I do acknowledge you did mention they were of the same that had provided the silo the Outpost resides in, but I haven't encountered them before,” Skirmisher continued. He'd been around or rather had encountered a few humans over the last few weeks, but the interactions with the bipedal species had been limited. There had been a few such as Rafael, Jack, Miko, Lieutenant Adler and Agent Fowler that had frequently visited the Outpost or had stayed for whatever reason, but overall his interactions had been limited.

The notion of encountering contracted engineers to a military installation had raised a few questions, and even made him wonder if some of the humans on the planet regarded the metal alloyed constructs granted sentience as both a curiosity of their planet and an errand boy to call when needed. Although, he'd realized thoughts of that nature had been both misguiding and deceiving leading one to almost have a Decepticon mindset. He'd disarmed, dismantled and disposed of that notion since he'd rather he'd rather spend time in a Quintesson kangeroo court than have to be tolerant and be -- what the humans referred to -- as best buds to a majority of the Decepticons. Though, that also raised another question which for some very odd reason when he'd thought of Quintessons he'd had to ask himself what a Calamari had been -- a food-stuff he'd read on the human's Internet had been -- a prepared limb of an aquatic creature called a Squid. He hadn't even the physiology to have digested human food, and he'd had that single thought about asking what a Calamari had been and what a Squid had been. He'd been spending too much time reading the human's Internet, and had found way too many websites pertaining to restaurants to where he'd made a promise to have stopped that practice.

Rising from the bench, he'd been glad he hadn't been one to have carried much in the way of phsyical baggage or to have cluttered his quarters with personal items more than his sidearm and other such things. Crossing over to the currently closed hatch, he'd taken hold of the lever for the lights in place of a light switch for his quarters and deactivated the lights before having stepped up to the hatch to have it slide open upon detecting him. Stepping through the open hatch, he'd cleared it and turned to let it close behind him and submitted his own unique locking code into the external panel. Turning, he'd headed down the corridor having an idea of where he'd find the current Prime and made his way to the Main Control Room. Approaching the giant mech, he'd gained permission having proposed and presented the purpose for his excursion. He'd waited to have determined whom his partner had been for the excursion knowing that any patrols or excursions had required a partner, or in this case a wing-man as per the conditions of the Truce.

[Bluestreak]

"It's fine, it's all good, don't worry about a last minute call," Bluestreak reassured the voice on the other end of the connection. He'd somehow managed to put all four legs of the chair back on the floor but was still clutching the edge of his desk. More because he'd forgotten to let go than because he needed to keep holding onto anything. His doors wobbled and lifted as he settled his feet back firmly on the floor.

A request for a pair of Autobots to do a field test, well, that's interesting, I mean not bad but interesting, and oh wow. No need about maintaining secrecy? That doesn't happen at all very- ohhh, those folks, well no wonder. They totally know about us and they don't need to keep anything under wraps. That's kinda nice, I like that- 

Wait, whoa did he just say he suspects it's guidance and not... why would they want me, I'm not someone that has that kind of military experience, I mean I know rifles, I guess that's like a guidance system, but I mean they probably want someone like Wheeljack or yeah, like Skirmisher, those guys have weapons and full gear and know this stuff and I just know a little about rifles, that's it, but gosh - I wonder what they're doing...

Bluestreak could totally admit he was absolutely honored that he was considered professional enough to attend - and it did give him a chance to get out of here. To do something instead of- well, doing nothing. Which meant he didn't have to sit there and dwell on his own thoughts, and that was awfully appreciated right now. 

:They asked for me by name? I- oh!: 

The note of puzzlement that had been building in his voice suddenly cut off. There might have been the sound of his chair falling over but really, he didn't notice because he was snatching his rifle off his desk and plunking it into place behind his shoulder. Maybe he was even halfway out of the room. At least he didn't shut his door on his own hand this time.

:Absolutely,: he said, and his voice bounced up and over that word as he was a goat on a mountainside. :I'll head right down to the main room, sir, and- ah, is there anything you need us to bring, or anything else we need to know?:

[Deleted]

Maximus repressed a sigh and focused his attention on Bluestreak.

"No need to bring anything extra," he said. "Weapons are fine if you've got them, nobody here is gonna mind if you're coming in armed. I recommend you bridge once I provide coordinates, otherwise people are going to be waiting for hours. I've been told we have unrestricted use of this test site and its restricted airspace for the next two hours, but that's it. If we can't get anything arranged and moving before then I'm instructed to pack it up now."

He rubbed his jaw. "Other information... if I had to guess, I'd say this has to do with adapting current IFF technology to include Autobots as friendlies without the need to install transponders. Improving combat ID has been a recent concern over here."

[Skirmisher]

Having requisitioned and signed out a med kit, he'd stored that in the concealed compartment shared by his sidearm. He'd gained permission after having explained the source of the request from the giant red and blue mech before having receiving the coordinates for the testing site in question from Fortress Maximus, and in the spacious or well semi-spacious Main Control room of the silo he'd sort of grown used to the blue, orange and green vortex of the Ground Bridge and with a look around to have seen Bluestreak, his Wing-man for this mission he'd started to step through the undulating corridor. Stepping through the undulating corridor, his pedes transitioned from the packed concrete flooring of the Outpost to the floor of the vortex and thudded in a muted fashion as the Praxian crossed out through the terminus into the sandy and windswept site chosen for the weapon's testing or guidance testing. The heat hadn't necessarily bothered him, with it being a dry heat.

Scanning, he'd detected the white windowless van with a HumVee or some other security vehicle nearby along with a rather massive tank of the M1A2 Abrams Tank sitting not far from where he'd exited the Ground Bridge. Setting his external scanners to a farther range to keep him alert of any M.E.C.H. activity, he hadn't even minded the bright sun reflecting off of some of his torso plates. He'd been careful not to have stepped out near any of the ground vehicles or personnel.

[Bluestreak]

Fumbling his rifle into place over his shoulder, Bluestreak's attention was mostly on the deep voice of the mech rumbling across the comm as he high-tailed it down the hall. He dodged two other mechs coming the other way - again, mostly - and his apology floated along behind him even as he scrabbled around another corner.

Weapons were fine to bring along, and that was good. The sharpshooter felt more secure going into a groundbridge with his rifle at hand. Actually, he was better going anywhere with his rifle tucked behind his shoulder; nothing to do with shooting it or using it. He'd be totally happy if he never had to aim it at anything but a range target ever again.

Probably wasn't going to happen any time soon, but hey, it was a nice thing to think about. He'd been thinking about it for an awful long time. Especially on those late, dark nights where he had nothing to do except focus on the screen in front of him and watch an awful lot of TV. Thank goodness for HGTV, was awfully nice of Fowler to make sure they had cable.

"Got it," Bluestreak replied crisply as he hustled his way down to the groundbridge. "Appreciate the heads up about the time constraints, sir, I'm on my way right now, swear, and oh, wow. Is that what it might be for?"

There was a pause.

"That's fantastic," he whistled, even as he headed into the main room. "That would make an awful lot of difference in long distance situations and make it a lot easier on being able to pinpoint friends and foes, if that's what it ends up being, that's amazing. Well, I'm sure Fowler's got the best person for that job there, adapting that technology - ah, I mean staff, got the best staff there. Okay, almost at the bridge, I'll be coming through in a few minutes, sir."

The comm politely clicked off.

Less than a few minutes later, another portal opened again. The silver form of the sharpshooter jogged the last few strides before his feet hit open, sandy soil. He came to a stop very quickly even as the green glow irised shut behind him.

The first thing that caught his notice was Skirmisher. He hadn't been on a mission with the mech for a while; when was - oh, right, picking up that stranded Autobot. He was hard to miss though- well okay he was a Cybertronian standing in the middle of kinda nowhere. His blue optics roved over the mech before he found himself glancing around, taking note at where they were and what vehicles and mechs were here...

[Deleted]

The scene that greeted the two Autobots was a simple one: a white van, a silver car, and miles and miles of parched and empty desert, accompanied by a sense of enforced isolation. The hardpacked ground was hot and dusty beneath their feet. Waves of heat made the distant hills shimmer faintly against the horizon.

The ground thudded as the groundbridge irised shut. Maximus was striding towards them, his expression one of wary ennui.

"Glad you two could make it," he said. "Our engineer is going to be ecstatic to see you both."

He drew to a halt and nodded to each Autobot in turn. The sun made an eclipse of the towering mech, and his red eyes glowed. Prominently fixed to the small of his back was his photon rifle, but his manner was mild.

"In case we haven't run across each other in person before, I'm Maximus," he said. "I've read about you both, and I'm glad to have you here. Good to meet you face to face – Skirmisher, Bluestreak. I can introduce you to the rest of the field team whenever you're ready. Don't worry – I won't say they're harmless, but they're friendlies."

[Skirmisher]

“It's an honor, Fortress Maximus,” Skirmisher said, after the other mech had approached them. The larger mech -- a combination of blue and black with white accents across his shoulders, thighs and chest had some red accents thrown in for good measure had stood with the sun behind him making his silhouette appear far larger and with those red optics somewhat menacing if Skirmisher had been any other mech. An act of remembrance, his processor reached into his memory modules to search for a certain memory at least a millennia or two old by the modern Earth calendar's reckoning of Anno Domini held and while he hadn't been assigned to oversee a tour in the famous or infamous prison of Garrus-9 he'd heard quite a bit -- either positive or negative criticisms about the Warden depending on what Enforcer said it and which femme or mech had the unfortunate chance of being incarcerated within its walls.

“I've heard quite a bit about you as well,” he'd say, knowing or at least having heard that many of the Wardens and Guards hadn't been too fond of that assigned duty. “Your engineer? I suppose a bit of an introduction wouldn't be out of order,”

[Bluestreak]

After the cool, artificial dimness of the Autobot base, stepping out in the sun was blinding. Bluestreak's optics shuttered automatically as the mech adjusted to the brightness; the right one opening back up just a fraction of a second before the left. Behind his shoulders, his doors lifted slightly as he surveyed the terrain around him.

Hardpack and hills that were barely visible in the distance. Right out in the open. His tactical mind pointed out that for someone like him this wasn't usually the place he liked to be; he was more of a 'stay behind that stuff for cover, okay' kind of guy versus being an obvious  target  guy out there in the middle of the flat, open plain.

Silver car. White van. His gaze shifted to them almost instantly, but he was immediately distracted by the heavy sound of footsteps- well, that and the massive shadow of the mech that rose above them. The sun limned the towering curves of the treads behind his shoulders.

Face to face- well, he was right, they'd met avatar to avatar before, but he'd honestly never seen Fortress Maximus like this. Not in person. Well okay, I've seen him as a person when he was with Nell, so maybe it had been in person and oh man where the heck am I going with this, I'm not sure, whoa Blue, where are you going with this? Oh right, in person, we haven't met in person, that's where I was going with that. 

Bluestreak's gaze was drawn to the weapon behind the big mech's shoulder. His expression became one of honest, pure curiosity and interest. That was an incredible rifle; took someone who had both strength and the skill to handle something like that. So many mechs now had integrated weaponry that it was downright surprising when he saw someone with a main weapon that wasn't.

Yet- if anyone wouldn't, it would be this mech. Weapons that were part of you also meant they were targeted directly and were damaged more often. Which meant you spent more time in a repair bay, versus just fixing your weapon.

Frankly, Bluestreak tried to stay out of the repair bay as much as possible after a mission. Not because he didn't like Ratchet- he did. It was more along the lines that he preferred all of his important inside bits to remain right where they had started  at the beginning of the day. 

"Hullo, sir, er, sirs- it's good to see you again," he said automatically as he then glanced over at Skirmisher before he looked up at Maximus again. "Both of you, actually! Glad to be here, glad to help out, it's not a problem at all. Nice to be outside for a while, too, good day for it."

A friendly grin followed his words as he shifted his weight against the warm ground beneath him.

"Introductions would be great, thank you. Ready when you all are."

[Deleted]

Though Maximus' expression did not change, he appeared satisfied with their ready willingness to proceed.

"Great," he said. "I'll keep it brief. We don't want to use up too much of your time."

He turned to face the gathered humans, who had cut off their conversation when the groundbridge had swirled into life. They stood waiting patiently. The two base guards carried visible sidearms but no other weapons; the shade cast by their brimmed hats couldn't quite disguise the looked of wide-eyed surprise that had come over both of their faces at the sight of Skirmisher's impressive frame. In contrast the DoD man in glasses looked crisp and unruffled. Clearly it wasn't his first rodeo.

Maximus gestured to him first.

"This is Joseph Mercer, of the Department of Defence," he said. "He's one of Fowler's men out of Black Rock, somewhere down the chain."

Mercer inclined his head politely.

"The DIA, more specifically," he said. "It's a pleasure to meet you both in person. I'm purely here to satisfy internal regulations, so I'll do my best not to interfere with anything happening. I hope you won't object to me observing the test. These days I'm rarely granted an opportunity to get out onto the field, and I'm always interested in meeting Autobots whenever possible."

He smiled. "Bluestreak, I'm familiar with by, ah, word of mouth. A sniper, correct? Skirmisher, I'm afraid I know less about you. Did I read that you're a field medic?"

[Skirmisher]

“An honor, Agent Mercer,” the Praxian said. “You've heard correctly. I am trained as a field medic, but my primary programming is that of an Enforcer. The DIA? Defense Intelligence Agency? Yes. I remember reading about them. Don't worry. I didn't hack into the system. The internet tends to carry only surface information about such things. I don't mind that you wish to observe. An Agent Fowler? I can't say I've met him before,”

Despite knowing the size and potency of his frame along with his reputation on Cybertron had a tendency to either precede him or to cause perps to be intimidated, the wide-eyed expressions of the two military guards in their khaki uniforms had only reinforced the bizzarreness of the planet where even when the native humans had expected them those same humans had reacted in awe and surprise to even downright terror when the Cybertronians had arrived. Thankfully, he'd never had to witness humans fleeing in terror or otherwise leaking lubricants at his arrival. He'd found a site of online videos almost by accident full of a mix of fictional and non-fictional videos where the majority either dealt with information on vehicle repair to those adrenaline junkies that sought out physical harm to meet some odd challenge to others either based on fan-related materials that dealt with a variety of subjects. There were videos about cats, odd feline creatures covered in fur that either danced, or wore hats or sweaters or slipped from their perches and after he'd watched a few he'd quickly realized they were in his opinion annoying, and he'd quickly entered a new search algorithm for another topic. What was it about this planet's obsession with cats dancing in tutus? He had a feeling he'd never find the answer to that, other than 'ooh, it's cute' bit which didn't really answer anything.

“It is an honor to meet each of you,” he'd say, towards the guards as well and the other technicians. The fact that he'd noticed each of those from the technicians to the guards to Agent Mercer had been forced to crane their necks or stand at a distance to gauge the size of the Cybertronians, Skirmisher had activated one of the holoprojectors -- specifically the one located in his right arm allowing a hard light projection of an Air Force Pilot with the rank of Major, complete in the appropriate US Air Force flight suit complete with flight patches, to squadron patches and a helmet materialized a few feet or so from the guards, the Agent and the others.

The figure, seeming to be in his mid-thirties and fit and practiced reached up to slide the helmet off. The latches and clasps were flicked off carefully with a practiced hand, and tucking the helmet under his right arm the oxygen mask folded into the helmet itself. A male roughly five foot eleven inches with a bit of a tan sporting blond hair, and green eyes stood before them.

“Would this be more appropriate?” the avatar asked. The call sign 'Miami' could be read on the patch on the left breast of the flight suit.

[Bluestreak]

Last time Bluestreak had seen Mercer, the slender, dark haired man had been in full fatigues with that bright neon vest over them. This time though, he was dressed totally different, but the glasses and his neatly cut and groomed hair hadn't changed. Bluestreak sort of had to admire the outfit; Nell had poked a lot of fun at him personally when his avatar had worn a suit and tie.

The truth is out there, Blue, and it's not you.

Nope, he certainly didn't carry it off like Mercer did, aha, not in the slightest. He did like the rolled up sleeves though, it sort of made it a bit more - what was the word? Casual? Well maybe, but it was a neat touch and a nice look.

Word of mouth?

Okay, he couldn't help but sneak one more look around. He caught himself though, with a small nod and an easy-going, friendly smile back towards Mercer.

"Oh, yes sir," he replied with a bob of his head. "Sniper. Well, sort of-"

Bluestreak held out his hand and wiggled it slightly from side to side before lowering it back down. "Kinda situational, I guess, but even I get baffled about the definition sometimes, especially in a lot of circumstances. I mean, most of the time I think I tend to be more of a sharpshooter, if that makes sense? Hope so, I-"

The mech stopped his ramble with an a small laugh. "Whoops, but aw, no, no objections here, promise," Bluestreak offered cheerfully to the man. He couldn't even see what the issue would be- this whole test was likely sanctioned by Fowler in the first place.

Kinda surprised he isn't here, he thought to himself. He likes to keep on top of the situations going on, and he's a hands on sort of guy where he can be. Then again, he can't be everywhere at once.

The day he gets a way to teleport is the day... wait, uh...

As Skirmisher's avatar appeared, Bluestreak's thoughts went right out whatever window ledge they'd landed on. The silver mech adjusted his weight slightly as a small touch of awkwardness touched on his body language; the doors behind his shoulders tilted.